I crawled in to bed one morning after a long string of nights and hugged my husband. "You're not allowed to die" I often tell him when I come home from working in the ER, and he always gives me this strange look and says "I'm not going to die, stop saying things like that". But those life-changing scenarios and stories are what I witness all night long. What makes my life not in the percentage of spouses who have a heart attack or get in to a tragic accident while coming home from work?
In one night there was a woman who frantically called 911 after realizing her husband was having a stroke with severe deficits in the middle of the night. Another woman got the call that her husband was flown to another state in critical condition after a terrible accident, and a third woman writhed in pain in the hospital bed while her husband paced the ER trying to figure out how he could take away her pain, too tired and nervous to head back to their new assisted living home alone. All three heartbreaking, and people just like you or me.
This particular night I was trying to be mindful of the fact that the ER is not people's place of choice at 0200 on any given early morning, which is easy to forget when you feel like you live there working nights. I communicated with the wife en route to her husband who had endured serious trauma. I was the first person she spoke to, the one to tell her he was still alive but critical, the one voice she heard between home and the hospital. As I gave her the facts my heart broke for her in her state of shock, simply wanting to know the extent of injury and what she was walking in to...I couldn't imagine being on the other end of that phone line, and it struck me that I was in a position to calm her immediate fear, that her husband was not dead, yet still had to deliver that he was critical. Not your average job duty...
Rounding around later that evening I encountered the flustered husband of the woman who had fallen and sustained a severe break. He came out to ask for pain medication three times in three minutes as the team worked to help make his wife comfortable. He paced the halls, appearing anxious as she was wheeled to and from radiology for multiple scans. Recognizing his frustration I brought him some coffee and went and sat with him to give him some company. His poor wife was shaking with anxiety and pain as the nurse pushed the IV medication. She looked miserable, as did he with no control and no way to help ease her pain.
This man and I chatted for some time. He explained how he couldn't get a hold of his children and they had just moved in to a new facility where he did not feel comfortable heading back alone. It was late, he was tired, frustrated, and completely out of control. I offered to look up his son's phone number and helped him leave some messages. It was no surprise there was no answer at the early hours of the morning that it was, and I assured him they would call back when they woke up for work in a few short hours. I saw a cup of coffee, some phone numbers, and a simple conversation turn his demeanor. This sweet man just needed someone to talk to, to acknowledge his fears, and to know his wife was going to be okay.
This gave a whole new meaning to my leadership rounding question of "What has staff done to make you feel cared for as a person?" It's not a matter of asking someone if they need something, but looking them in the eye, caring, and your actions asking "Are you okay? I care about you and want to know if you need anything." I was drawn to put myself in this man's shoes thinking how I would feel on the other side, and he reminded me the importance of taking time to truly listen and be present and intentional in my words and actions. Sometimes it's the little things like looking up a phone number or a cup of coffee that can help someone regain control and feel human again. It's a privilege to have the time to sit and listen, and I will remember that gentleman, and remember to make the most of the time when I have it, knowing it can make all the difference.
