When God Created Nurses
When the Lord made Nurses He was into his sixth day of overtime.
An angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order?
A nurse has to be able to help an injured person, breathe life into a dying person,
and give comfort to a family that has lost their only child and not wrinkle their uniform.
They have to be able to lift 3 times their own weight,
work 12 to 16 hours straight without missing a detail,
console a grieving mother as they are doing CPR on a baby
they know will never breathe again.
They have to be in top mental condition at all times,
running on too-little sleep, black coffee and half-eaten meals.
And they have to have six pairs of hands.
The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands...no way!"
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord,
"It's the two pairs of eyes a nurse has to have."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. "One pair that does quick glances while making
note of any physical changes, And another pair of eyes that can look
reassuringly at a bleeding patient and say,
"You'll be all right ma'am" when they know it isn't so."
"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said the Lord, "I already have a model
that can talk to a 250 pound grieving family member whose child has been
hit by a drunk driver...who, by the way, is laying in the next room uninjured,
and feed a family of five on a nurse's paycheck."
The angel circled the model of the nurse very slowly,
"Can it think?" she asked.
"You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses;
recite drug calculations in it's sleep; intubate, defibrillate, medicate,
and continue CPR nonstop until help arrives...and still it keep it's sense of humor.
This nurse also has phenomenal personal control. They can deal with a
multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their
door,comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper
how nurses are insensitive and uncaring and are only doing a job."
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the nurse.
"There's a leak," she pronounced.
"I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."
"That's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."
"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled-up emotions, for patients they've tried in vain to save,
for commitment to the hope that they will make a difference
in a person's chance to survive, for life."
"You're a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there," He said.
*Not sure who wrote this, but it's amazing, and spot-on*
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
If Only
Two words I wear proudly on a button attached to my nursing scrubs: Cancer Sucks. That says it all, of course, I would like to insert an explitive or two in between cancer and sucks. As the days pass here on the oncology unit I learn more and more that life is precious, life is beautiful, life is a blessing, life is worth fighting for, life is not fair.
Instead of a young woman with breast cancer dying, who has an eleven year old son and loving husband, why not the man who chooses to murder and rape and create pain for others? Why can't all the bad people be punished, and all the good people avoid such horrible diseases as is cancer? Why is my patient down the hall upset that her grape juice is watered down and she will go home soon, while the man two doors down is dying of a large tumor, the same disease that killed his son ten years ago? I'm feeling restless and angry tonight at work, this feeling I'm sure will pass with time, or maybe not, but it will never be fair.
I have been taking care of a man with a large facial melanoma (when I say large, I mean it looks like a large grapefruit coming out of his cheekbone) for the past two nights, but when I came into work tonight, the assignment had changed. I saw his wife in the hall at the beginning of the shift, and she collapsed into my arms. I stood with her, cried with her, in the hall as she told me how they have been married 41 years, been through so much, he worked so hard his whole life, and for this? She told me they did an abdominal CT today because they're suspecting his cancer has spread to his abdomen. She then told me that their only son died ten years of the same type of cancer. Life is not fair, but it is precious.
The irony of all this is while I was typing the first paragraph, one of our patients died. He was in his late fifties/sixties and started having heart attacks after a long battle with cancer. He decided yesterday evening that he wanted to be DNR. As I sat typing, the charge nurse came and told me that I needed to ask the secretary to call the chaplain, because he had just died. It was sudden, and his wife was at his bedside holding his hand. I walked into the room to make sure she wasn't alone, and she wasn't. The charge nurse was with her as she lay over her husband's body crying and talking to him. I had to leave the room to sob in the bathroom.
Life is not fair, but it is precious.
Instead of a young woman with breast cancer dying, who has an eleven year old son and loving husband, why not the man who chooses to murder and rape and create pain for others? Why can't all the bad people be punished, and all the good people avoid such horrible diseases as is cancer? Why is my patient down the hall upset that her grape juice is watered down and she will go home soon, while the man two doors down is dying of a large tumor, the same disease that killed his son ten years ago? I'm feeling restless and angry tonight at work, this feeling I'm sure will pass with time, or maybe not, but it will never be fair.
I have been taking care of a man with a large facial melanoma (when I say large, I mean it looks like a large grapefruit coming out of his cheekbone) for the past two nights, but when I came into work tonight, the assignment had changed. I saw his wife in the hall at the beginning of the shift, and she collapsed into my arms. I stood with her, cried with her, in the hall as she told me how they have been married 41 years, been through so much, he worked so hard his whole life, and for this? She told me they did an abdominal CT today because they're suspecting his cancer has spread to his abdomen. She then told me that their only son died ten years of the same type of cancer. Life is not fair, but it is precious.
