"Here," she motioned to me with tears in her eyes and her arm outstretched over her dear friend's cold body. "Will you pray with me?" She pleaded, tears in her eyes.
"Of course," I replied quietly. I took her hand and we prayed the Our Father prayer as the whole room stopped what they were doing out of respect for the family and the young patient we had been unsuccessful in resuscitating.
We finished praying and the room took a pause of silence to acknowledge the life that had passed before us.
Who was this soul and why was today his time? What was his story? How did he end up in the condition he was in? Was this his fault? Was there anything that could have been done differently on our end? What about his end? Was this the culmination of a lifetime of choices or simply God's will that today was his day? What about his friends? His girlfriend? Why do they have to suffer too? What made this guy different than me? What made him the same?...My mind spun
I have seen many lives pass in the ER and there is always some level of dissociation. I'm not sure if it is a natural coping mechanism or a subconscious way of protecting myself from the hurt that comes with watching death and trying to be present to those who are suffering. Maybe it's denial, or maybe it's the fact that death has not personally been apart of my reality for quite some time. And the last time it was, it was slow and expected, not sudden and traumatic. The fact is, my brain often finds reason to not connect with the person dying for a plethora of reasons. He was older than me, or she had a significant medical history, or his lifestyle put him here, or she was high risk...always some barrier as to why that wouldn't be me or my loved one.
Reflecting on this case made me recognize my quick reflex to guard my fear of becoming that patient, or, heaven forbid one of my family members being such a case. The family and friends on this day broke my guard and shattered it in to a million pieces when they entered the room. The first thing the friend said was "We need a priest for last rites. He's Catholic and that is important to him".
Guard down and personal barrier shattered.
This struck at my core. I too am Catholic, and if I were him that is something that would be important to me. Immediately, I felt spiritually connected to this patient and the family and I assured her I understood what she was talking about. Unfortunately time was limited and no priest available, so I offered to pray over him with her as he passed, in hopes that God would hear our prayer and embrace him.
As different as we were, I let myself feel connected with these people through prayer and a shared belief that God was present in the room at that moment and that He heard us. There was a vulnerability and humanness to the situation, but also surprisingly a healing and peace that accompanied the grief.
He will always remain on my heart, as I felt honored to be invited in to his last moments with his loved ones. As the nurse it is not often that families ask you to pray or invite you in to their grieving space. It is a beautiful gift. Sad, yes, and emotionally draining to an extent. Thankfully not a daily occurrence, but one that offers hope in the midst of sadness and one of those moments that reminds me why I do what I do.
Sunday, April 29, 2018
Friday, April 13, 2018
Fierce Love
I often have heard nurses say how the case wasn't real until the family members entered the room. This simply meaning that a personal or emotional connection wasn't associated with the patient in cardiac arrest on the table until the family member's cries were heard or tears witnessed at the same time, or sometimes after the fact. I have experienced this as well.
We see trauma frequently in the ER and are used to kneeling at the side of a spouse and holding their hand while they weep. In these cases, we know that words typically do not suffice and presence is the best form of communication we have to offer in that moment. None of those cases are easy, but none of them present quite the same either. As humans we all have different ways of grieving and coping with life's challenges.
The love of a parent for their child is immense and one of the hardest grieving instances to witness in an acute emergent situation. Whether that child is an infant or fifty years old, no parent should have to watch their child die, it's just not right.
This man was his son's biggest fan. They had both been down a rough road, but his son was his world. He was an adult, but far too young to be on death's doorstep, and this father watched his son's heart rate drop and then stop. He watched the initiation of CPR through intubation and took his place at the foot of the bed. Your average family member would step out or sit quietly and watch. This man's response was unique as he cheered his son on throughout the process.
You're going to come through this. You've got this son. Hang in there.
Talk about heartbreaking. Dad was more than engaged. He was a member of the team. He asked questions about prognosis, length of compressions, tests being run, and drugs administered. He maintained a spirit of hope and his rooting for his son worked in conjunction with the team's desire to resuscitate the young life on the table. I talked dad through the process, potential diagnosis, the medical workup, and what to expect over the next few days. What at first felt like an awkward time to be answering technical medical questions, that is what dad needed. All he had control over was knowledge and hope, and he held on to both tightly.
