Most people have a disillusioned view of the reality of nursing in a hospital if they have not spent a significant amount of time in the hospital setting. I hear patients comment on how their psychotic neighbor (of whom they know nothing about except whatever he or she is yelling from their room) is either very entertaining or utterly terrifying. It's like they feel like they are in an episode of Grey's Anatomy or Scrubs. I don't blame them, as I too knew nothing of work in the hospital until I entered the nursing field, and quickly learned that the Hollywood portrayal of my job was far different than the startling reality I encounter each day.
And then you experience those days that truly make you feel like you lived a television episode simply because the reality of a case or the weight of an event or situation feels like it shouldn't be happening to the people who are involved. The day where a patient pulls up to the front of the ER already in cardiac arrest and you watch a coworker jump on the stretcher and perform CPR as the patient is wheeled down the hallway to a room followed by a heard of nurses ready to jump in and aid in the resuscitation.
And slowly behind the crowd of people comes a distraught spouse, in too much shock to cry, trying to put the pieces together as she watches CPR in progress and her husband intubated. I sat off to the side with her and explained what was going on as the tears trickled down her tired face. He had been sick, that's all. Sick like every other person in Denver who had come through our doors with the flu or other virus this season. Yet this man's reality was that his sickness was too much for his body. His need for oxygen prompted his wife to take him to the doctor, but the demands on his body were too much. She had no idea that she would set out from her home that evening to get him help and that when she pulled into her driveway later that evening her reality would be completely changed.
I held her and hugged her as they called time of death, because there really were no words except I'm so sorry for your loss. The strength of this woman was remarkable as she said her goodbyes and asked me where she could pay on her way out. She was in complete shock. I told her payment could come later and allowed her to leave information as I walked her out to her car, which she insisted upon driving home.
She thanked me and the team for all the efforts and great care provided, and my heart broke. She was grateful knowing we did all we could, and yet all I wanted to do was apologize, wishing we could have changed her reality, but knowing we did everything we could for her and her family.
These are the realities people face on a daily basis and these are the cases we struggle to process at the end of a shift. Why him? Why her? What if they had arrived sooner? Would there have been a chance? We are trained to do CPR and run a code for a patient in cardiac arrest. We are trained to push meds and to walk a family member through the steps of the death process. We are trained to see things the average person does not see.
But we are not always told it will hurt. We are not always warned that when family steps in to the room it changes the dynamic of how you feel about the patient and their humanity. We forget the pain that comes with death until we hear the cries of a loved one. We do not always realize that there are faces and names that are ingrained on our hearts after certain cases because we cannot shake the memory. And we are not always taught to talk about the hard stuff, but these are the times that need the most processing. This is the side you don't see in the movies, the aftermath of trauma that hits hard after you've gone home.
Cry, vent, talk it out, whatever you need to do. It's okay to feel for others and it's important to acknowledge your feelings. We can only truly care for others when we take the time to regularly care for our own mental, physical, and spiritual well-being. Only then can we be present to the mourning spouse or the tragic case and not carry each patient's pain home every night.
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