The irony of all this is while I was typing the first paragraph, one of our patients died. He was in his late fifties/sixties and started having heart attacks after a long battle with cancer. He decided yesterday evening that he wanted to be DNR. As I sat typing, the charge nurse came and told me that I needed to ask the secretary to call the chaplain, because he had just died. It was sudden, and his wife was at his bedside holding his hand. I walked into the room to make sure she wasn't alone, and she wasn't. The charge nurse was with her as she lay over her husband's body crying and talking to him. I had to leave the room to sob in the bathroom.
Life is not fair, but it is precious.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Definition of Compassion
According to http://www.dictionary.com, the definition of compassion is "a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering." Tears welled up in my eyes as I read the words, because, this is also the definition of a what makes a good nurse.
Two weeks ago, one week into my night shift rotation on the cancer unit, one of our patients died. He had been diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma only months earlier, the the cancer had taken over his organs, and there was no hope of recovery. He was thirty six years old, had a fourteen year old daughter, had a wife, had aunts, uncles, cousins, and a mom and dad who would have given their own lives had it been possible. Knowing a loved one is going to die soon does not alleviate any of the pain, lessen the grieving when the time comes.
At 0200 (that's 2 am for you non-medical people) as I was sitting at the nursing station twenty rooms down the hall I heard crying, screaming, shouting, waling. We all knew it had happened, he was gone. His suffering was finally over and he was free of pain, but his family was left behind to feel the loss. We all gathered with the family over the next few hours to watch over them, to comfort, to just be there. His little girl had to physically be carried out of the room in the arms of her grandma and the chaplain because she has passed out from grief. I was but a bystander, but I began to feel as if I had lost someone I loved. All the feelings came back that I experienced when I thought I had lost my dad. I couldn't catch my breath, I cried, and I had to remove myself from the situation until I was ready to be helpful.
I realized then how difficult this job will often be, and I know days will come that I will cry with patients and their families, but I have the privilege of being there, of sharing in one of life's greatest and most heartbreaking mysteries. Death is not ever easy, no matter the diagnosis, and despite whether it is expected or not.
After the family left our floor I text messaged my fiance and told him how much I loved him, how thankful I was for his life, his health. Being a nurse offers a unique perspective of death and mortality. Many people feel they are invincible, until they are not. People think cancer, car wrecks, shootings, disease happen to other people. I live everyday with the knowledge that I may not return home, I may be diagnosed with terminal illness in five years, this may happen to a loved one. I am by no means a pessimist, and I do not let this insight affect my life negatively. Instead, I use it for good by making every moment count, enjoying the sunshine, being happy everyday for new reasons, making sure those around me feel and know how much I love them, and not waiting to have new experiences. I want to travel while I can, not plan on living to retire and then travel, I want to live life to the fullest, and I plan on doing so, God willing.
Life is hard, it is not for the weak of mind or heart, but when one of us is weak, it is the job of others to be their strength, and help them get themselves back. As a nurse, I feel I do this every moment I am with a patient. I love my job.
Two weeks ago, one week into my night shift rotation on the cancer unit, one of our patients died. He had been diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma only months earlier, the the cancer had taken over his organs, and there was no hope of recovery. He was thirty six years old, had a fourteen year old daughter, had a wife, had aunts, uncles, cousins, and a mom and dad who would have given their own lives had it been possible. Knowing a loved one is going to die soon does not alleviate any of the pain, lessen the grieving when the time comes.
At 0200 (that's 2 am for you non-medical people) as I was sitting at the nursing station twenty rooms down the hall I heard crying, screaming, shouting, waling. We all knew it had happened, he was gone. His suffering was finally over and he was free of pain, but his family was left behind to feel the loss. We all gathered with the family over the next few hours to watch over them, to comfort, to just be there. His little girl had to physically be carried out of the room in the arms of her grandma and the chaplain because she has passed out from grief. I was but a bystander, but I began to feel as if I had lost someone I loved. All the feelings came back that I experienced when I thought I had lost my dad. I couldn't catch my breath, I cried, and I had to remove myself from the situation until I was ready to be helpful.
I realized then how difficult this job will often be, and I know days will come that I will cry with patients and their families, but I have the privilege of being there, of sharing in one of life's greatest and most heartbreaking mysteries. Death is not ever easy, no matter the diagnosis, and despite whether it is expected or not.
After the family left our floor I text messaged my fiance and told him how much I loved him, how thankful I was for his life, his health. Being a nurse offers a unique perspective of death and mortality. Many people feel they are invincible, until they are not. People think cancer, car wrecks, shootings, disease happen to other people. I live everyday with the knowledge that I may not return home, I may be diagnosed with terminal illness in five years, this may happen to a loved one. I am by no means a pessimist, and I do not let this insight affect my life negatively. Instead, I use it for good by making every moment count, enjoying the sunshine, being happy everyday for new reasons, making sure those around me feel and know how much I love them, and not waiting to have new experiences. I want to travel while I can, not plan on living to retire and then travel, I want to live life to the fullest, and I plan on doing so, God willing.