After my shift that evening I found this same dad behind me at the coffee cart and he insisted on paying for my morning muffin. I gave him a hug and he looked me in the eye and said Thank you for what you do.
Wow. Those are the moments in this profession that remind me why I do what I do. That man was a brave soul who took his fear and transformed it in to hope as he faced something no father should have to. His spirit was unlike anything I had witnessed, and his face and name will remain with me as one that I won't forget. I know he was hurting deep down and had a long road ahead of him, but he demonstrated a love for his son that was fierce, deep, and dedicated. A beautiful example of the love of a parent for his child.
Thank you, my friend, for reminding me of the beauty of loving fiercely in this life.
We see trauma frequently in the ER and are used to kneeling at the side of a spouse and holding their hand while they weep. In these cases, we know that words typically do not suffice and presence is the best form of communication we have to offer in that moment. None of those cases are easy, but none of them present quite the same either. As humans we all have different ways of grieving and coping with life's challenges.
The love of a parent for their child is immense and one of the hardest grieving instances to witness in an acute emergent situation. Whether that child is an infant or fifty years old, no parent should have to watch their child die, it's just not right.
This man was his son's biggest fan. They had both been down a rough road, but his son was his world. He was an adult, but far too young to be on death's doorstep, and this father watched his son's heart rate drop and then stop. He watched the initiation of CPR through intubation and took his place at the foot of the bed. Your average family member would step out or sit quietly and watch. This man's response was unique as he cheered his son on throughout the process.
You're going to come through this. You've got this son. Hang in there.
Talk about heartbreaking. Dad was more than engaged. He was a member of the team. He asked questions about prognosis, length of compressions, tests being run, and drugs administered. He maintained a spirit of hope and his rooting for his son worked in conjunction with the team's desire to resuscitate the young life on the table. I talked dad through the process, potential diagnosis, the medical workup, and what to expect over the next few days. What at first felt like an awkward time to be answering technical medical questions, that is what dad needed. All he had control over was knowledge and hope, and he held on to both tightly.
After my shift that evening I found this same dad behind me at the coffee cart and he insisted on paying for my morning muffin. I gave him a hug and he looked me in the eye and said Thank you for what you do.
Wow. Those are the moments in this profession that remind me why I do what I do. That man was a brave soul who took his fear and transformed it in to hope as he faced something no father should have to. His spirit was unlike anything I had witnessed, and his face and name will remain with me as one that I won't forget. I know he was hurting deep down and had a long road ahead of him, but he demonstrated a love for his son that was fierce, deep, and dedicated. A beautiful example of the love of a parent for his child.
Thank you, my friend, for reminding me of the beauty of loving fiercely in this life.
Thursday, April 5, 2018
What is Caring?
I hear a lot of talk about caring in my weekly work. I entered in to nursing initially because it is a profession of caring and service and I love that I have the ability to positively impact others in my daily work.
But what does it mean to care?
Thinking about this, I think caring comes from two different perspectives: that of the "carer" and that of the person being cared for. I can care for you with every ounce of my being and heart with all the best intentions in the world, but if my style of caring does not meet your needs, my efforts may be perceived as futile. It reminds me of the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. Chapman discusses how you may love someone with all your heart, but if you do not show them love in a way that speaks to them, their cup will feel empty. For example, if giving gifts is how I love to show affection to others, but my spouse's love language is quality time, all the gifts in the world will not make him feel loved unless it is the gift of my presence.
I am not implying that a nurse must love every patient who walks through the door, but think the two concepts parallel. For one patient, they feel cared for if you are in their room every fifteen minutes to chat. For another, they feel cared for because you managed their pain level. A third patient feels cared for because you gave him a gatorade, sandwich, warm blanket, and the quiet to sleep for a few hours.
Caring is relative. It is finding where your strengths as a caregiver can meet the needs of the one you are caring for and finding the finesse to deliver that care with sincere intention. There is a reason nursing refers to caring as an art.
A few weeks ago a single mom came in with severe back pain. She was uncomfortable and it hurt to twist and move. This was only exacerbated by the fact that she had a six month old baby who would not stop crying. Holding the baby hurt her and baby could sense her tense, uncomfortable state which only made her cry harder. Baby's tears turned in to mom's tears and the baby could be heard throughout the department. With no support system she had no one to help her with the child.
