On that cynical note, here are my words from around 1993:
The Care-Plan Stomp
As nurses of these
modern times
We're guided by
the rules,
The policies and
procedures
Designed by
greater fools,
And every working
moment
We must document
our actions,
Despite the ever
present risk
Of paperwork
impaction.
The bedside
nurse's duties
Are defined by
job-description,
A lengthy boring
manual
That's written in
Egyptian,
There's a
universal format
We call the
P.O.C.,
Officially named
the Plan of Care
It's
a Piece of
Crap, to me.
There isn't any
doubt
There was once a
worthwhile goal,
But in the
interpretation process
It's been lost in
some black hole,
Burying the spirit
By the wording of
the plan,
It astounds the
simple logic
Of any thinking
man.
In the unit that I
work
The P.O.C. is
simple,
We're training
adolescents
How to cultivate a
pimple,
So all we have to
document
Is how they wash
and eat,
We write,
“Alteration in Nutrition”
And right there, I
claim defeat
Each and every
problem
We address by
intervention,
If we documented
properly
We'd be forced to
place attention,
On the paperwork
itself
Instead of sick
old Joe,
Who'd be swirling
down the drain
With a documented
glow.
I've worked in
many hospitals
I'm care-plan
oriented,
But the way this
thing is going
I'll soon become
demented,
And the hospital
will be forced
To pay me Workmans
Comp.,
Because I suffered
mental injury
Performing the
care-plan stomp.
Fibril_late;
circa: 1993
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