Life is hard, it is not for the weak of mind or heart, but when one of us is weak, it is the job of others to be their strength, and help them get themselves back. As a nurse, I feel I do this every moment I am with a patient. I love my job.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
What I've been waiting for.
Last week I started my job on the ninth floor as an Oncology nurse. I could not be happier with where I am blessed to be. From the moment I walked onto the unit I felt calm, confident, welcomed, loved, supported, and I knew that this is where I belonged. I cannot imagine doing anything other than being an Oncology nurse. After only three shifts, I feel connected to the people I cared for, I actually miss them while I'm at home.
Everyday that I left work, I felt appreciated, I felt I had done the best possible job that I could, and that I got to know my four patients deeply, as well as their families. Caring for people who have cancer is completely different than caring for people with any other disease process. To me, they are not just cancer patients, they are amazing, wonderful people with lives outside of the hospital, lives to return to, dreams, and they just happen to have cancer. I was touched by them every moment that I got to spend with them, which was much more than I ever did with my patients on the med/surg floor. They were thankful for my care, grateful, appreciative, loving, curious about my life, and most importantly, they did not sweat the small stuff. If their meal was late or wrong, no big deal, if they felt nauseated, no big deal, if their medicine was a little late, no big deal. I have never met such patient, kind people in all my life.
The feeling of unity on the floor is amazing. Between the nurses, doctors, patients, families, it is known and felt that we are all a team working towards a goal, ultimately to cure the disease that plagues their loved ones, but for now, it is to care for them the best ways we possibly can. The doctors value the nurses input, and act swiftly when something is wrong with a patient, or if the nurse is just concerned. Cancer is serious, and a lot can go wrong, and we all see it as such. Anybody can get cancer, and this is what is so scary about the disease. One day you're fine, the next day you have cancer. Somehow these amazing people learn to deal with the horrific treatments, the hair loss, the nausea, the weight loss, and they do it over and over again, in the hopes that this disease will finally leave their bodies. I feel honored to care for such powerful individuals.
I now look forward to everyday that I get to go to work, and I get to meet these people and their families. Most people come in for 3-4 days of treatment, leave, and come back a couple weeks later for more treatments, so it is definitely a family unit. There's pet therapy every Tuesday and Thursday, bake sales, holiday parties, super bowl parties, and birthday parties. Even when it did get busy during a shift, it was still a great day, I must have looked like such a goof walking around the unit smiling all day and saying "I am so happy to be here!" I must have told every nurse and doctor that, and I meant it. The experienced nurses made it clear that they will support me and help me with anything, and they trust me. I immediately felt that I belonged, and they wanted me there. I even had some people asking me gen. med. questions since I had experience on the general medicine floor. One nurse thanked me for joining their team. Another nurse made me my own folder to keep my medical records in.
I know this is where I belong. I can see myself working in Oncology for the rest of my life. I can only imagine all that I have to gain, all the lives that will touch me, and I am anxious for the future. I never thought I would get to look forward to work everyday, so now more than ever, I believe that impossible is nothing.
Everyday that I left work, I felt appreciated, I felt I had done the best possible job that I could, and that I got to know my four patients deeply, as well as their families. Caring for people who have cancer is completely different than caring for people with any other disease process. To me, they are not just cancer patients, they are amazing, wonderful people with lives outside of the hospital, lives to return to, dreams, and they just happen to have cancer. I was touched by them every moment that I got to spend with them, which was much more than I ever did with my patients on the med/surg floor. They were thankful for my care, grateful, appreciative, loving, curious about my life, and most importantly, they did not sweat the small stuff. If their meal was late or wrong, no big deal, if they felt nauseated, no big deal, if their medicine was a little late, no big deal. I have never met such patient, kind people in all my life.
The feeling of unity on the floor is amazing. Between the nurses, doctors, patients, families, it is known and felt that we are all a team working towards a goal, ultimately to cure the disease that plagues their loved ones, but for now, it is to care for them the best ways we possibly can. The doctors value the nurses input, and act swiftly when something is wrong with a patient, or if the nurse is just concerned. Cancer is serious, and a lot can go wrong, and we all see it as such. Anybody can get cancer, and this is what is so scary about the disease. One day you're fine, the next day you have cancer. Somehow these amazing people learn to deal with the horrific treatments, the hair loss, the nausea, the weight loss, and they do it over and over again, in the hopes that this disease will finally leave their bodies. I feel honored to care for such powerful individuals.
