The pearly black coating on the IVs is thinner than it was on the feeding tube, but still enough to clog them entirely.

Weird and gross!! 

The offending IVs join the NG tube in the kidney basin, and she goes digging for another vein. 

They continue to be easy to find; the new IVs go in without any complications.

She hangs a bag of fluids, and then checks the catheter bag; Marian mentioned having been kind of worried about low urine output, though the patient doesn't otherwise show any signs of poor kidney function. 

There's definitely much less urine than there should be, yes.

Well, she's already giving fluids. The last set of electrolytes was...oh, ages ago, the latest test didn't give a result. 

- after that she's pulled away from all three of her thankfully stable patients in the pod, by a new admit down the hall. The bag is all the way in by the time she gets back. 

She hooks a new one and runs it at ten ccs an hour in the pump, maybe that'll keep the new IV from getting blocked off like the other ones. 

Any more pee? 

Yep! Nearly as much as the fluids she was given. There's a black tinge to it, similar to but much less striking than the color of her veins, which are fading back to normal now.

She mentions it to the resident on his next visit to the unit anyway, and at midnight sends off another tube to the lab for electrolytes and urea + creatinine for kidney function. 

The lab calls her back in ten minutes and demands to know if the patient had black veins when she drew it, if so there's a sticky note on their replacement equipment specifically saying NEVER TO USE IT FOR THIS PATIENT. 

She's able to reassure them that, although this happened earlier - and she can share some gory description of the IVs she pulled - it seems fine now. 

The tests all give excellent numbers, and the machinery makes it through the process intact.

The night nurse is VERY BUSY for the next few hours, but makes it in to briefly look over her patient and turn her once in a while. 

Is that REM sleep, looks like it might be.

This night nurse is way too busy to have a very close look at her patient's eyelids and whether her eyes are moving rapidly behind them! She just turns her and listens to her lungs and charts and runs off again. 

When the nurse touches her to turn her, she jolts into a sitting position, eyes snapping open - the irises are indeed yellow, ringed with a disturbing-looking red. She doesn't make eye contact, or really seem to be taking in the room, but she scowls -

-and then just as quickly flops back into complete limpness, her eyes rolling back into her head as they close.

Aaaaaaaack! She jumps about a foot in the air. 

...and then relaxes, faintly embarrassed, when the patient seems to go back to limpness. Huh. Weird. 

There's an order in the computer system for a psychiatry consult in the morning, which she thought at first was the usual 'neurology doesn't have a clue and wants to punt the problem to someone else' bullshit, but now she's wondering. 

She makes sure no tubes were yanked on too hard in the process, then carefully redoes the patient's restraints, tighter, and then pages the resident to ask for an order for sedation. 

     (Sure, she can start running some propofol, and he'll come by to do a full neurological assessment once he's done the current thing in the ED.) 

She gets this set up, and checks if the IV that's had saline running through it this whole time is still working. 

The machine is struggling just a little, but the fluids are going in.

(Any effects they might expect the propofol to have on her vitals completely fail to materialize.)

She was a little worried about blood pressure drops, but is relieved that this patient's cardiovascular system seems to be handling it just fine. Hopefully this will buy her a QUIET NIGHT and she can let Marian deal with the rest. 

She does avoid going into the patient's room, turning on the lights, or otherwise bothering her except for the bare minimum of flipping her onto her other side every couple of hours. 

It's quiet for a while, and then around 4:30 her heart rate suddenly slows to 13 beats per minute.

She's busy helping do a central line dressing on the new admit, a pod over, but the screaming alarm on the central console at the nursing station rouses one of the other nurses, who sprints over to the patient's room, yelling for a crash cart. He reaches the patient, rams the button to get a blood pressure, presses two fingers to her carotid to search for a pulse. 

Yep, that's 13 bpm all right. Her blood pressure is down, too, but wouldn't itself be alarming.

Within seconds two other nurses are there; someone's wrestling the crash cart into the room, yanking down the patient's gown to slap defibrillator pads on her chest and hook them up to the machine - someone else is already yanking open the emergency medications drawer - 

"Should we call a code?" 

     "- She's got a pulse, let's hold off - page the resident -" 

"Just a sec, I've got his cell number." 

     "Ooooh la la, have you been having some fun and not sharing -" 

"Shut up." 

    A cell phone rings, elsewhere. "I - what - fuck - I'll be right there. Push 0.5 of atropine stat–" 

The other nurse is already prepping the syringe, it's pretty obvious what med is going to be ordered for absurd bradycardia. The syringe goes into the patient's IV. 

     "Should we stop the propofol?" someone says worriedly. 

"Uh, do you want her waking up and kicking someone?" 

Atropine? What atropine? 13 bpm it is and 13 bpm it will stay, apparently.

Well that's just RUDE. 

In the process of trying to clear some table space, the other nurse accidentally knocks a plastic bag of the patient's regular clothes, plus - what even is that, some sort of rod that isn't a gun oh whatever it's probably fine - onto the floor. 

"Fucking day shift, not cleaning up properly," he mutters, retrieving it and shoving it into the bedside cabinet instead. "Blood pressure?"

     Blood pressure is retaken. 

Still low, but stable.

Her heart rate dips to 9 for a beat or two, then picks up, settling in at 24.

Huh. That's...better...at least? 

The resident arrives. "- Still bradying on us? Wow, that's a decent BP given things. Push another 0.5 of atropine, I guess...?"

The nurse does this.