Olfactory Omniscience

Oh my god! It's the Disembodied Head Nurse!

She can wither you with one glance.

She is the bane of every staff nurse, intern and doctor who has the audacity to cross the threshold of her ward.

Years of knowledge will flee your brain with the raise of her eyebrow.

She's what you dream about when you've worked three double shifts and lived on coffee for two days.

It seems Pontiac thought she would be an appropriate commercial mascot.

What on earth does a big nurse head have to do with cars?

hhhhhhhhhhhhh

There is nothing quite like the ambiance of a dirty utility room.

Small. Claustrophobic. Windowless.

And now, thanks to JACHO, the door must be closed and you need a code to get in.

Enter at your own risk.

A nauseating bouquet of a myriad of body fluids in various stages of decomposition arises from the biohazard box in the corner whose lid lay slightly off-center. Three commodes line the opposite wall; one of them emits the subtle essence of the GI bleed who was its last customer. A sharp hint of ammonia breaks through the olfactory cacaphony; urine soaked test strips are lined up on paper towels in military formation to the left of the sink. Deflated foley bags and used suction canisters rest in the garbage. The linen bag adds the contributions of various excretorily challenged patients to the odiforous symphony.

And through it all is the pungent smell of dirty instruments soaking in Cidex.

I have an irrational fear of being in the dirty utility room when the big earthquake hits and not being able to get out.

I need a Xanax just to get through the two minute wait for the urine dipstick results.

hhhhhhhhhhhhh

Have you ever experiencedf GIBOHS?

That's GI Bleed Olfactory Hallucination Syndrome?

You come home from a long shift. You empty your pockets and deposit your scrubs in the laundry room downstairs, along with your nursing shoes. You take the time to luxuriate in a hot bubble bath as the tension of the day lifts off your shoulders. You put on your thick, flannel pajamas, grab a hot cup of herbal tea and curl up on the couch with a good novel.

And then it hits.

The fleeting but unmistakable smell of a GI Bleed.

You haven't been near a GI bleed since you admitted your patient at 1630.

The precise mechanism for GIBOHS is unknown. Sufferers have been known to say "Blech!" out loud in the middle of the night and compulsively bleach all their scrubs until the fabric frays. They believe that GI "odor" molecules have been fused with their hairshafts at the genetic-molecular level.

Should a fellow colleague experience GIBOHS, be supportive. Tell him you believe that he believes he smells what he smells. And then get as far away as possible.

It may be contagious.