I now look forward to everyday that I get to go to work, and I get to meet these people and their families. Most people come in for 3-4 days of treatment, leave, and come back a couple weeks later for more treatments, so it is definitely a family unit. There's pet therapy every Tuesday and Thursday, bake sales, holiday parties, super bowl parties, and birthday parties. Even when it did get busy during a shift, it was still a great day, I must have looked like such a goof walking around the unit smiling all day and saying "I am so happy to be here!" I must have told every nurse and doctor that, and I meant it. The experienced nurses made it clear that they will support me and help me with anything, and they trust me. I immediately felt that I belonged, and they wanted me there. I even had some people asking me gen. med. questions since I had experience on the general medicine floor. One nurse thanked me for joining their team. Another nurse made me my own folder to keep my medical records in.
I know this is where I belong. I can see myself working in Oncology for the rest of my life. I can only imagine all that I have to gain, all the lives that will touch me, and I am anxious for the future. I never thought I would get to look forward to work everyday, so now more than ever, I believe that impossible is nothing.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hidden Fears
The reason for the long absence is this: I have been precepting a new nurse (by new I mean super new, just graduated and knows very little about being an excellent nurse, new). She is with me for a total of eight weeks, she started out with one patient the first week, and we have added one patient per week so now she takes the 4-6 patients we have per shift.
It's really neat to have watched her grow over the past six weeks that I've been teaching her, and learning some things along the way. She made me remember what it's like to be new at this, how hard it can be, how you constantly doubt yourself and feel inadequate, how you cry a lot from the stress, how you have hundreds of questions to ask. Her confidence has definitely grown over the last six weeks, and I do see some ways that we alike. She's compassionate, passive, sweet, and she makes a great RN because she genuinely cares for her patients. It is not just a job, this was a dream come true, and though it may not be the specialty she wants for later in life, for now, this will due.
I love precepting, and it's pretty nice to get to sit back and relax more at work since she has all our patients, but I miss getting close with my patients. I do still interact with her patient load because she is still learning and has a lot of questions and new experiences, but I haven't had that closeness with a patient in quite awhile. I really look forward to having that back when I start work on the oncology floor next month. Less than four weeks left! Wow, how exciting.
Having free time at work has allowed me to read more, and I bring my books with me to each shift. While reading the last book, the author was speaking about his own life when I realized why I sometimes feel anxious when I think about the future: I fear stasis. I don't want to live in the same house in the same town or state for the rest of my life, I don't want to be stagnant, I don't want to work in the same specialty for my whole life, or stay in the same role. I want to experience so much of life, I want to travel the world, I want to live in different places through the years, I want to accomplish goals that I didn't think were possible, I want to join the Peace Corps with Tim someday, and I want to advance in my career. I also have the dream of going back to school for my Bachelors of Zoology degree.
As much as I fear aspects of my life never changing, there are certainly aspects that I never want to change. I would never want to change the man I am going to marry, I want to be married for the next sixty-seventy years, I always want my family to be living, I want to have the same three of four best friends, and I want to have the same dog. I realize not all these are plausible, but it is comforting to me that I do not fear these things staying the same for the rest of my time on earth.
It's really neat to have watched her grow over the past six weeks that I've been teaching her, and learning some things along the way. She made me remember what it's like to be new at this, how hard it can be, how you constantly doubt yourself and feel inadequate, how you cry a lot from the stress, how you have hundreds of questions to ask. Her confidence has definitely grown over the last six weeks, and I do see some ways that we alike. She's compassionate, passive, sweet, and she makes a great RN because she genuinely cares for her patients. It is not just a job, this was a dream come true, and though it may not be the specialty she wants for later in life, for now, this will due.
I love precepting, and it's pretty nice to get to sit back and relax more at work since she has all our patients, but I miss getting close with my patients. I do still interact with her patient load because she is still learning and has a lot of questions and new experiences, but I haven't had that closeness with a patient in quite awhile. I really look forward to having that back when I start work on the oncology floor next month. Less than four weeks left! Wow, how exciting.
Having free time at work has allowed me to read more, and I bring my books with me to each shift. While reading the last book, the author was speaking about his own life when I realized why I sometimes feel anxious when I think about the future: I fear stasis. I don't want to live in the same house in the same town or state for the rest of my life, I don't want to be stagnant, I don't want to work in the same specialty for my whole life, or stay in the same role. I want to experience so much of life, I want to travel the world, I want to live in different places through the years, I want to accomplish goals that I didn't think were possible, I want to join the Peace Corps with Tim someday, and I want to advance in my career. I also have the dream of going back to school for my Bachelors of Zoology degree.
As much as I fear aspects of my life never changing, there are certainly aspects that I never want to change. I would never want to change the man I am going to marry, I want to be married for the next sixty-seventy years, I always want my family to be living, I want to have the same three of four best friends, and I want to have the same dog. I realize not all these are plausible, but it is comforting to me that I do not fear these things staying the same for the rest of my time on earth.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Impossible is Nothing
Wow, been awhile since the last blog. I've had 10 days off of work, and it's been wonderful to see family, friends, and rest. It's nice to just stop and enjoy life, and it's so important to my spirit. I need time to stop, think, breathe, experience new places and people.
