ED Lesson #1: Ask Questions

"I need a 24 gauge 11-inch suprapubic catheter, please." I was pleased that I had remembered what to tell the technicians at Central Supply on the first floor.

"You sure that's what you want?"


Huh? Why is she asking me that? I'm not a nurse. I was just reciting what I had been told by the nurse. I answered as confidently in the affirmative as I could, twiddled my thumbs, and waited for the order. The technician came back with a bag of what I had asked for, but the look on her face said that I was going to be sorry.


She was right. The flustered nurse who had sent me to fetch the catheter had gotten it mixed up. I ran back down three flights of stairs with a new order muttered under my breath so I wouldn't forget--a "24 French foley."


"Hi, so...sorry...I was just here five minutes ago. And you were right, this isn't what the nurse needed. Can I please get a 24 French foley?"  The technician's eyebrow shot up suspiciously.

"You sure that's what you want? What kind? A three-way? What is it for, they gonna bag him?"



Bag him?  I was dumbfounded. I stammered something about how I didn't know--I was just a volunteer. I had never even heard of the word "foley" in my life. In my one year of working at the ED, I don't think I'd ever been so caught off guard as I had been just now--and over a catheter, at that.  The nurse saw my confused look and was not pleased.


"You gotta ask them questions, girl! What you gon' be, a doctor? A nurse? How you gon' do that if you don't ask questions!"


The technician lectured me in a half-scolding, half-loving tone way all the way down the long hallway to the supply storage basement. At first, I protested indignantly about not even knowing which questions to ask--a nurse had asked me to get something I'd never even heard of! But after rounding the corner, I realized my stammered protests were futile. The technician was right. I don't ask enough questions in the Emergency Department. I do things because I'm told to. Need an EKG? Sure! A lab run? I'll get on it, pronto. I box myself within the limitations of my volunteer status, and am satisfied with doing things efficiently rather than knowing the reasoning behind it all.


We arrived at the supply storage basement. At the end was a huge shelf containing multiple kinds of "24 French foleys." There were ones with different sizes of balloons. Different lengths. Different makes. I had no idea which one was the right one. I stood there with a twinge of defeat, since I would have to come back a third time.


"Here girl, take these. These should be fine. But you hear now, don't come back until you learn how to ask questions. Otherwise, you'll always be running around not knowing what you're looking for."