I have never been a baby person. I helped raise my two youngest brothers and was around kids my whole life, but never had baby fever or was the one who had to hold someone's newborn. I am due to have a sweet baby boy of my own in less than two months and couldn't imagine being in this woman's shoes. The night was slow and I popped in to round and ask her how our staff was making her feel cared for as a person. Tears welled in her eyes and I thought to myself How could I make her feel cared for as a person? She was obviously uncomfortable and needed pain meds, but what she really needed was to focus on herself, which she couldn't do with an inconsolable child.
May as well get some practice I thought to myself, and offered to hold baby and walk around the department to give her some peace. The relief and appreciation in this woman's eyes touched my heart as baby stopped crying. She was a beautiful, sweet baby girl and we strolled the ER hallways for some time until I could nestle her into her carrier in a peaceful sleep.
For this woman, caring was someone telling her it was okay to take a break and ask for help. Caring for her was rocking her baby to sleep, a task too painful for her at the time. While it felt a little weird to hold a stranger's baby for an hour, it was a beautiful experience for me to step out of my comfort zone and recognize the importance of not just asking about care, but finding a special way and time to extend that care to another.
Caring is a growing art. It is individualized, unique, and something that grows with each person throughout their profession. At the end of the day when I know someone I met left feeling well cared for (and you can't please them all), that makes for a good day.
But what does it mean to care?
Thinking about this, I think caring comes from two different perspectives: that of the "carer" and that of the person being cared for. I can care for you with every ounce of my being and heart with all the best intentions in the world, but if my style of caring does not meet your needs, my efforts may be perceived as futile. It reminds me of the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. Chapman discusses how you may love someone with all your heart, but if you do not show them love in a way that speaks to them, their cup will feel empty. For example, if giving gifts is how I love to show affection to others, but my spouse's love language is quality time, all the gifts in the world will not make him feel loved unless it is the gift of my presence.
I am not implying that a nurse must love every patient who walks through the door, but think the two concepts parallel. For one patient, they feel cared for if you are in their room every fifteen minutes to chat. For another, they feel cared for because you managed their pain level. A third patient feels cared for because you gave him a gatorade, sandwich, warm blanket, and the quiet to sleep for a few hours.
Caring is relative. It is finding where your strengths as a caregiver can meet the needs of the one you are caring for and finding the finesse to deliver that care with sincere intention. There is a reason nursing refers to caring as an art.
A few weeks ago a single mom came in with severe back pain. She was uncomfortable and it hurt to twist and move. This was only exacerbated by the fact that she had a six month old baby who would not stop crying. Holding the baby hurt her and baby could sense her tense, uncomfortable state which only made her cry harder. Baby's tears turned in to mom's tears and the baby could be heard throughout the department. With no support system she had no one to help her with the child.
I have never been a baby person. I helped raise my two youngest brothers and was around kids my whole life, but never had baby fever or was the one who had to hold someone's newborn. I am due to have a sweet baby boy of my own in less than two months and couldn't imagine being in this woman's shoes. The night was slow and I popped in to round and ask her how our staff was making her feel cared for as a person. Tears welled in her eyes and I thought to myself How could I make her feel cared for as a person? She was obviously uncomfortable and needed pain meds, but what she really needed was to focus on herself, which she couldn't do with an inconsolable child.
May as well get some practice I thought to myself, and offered to hold baby and walk around the department to give her some peace. The relief and appreciation in this woman's eyes touched my heart as baby stopped crying. She was a beautiful, sweet baby girl and we strolled the ER hallways for some time until I could nestle her into her carrier in a peaceful sleep.
For this woman, caring was someone telling her it was okay to take a break and ask for help. Caring for her was rocking her baby to sleep, a task too painful for her at the time. While it felt a little weird to hold a stranger's baby for an hour, it was a beautiful experience for me to step out of my comfort zone and recognize the importance of not just asking about care, but finding a special way and time to extend that care to another.
Caring is a growing art. It is individualized, unique, and something that grows with each person throughout their profession. At the end of the day when I know someone I met left feeling well cared for (and you can't please them all), that makes for a good day.
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