My prayers were answered last week! I had an interview on the solid tumor oncology unit, and it went wonderfully. The nurse manager and I got along beautifully, the unit felt right, it was calm, peaceful, filled with nurses who love coming to work everyday. I was offered the job and immediately accepted, no questions asked. I have never been more excited! Tomorrow I return from my break to the med/surg unit and will tell my current manager that I'm transfering, then I'll be up on the oncology floor hopefully by the end of October!
I will miss the nurses I work with, but I am so ready to move on, to learn more, to grow, and have new experiences with new people. I know that I will love it. Already I love it, my heart and head are already there. Cancer is probably the most devastating disease to have, the treatments are worse, and there are so many different types to be afraid of. You can be carrying out your life one day, then the next you're diagnosed with cancer, and don't know what the future holds. I cannot wait to be the person there for the family and patient who are having a difficult time, that is what I live for. I want to be their comfort, ears, knowledge, confidence.
The nurses are all very involved in fundraisers, walks, rides for cancer research funds, and I am looking forward to becoming involved in making a bigger difference. They do pet therapy twice a week with a golden retriever and a little beagle, which is amazing. I have decided to enroll my lab in a program to get him certified to become a pet therapy dog, he would be wonderful, and bring such joy to people in one of their darkest and most difficult times.
Getting this job has strengthened my belief that anything is achievable if we are patient, work as hard as we can to make our dreams come true, and ask for help along the way. This past weekend my fiance and I did a 76 mile charity bike ride benefitting Easter Seals of NC, a group who assists people with CP. It was an event and experience I will never forget, and I will always cherist. One of my favorite quotes from the weekend was this said by Christopher Reeve, "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable." IMPOSSIBLE IS NOTHING.
My prayers were answered last week! I had an interview on the solid tumor oncology unit, and it went wonderfully. The nurse manager and I got along beautifully, the unit felt right, it was calm, peaceful, filled with nurses who love coming to work everyday. I was offered the job and immediately accepted, no questions asked. I have never been more excited! Tomorrow I return from my break to the med/surg unit and will tell my current manager that I'm transfering, then I'll be up on the oncology floor hopefully by the end of October!
I will miss the nurses I work with, but I am so ready to move on, to learn more, to grow, and have new experiences with new people. I know that I will love it. Already I love it, my heart and head are already there. Cancer is probably the most devastating disease to have, the treatments are worse, and there are so many different types to be afraid of. You can be carrying out your life one day, then the next you're diagnosed with cancer, and don't know what the future holds. I cannot wait to be the person there for the family and patient who are having a difficult time, that is what I live for. I want to be their comfort, ears, knowledge, confidence.
The nurses are all very involved in fundraisers, walks, rides for cancer research funds, and I am looking forward to becoming involved in making a bigger difference. They do pet therapy twice a week with a golden retriever and a little beagle, which is amazing. I have decided to enroll my lab in a program to get him certified to become a pet therapy dog, he would be wonderful, and bring such joy to people in one of their darkest and most difficult times.
Getting this job has strengthened my belief that anything is achievable if we are patient, work as hard as we can to make our dreams come true, and ask for help along the way. This past weekend my fiance and I did a 76 mile charity bike ride benefitting Easter Seals of NC, a group who assists people with CP. It was an event and experience I will never forget, and I will always cherist. One of my favorite quotes from the weekend was this said by Christopher Reeve, "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable." IMPOSSIBLE IS NOTHING.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Life is beautiful
Oddly enough, the day that I wrote the previous post, one of our long time patients on the unit had passed away, and another one of my patients crashed. I couldn't help but think I had sensed it, felt it coming. I hadn't felt right all day. I wasn't necessarily in a bad mood, just down, and very tired. Not just tired, drained. Hind sight is 20/20, but this seemed more than coincidence.
I knew one of our patients we had cared for for over a month on our floor was in the ICU for liver failure. He had his transplant a couple years back, but the new liver was being rejected by his own body. While on our unit the doctors tried several procedures to save the liver, but nothing took. We all knew the day would come when we would have to call a "rapid response" and get him moved to the ICU. I knew he had been in the ICU for about a week or so, and I could not stop thinking about him the night before work. I thought about how much he and his wife loved one another. They were both in their 50's with two grown children. I would often hear them from the other side of the unit laughing and giving each other grief when they lost a card game. I was moved by their love for one another. His wife was there everyday, we had to beg her to leave and get some rest. She was in it for better or worse.
I came to work Thursday planning to buy him and his wife a card to have the nurses sign to know we were praying for them, and admired their love for each other. I asked our secretary to see which room he was in in the ICU next door so I could go visit him. When his name came up on the screen, a number "3" was next to it. He had passed away on Wednesday afternoon. I was heartbroken for his family, namely his wife who had seen him cured of alcoholism, get a liver transplant, and then saw him through the liver failure. I felt helpless because I knew I couldn't do anything to help her through her grief. Sometimes all we have is prayer.
