Introduction

Sitting Is Hell

To be perfectly honest…

…with you, Patient Sitting or being a Patient Companion (the actual job title), is the job from hell. It is the job with the greatest degree of torture that I have had in my 24-job career. The stress of having a job where you simply cannot accomplish what you must in the time allocated is one thing. But a job where you sit for twelve hours in a hospital room, with a human being who is critically ill or recovering from surgery, or in psychological distress with medical issues on top of that, is the worst job description I can imagine. Turns out, that is true. 

We have both “day sitters” and “night sitters”. And, indeed, I doubt that even the sitters on different shifts would trade day for night – or otherwise.  I’ve had many multitudes of people, medical and otherwise, tell me they could never do what a sitter does. Some of the medical professionals I know and interact with at work tell me, “Oh, I sat once”, or “Oh, I sat for a few days.” Let me be clear about this standard. If you have not sat three days a week for at least six months, you have no idea what this job is like. 

You must be exposed to the phenomenally aggressive, the dying and sweet, the ones who are in agony, ones who are terrified to be alone, ones who don’t want you anywhere near them, and everything in between in order to have a taste of what this job is like. 

Our job description emphasizes that we are not to take our eyes off the patient at any time. We are personally and professionally responsible for patient safety. From pulling out IVs, pulling out nastro-gastric tubes, getting out of bed and falling, pulling out PICC lines, and any other catastrophic event – sitters are responsible for prevention. It is an utterly impossible task. Think of it: your job is to sit in a hospital room (daytime while all is active or nighttime when all is dark and sleeping) and not take your eyes off a patient. 

Believe it or not, I can actually hear and I have peripheral vision. When I’m sitting in a patient room either reading a book, looking at my iPad, or even listening to a streamer on YouTube with a single earbud and the other ear free, I can hear when a patient’s breathing changes. I can hear when they shift to the slightest degree. I can hear the diagnostic machinery change output patterns if they are attached to an oxygen sensor or any other device. Their IV has an alarm if something is wrong. All the other machines (except for the heart monitor, which is monitored by Telemetry) have an alarm or a pattern of beep which I have no trouble hearing.

In my opinion, a hospital room is a place where family and significant others visit and dwell due to the overwhelming nature of the patient being in a hospital gown, hooked to monitors, critically ill, and in a very vulnerable state. In my two years of sitting, I have never become comfortable with this atmosphere. Male patients seem to have no inhibition to removing their gown or otherwise exhibiting their genitals. I have seen more adults in compromising situations than I ever dreamed of. It makes me extremely uncomfortable and it is up to me to professionally create a facade of unconcern 

The nurses come and go. The CNAs and NAs come and go. The respiratory therapists come and go. The phlebotomists come and go. I remain. I remain for twelve long hours. I cannot leave the patient for any reason: not to fetch a warm blanket, ask the nurse a question, or fetch aid for a patient who is eminently rising from their bed and within a single step, will be on the floor (with ensuing paperwork and a report to the state board). I get a 30-minute break to eat while the CNA relieves me. I know how hard their life is and how much is put on them and, unless they want to “hide” and get a 30-minute break for themselves, I eat efficiently and return. 

In many ways, it’s a gravy job. I work three days a week. I by-and-large am able to set my own schedule. I almost never take Personal Time Off because I can arrange my schedule around short vacations, appointments, and other demands. Although expressly forbidden, I am able to read, journal, and visit the internet on my phone or tablet. There is absolutely no way I could get through a twelve-hour shift without my electronic devices and the hospital WiFi. 

The following pages are a narrative of the nights that I have witnessed. I did not guess or make any details up unless I have specifically stated that. This job has damaged me and although it was the “last resort” of job possibilities from the list when my “COVID Screening Job” petered out, after washing out of the Emergency Room Secretary position, I accepted it, hoping for the best. Alas, I’m not as strong as I had hoped. Or perhaps it’s my age and my subconscious decision to continue as I have all of my life: Head Down Full Steam Ahead. That procedure doesn’t serve me anymore. In fact, it is toxic.