What is Dignity?

"Though his mind betrayed him, they were able to maintain his dignity by giving him jobs each day that kept him busy and gave him purpose"

Dignity. This is a word that is being thrown around so much in light of the upcoming election, and one that is defined quite subjectively. Some believe dignity is giving someone the option to choose death when life gets too painful, and others define dignity as a loving, dedicated response to the situation at hand.

Many might peg Alzheimer's as a disease that takes away your life. That it takes away your purpose, that it makes life not worth living. This patient's life was not devastated by his disease, but rerouted to appreciate what could still be accomplished in his new world each day. While it was not the world you or I see each day, nevertheless it was a world where he woke up and had a job to complete to inspire those who worked around him.

 We don't always understand why things happen, and while none of us definitively know what awaits us on the other side, all we can control is how we treasure the gift of life in its final days.

There is something so beautiful about peace in the final moments of life. The stories about how many people the patient touched, how many years of marriage treasured, how many children left behind... I got a picture of not the patient with Alzheimer's, but the person in the bed loved and cherished who left a positive mark on this world.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found was blind but now I see.

I sang as a prayer and with passion and hope for those left behind. I sang because in this moment we were honoring the life this patient lived and the dignity of the soul that had departed right in front of us. I sang to maintain the dignity, the honor and respect, of that moment. Sometimes there just aren't words that can be said.


There was no longer a heart beat, color was gone, and the tears streamed. So I sang. And God's presence filled the room as he took his child home. 



There are some patients and some circumstances that leave a mark on your heart. This man demonstrated what it meant to live a dignified life. He was empowered by his family to do simply that: live. May we all strive to inspire those around us by not seeing what we don't have, but making the most of what we do have, through good and bad. 

To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. -Ecclesiastes 3:1

The Last Place I Want to Be...

I wake up each morning and plan to go to the ER for work. This is normal for me. For the hundreds of other people that come through our doors each day, it is the last place they anticipated spending their day, and sometimes I forget this. What I see as a problem with a simple solution is often to the patient a devastating and sometimes life-changing event. 

Traumas had been rolling in and out all day and this was yet another. The patient was stable, but confused, and the CT scan was indicative of bleeding in the brain. I was concerned for the patient's prognosis and unsure of if he would return to baseline metal status after inpatient treatment. When family walks into the room the one thing you want to be able to convey is a message of hope, and sometimes there is not enough certainty to do so. This is hard. 

Is he going to be okay? That is the loaded question that every family member wants to know and I cannot always give the answers. What I can assure them is that the patient is stable and that he or she will be in excellent hands upon admission. This family member tried to communicate with the patient, and became tearful and pale. She sat down and stated I think I'm going to be sick. I grabbed her an emesis bag and sat down next to her rubbing her back. I assured her that right now, he was ok, and further treatment would help us understand more. I gave her permission to go outside and take a walk a take a breath. In that moment and looking at her face, I realized the weight of the situation. Not only was his world turned upside down, but so was hers. A simple outing out turned into a life-altering trip to the ER.

I think so often in emergency medicine, with critical patients, we have trained ourselves to just see the patient and focus on stabilization, treatment, and transfer. It is only when family enters into the room that this bubble is broken to recognize the person in the bed and the implications of the medical condition on the patient and family. There is a safety wall up to prevent personal feelings from clouding perspective during stabilization. I find that after the event I am able to step back and see the big picture. 

Every day I fear that someone I know will roll through the door of my ER. This particular trauma was a good reminder to me to remember what it means to go to the ER...that each and every time I enter a patient's room they hadn't planned it in part of their day. It is important to listen, empathize, and take a moment to put myself in their shoes. If my loved one was in the ER, what would I want to know? What would I want the nurse to do? How can I be a comfort to the family in addition to the patient I am caring for?

I work in the last place someone wants to be in a day, so how can I make that day a little better for all involved?

Half-full or half-empty?

Being a nurse is awesome and I love my job, but it is a trying profession. The beauty of my 12 hour shifts is four days off a week and paid time off that equates to about a month each year. Vacation allows for a fresh perspective, renewed spirit, and prevents burnout week in and out. No matter how much you love something, it’s good to take a step back to remember to appreciate it and remember why you do what you do.

I spent my week off in the beautiful woods of Yosemite National Park, a place that has been my favorite destination since I spent summers there as a child. While I live minutes from the beautiful Colorado Rocky Mountains, there is something about the seclusion of the Yosemite Valley, looking up at the gorgeous carved mountains, that makes my heart happy and content.

In the midst of our biking/hiking/walking adventures, my mom, husband, and I decided to treat ourselves to a hot meal in the rustic dining hall of the park’s Majestic Hotel. This was where we met Paul. Paul was a soft-spoken man late 40s to early 50s who greeted us at our table and took our drink orders.

He moved with deliberation and carried out his duties with a spirit of contentment, of someone who enjoyed what he did. His job was simply to fill drink orders. He was diligent in his work and moved from table to table ensuring that each person’s glass was always full, apologizing when it wasn’t. He was attentive to the point where I feared if I took a sip of water he would feel the need to refill my glass.

He was pleasant and inquired about our home city and plans for our vacation. We learned that he had worked in the National Parks for most of his life, living in the simplicity of the natural beauty of the park. He had no family or former job, but had found his niche in the simple task of serving others.

I couldn’t stop thinking about our interaction with Paul. He was different than most people. He was simple, humble, and kind. There was purpose in every move he made, joy in his step, and kindness and genuine interest in each question he asked. Some might call him stuck in one place, but I saw Paul as a light.

What if each of us lived our lives to make sure that the glasses of everyone around us were full? What if we moved with deliberation and looked beyond ourselves at all times to build up the people around us? I wouldn’t call that stuck, I would call it life-giving and purposeful. In taking time to step back and reflect, Paul reminded me to live with a spirit that is life-giving and to keep my perspective and glass full.