I knew one of our patients we had cared for for over a month on our floor was in the ICU for liver failure. He had his transplant a couple years back, but the new liver was being rejected by his own body. While on our unit the doctors tried several procedures to save the liver, but nothing took. We all knew the day would come when we would have to call a "rapid response" and get him moved to the ICU. I knew he had been in the ICU for about a week or so, and I could not stop thinking about him the night before work. I thought about how much he and his wife loved one another. They were both in their 50's with two grown children. I would often hear them from the other side of the unit laughing and giving each other grief when they lost a card game. I was moved by their love for one another. His wife was there everyday, we had to beg her to leave and get some rest. She was in it for better or worse.
I came to work Thursday planning to buy him and his wife a card to have the nurses sign to know we were praying for them, and admired their love for each other. I asked our secretary to see which room he was in in the ICU next door so I could go visit him. When his name came up on the screen, a number "3" was next to it. He had passed away on Wednesday afternoon. I was heartbroken for his family, namely his wife who had seen him cured of alcoholism, get a liver transplant, and then saw him through the liver failure. I felt helpless because I knew I couldn't do anything to help her through her grief. Sometimes all we have is prayer.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
For Better or For Worse
As my wedding date approaches, and as I have new experiences at the hospital, I can't help but think more and more about what being married really means. None of the superficial, all that we spend months planning, matters after the wedding. What matters are the promises, the vows, the oaths, that you will love this one person, care for this one person, and stand beside and behind this person for the rest of your lives, however long or short that may be.
Nothing about life is certain. I see this everytime I come to work. You graduate college, get a job, get married, and expect it all to go as planned. The truth is, life is extremely fragile. Life is not something to be played with, not something to be wasted. You get one body, one soul, one life, and one chance to make it count.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Inspired
This is my third night shift this week, and may I remind you that I don't usually work these. I am, by trade, a day shift RN, but decided to help out my fellow nurses. It really is a whole different world. The care is the same, the acuity doesn't change, but fewer people are around to crowd the halls.
I am fortunate enough to work somewhere where each person helps the next. You will never here "That's not MY patient!" Each person on the unit is everyone's responsibility, and we treat it as such. There is no time to decide whether or not to help, we just do it, and I would like to think that is due to our compassion, not just our instinct.
Being night shift, I had some free time to finish my most recent book "A Big Little Life; A Memoir of a Joyful Dog" written by Dean Koontz. On the last page of the book, in the last chapter, there is a statement that sent shivers down my spine. I find it to be true, and wanted to share it. Don't over analyze it, just think about it a few seconds, and realize the magnitude of our responsibility to one another. By caring, we change lives everyday.
" ...because the only significant measure of your life is the positive effect you have on others, either by conscious acts of will or by unconscious example. Every smallest act of kindness- even just words of hope when they are needed, the remembrance of a birthday, the compliment that engenders a smile- has the potential to change the recipient's life."
I could not agree more.
I am fortunate enough to work somewhere where each person helps the next. You will never here "That's not MY patient!" Each person on the unit is everyone's responsibility, and we treat it as such. There is no time to decide whether or not to help, we just do it, and I would like to think that is due to our compassion, not just our instinct.
Being night shift, I had some free time to finish my most recent book "A Big Little Life; A Memoir of a Joyful Dog" written by Dean Koontz. On the last page of the book, in the last chapter, there is a statement that sent shivers down my spine. I find it to be true, and wanted to share it. Don't over analyze it, just think about it a few seconds, and realize the magnitude of our responsibility to one another. By caring, we change lives everyday.
" ...because the only significant measure of your life is the positive effect you have on others, either by conscious acts of will or by unconscious example. Every smallest act of kindness- even just words of hope when they are needed, the remembrance of a birthday, the compliment that engenders a smile- has the potential to change the recipient's life."
I could not agree more.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Back from the wild
I just returned from a week long vacation to Lake Tahoe, California where we stayed in a condo for two nights, and from there camped in Yosemite National Park, California for three nights. It was amazing. Everything was beautiful, and it was wonderful to get away. While there I discovered something about myself: I think a lot. Sounds weird, right? I found myself starring off into space or at the awesome scenery more than I was having conversations with the four other people I was with.
I do this because I feel peaceful. I am happy with my life, where I am, who I'm with, and where I hope to go. I am blessed with more love in my life than I thought any person could be, and I realized that even more this week. Something being a nurse has taught me is it is far better to listen than to speak. Just by being silent, watching, laying a hand on your patient, you learn so much more than my speaking. Daily I apply what I learned at the hospital to my life at home, and it goes both ways. By listening to what is not being said, by reading a person's expressions, by looking in their eyes to see if the light is present, you learn much more than by having a casual conversation.
When people come to the hospital they become so vulnerable. They are in a new surrounding with people and machines they are unfamiliar with. We bust into their rooms, expect them to undress in front of us, and forget they have insecurities and deserve privacy. I use the term "we" loosely because I try my best to offer as much privacy as possible. I knock and wait before I enter a room, peak around the corner and ask "Are you decent?". As nurses we forget that we are familiar with the surroundings of the hospital, it becomes like a second home to us where we know the location of important items, and we know what each piece of machinery and what each beep and light means. Remember to speak softly, explain each step of each procedure or medication, make sure all questions are addressed and answered, and listen ten times more than you speak.
I do this because I feel peaceful. I am happy with my life, where I am, who I'm with, and where I hope to go. I am blessed with more love in my life than I thought any person could be, and I realized that even more this week. Something being a nurse has taught me is it is far better to listen than to speak. Just by being silent, watching, laying a hand on your patient, you learn so much more than my speaking. Daily I apply what I learned at the hospital to my life at home, and it goes both ways. By listening to what is not being said, by reading a person's expressions, by looking in their eyes to see if the light is present, you learn much more than by having a casual conversation.
When people come to the hospital they become so vulnerable. They are in a new surrounding with people and machines they are unfamiliar with. We bust into their rooms, expect them to undress in front of us, and forget they have insecurities and deserve privacy. I use the term "we" loosely because I try my best to offer as much privacy as possible. I knock and wait before I enter a room, peak around the corner and ask "Are you decent?". As nurses we forget that we are familiar with the surroundings of the hospital, it becomes like a second home to us where we know the location of important items, and we know what each piece of machinery and what each beep and light means. Remember to speak softly, explain each step of each procedure or medication, make sure all questions are addressed and answered, and listen ten times more than you speak.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
As hard as I try to never think about work at home, I often find myself daydreaming about things that have happened at work. If I'm lucky, I share my humorous stories with friends, we have a laugh, and we move on. If it's been a particularly difficult day, however, I often have trouble falling asleep or my dreams are filled with events from the day.
Today, for whatever reason, I couldn't stop thinking about one women I took care of over two months ago. I don't remember age, but she was probably in her early forties, and had fallen out of bed at home while her caregiver was asleep. Other than being mentally delayed she had never had significant health problems up to this point.
The previous night I had left work knowing that when I returned the following morning there would be a new admission in the room for me to care for. I arrived to work at 6:45am and started report with the oncoming nurse at 7:10am. As we're standing at the chart and checking medications, I'm listening to what happened to this poor women and it sounds like something that could happen in a third world country, not in North Carolina.
She had fallen out of bed at home five days earlier, been admitted to a small community hospital about an hour north, and upon admission she had a completely broken tibia and fibula. The night nurse giving me report said that upon arriving to the room at our hospital her vitals were elevated, she had an intractable temp of 103, and her left leg was at a ninety degree angle to her knee. Within minutes of her admission our Orthopoedic docs had placed and plastered her leg, and were rightly disgusted at the other hospital's negligence.
Peering into the room I saw a trainwreck. She was on a cardiac monitor, 4 liters of oxygen, continuous pulse oximetry, an IV drip, her heart rate was 130, her respirations were 45 per minute,and suction was set up at her bedside. Her most recent temperature at 0700 was 38.5 C axillary which translates to 39.5 and is lethal if not treated promptly. This poor women had acquired a raging infection from lack of care, and she was now fighing for her life. Her docs were aware of the situation, but all we could do was watch and wait. For the next three hours I spend mere seconds with my other patients, and was in this women's room the rest of the time. I had been administering rectal tylenol and motrin alternately as well as packing her with ice, but nothing would take.
I had notified my charge nurse of the situation, and we were both calling the docs to suggest moving her to the MICU. As I was preparing another Tylenol suppository her sister came out of the room and said " I don't think she's breathing as fast as she was, and this monitor is making a funny noise." At this point I'm thinking that this is good, her heartrate is in the 70's now, she's breathing at about 12 respirations per minute, and when I check her temp, it's 37.0 axillary. Just as I'm starting to have hope, I realize she's not breathing, and now her heartrate is in the 40's. Obviously things were not going well. I called a code blue, everybody rushed to the room, and immediately chest compressions were started.
After coding her for 45 minutes and finding a pulse for a few seconds we sent her to the CCU. When I walked down to the floor she was now on, her room was crowded and they were coding her a second time. She didn't make it.
Why did I choose to post such a long story? Why does it matter? It matters because I could never shake the feeling that this women's life could have been drastically different had the docs at her previous hospital stepped up and taken care of her leg. She should have been in the OR the same day she arrived to their hospital. She shouldn't have suffered, and she shouldn't have died, not like that. I was angry the rest of the day, couldn't focus, and even now as I'm typing this, all the memories come back. I decided that the only way I can have an impact from here on is to learn from the experience, and advocate more for my patients. If one med isn't working, let's try another, and quickly. If a patient is decompensating, let's send her to the MICU now, and not wait. Unfortunately I don't have much pull in those situations. All I can do is keep going down the chain of command until I get someone to listen to me, and more often than not that takes too long, and we've lost precious time.
With the bad comes the good, and I have had so many wonderful experiences since that day. There are always those patients that stay with you, and change your title from caregiver to advocate.
Today, for whatever reason, I couldn't stop thinking about one women I took care of over two months ago. I don't remember age, but she was probably in her early forties, and had fallen out of bed at home while her caregiver was asleep. Other than being mentally delayed she had never had significant health problems up to this point.
The previous night I had left work knowing that when I returned the following morning there would be a new admission in the room for me to care for. I arrived to work at 6:45am and started report with the oncoming nurse at 7:10am. As we're standing at the chart and checking medications, I'm listening to what happened to this poor women and it sounds like something that could happen in a third world country, not in North Carolina.
She had fallen out of bed at home five days earlier, been admitted to a small community hospital about an hour north, and upon admission she had a completely broken tibia and fibula. The night nurse giving me report said that upon arriving to the room at our hospital her vitals were elevated, she had an intractable temp of 103, and her left leg was at a ninety degree angle to her knee. Within minutes of her admission our Orthopoedic docs had placed and plastered her leg, and were rightly disgusted at the other hospital's negligence.
Peering into the room I saw a trainwreck. She was on a cardiac monitor, 4 liters of oxygen, continuous pulse oximetry, an IV drip, her heart rate was 130, her respirations were 45 per minute,and suction was set up at her bedside. Her most recent temperature at 0700 was 38.5 C axillary which translates to 39.5 and is lethal if not treated promptly. This poor women had acquired a raging infection from lack of care, and she was now fighing for her life. Her docs were aware of the situation, but all we could do was watch and wait. For the next three hours I spend mere seconds with my other patients, and was in this women's room the rest of the time. I had been administering rectal tylenol and motrin alternately as well as packing her with ice, but nothing would take.
I had notified my charge nurse of the situation, and we were both calling the docs to suggest moving her to the MICU. As I was preparing another Tylenol suppository her sister came out of the room and said " I don't think she's breathing as fast as she was, and this monitor is making a funny noise." At this point I'm thinking that this is good, her heartrate is in the 70's now, she's breathing at about 12 respirations per minute, and when I check her temp, it's 37.0 axillary. Just as I'm starting to have hope, I realize she's not breathing, and now her heartrate is in the 40's. Obviously things were not going well. I called a code blue, everybody rushed to the room, and immediately chest compressions were started.
After coding her for 45 minutes and finding a pulse for a few seconds we sent her to the CCU. When I walked down to the floor she was now on, her room was crowded and they were coding her a second time. She didn't make it.
Why did I choose to post such a long story? Why does it matter? It matters because I could never shake the feeling that this women's life could have been drastically different had the docs at her previous hospital stepped up and taken care of her leg. She should have been in the OR the same day she arrived to their hospital. She shouldn't have suffered, and she shouldn't have died, not like that. I was angry the rest of the day, couldn't focus, and even now as I'm typing this, all the memories come back. I decided that the only way I can have an impact from here on is to learn from the experience, and advocate more for my patients. If one med isn't working, let's try another, and quickly. If a patient is decompensating, let's send her to the MICU now, and not wait. Unfortunately I don't have much pull in those situations. All I can do is keep going down the chain of command until I get someone to listen to me, and more often than not that takes too long, and we've lost precious time.
With the bad comes the good, and I have had so many wonderful experiences since that day. There are always those patients that stay with you, and change your title from caregiver to advocate.
I'll be taking care of you today.
Becoming a nurse was never truly a choice, but an inborn need to help people return to a normal life, or cope with the new life they must accept. I make it a point to find humor in the most awkward of situations, and to find peace when everything is falling apart. In this blog you will find stories of patients who touched me with their kind words, their acceptance of a terminal illness, humorous moments, and examples of how the human condition unites families.
While some posts may be sad, some frustrating, and some hilarious, others will simply be what the title suggests. They will be tales from the bedside of those people I have cared for. True identities will never be used, but diagnoses, symptoms, treatments, and my role in their care will be honest and factual. My goal for this blog is for readers to enjoy learning and understanding what being an RN is all about. I hope that the reasons I love my job will pour out of the stories, and no person will walk away from their screen feeling empty, but thankful for the life they have.
While some posts may be sad, some frustrating, and some hilarious, others will simply be what the title suggests. They will be tales from the bedside of those people I have cared for. True identities will never be used, but diagnoses, symptoms, treatments, and my role in their care will be honest and factual. My goal for this blog is for readers to enjoy learning and understanding what being an RN is all about. I hope that the reasons I love my job will pour out of the stories, and no person will walk away from their screen feeling empty, but thankful for the life they have.
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