There is one part of my job I absolutly hate.
Here's the scenerio:
Middle age (mid thirties) woman suffering from a form of cancer comes into the hospital with pneumonia. She has two daughters, both under the age of 15, and a husband who loves her like she's the only woman in the world (and to him, she truly is). However, after arrival, her condition quickly worsens and she is intubated and placed on a ventilator. Many treatments are started, tests are ordered, and doctors are puzzled. On the second night I am caring for her, her health takes another turn for the worse. However, the changes are nothing we haven't seen before, and thanks to my schooling I know just what ventilator changes need to be made to correct the rising carbon dioxide levels in her blood. Doctors order the changes, they are quickly made, and we wait. Levels are retested: carbon dioxide is going up instead of down. Her blood is becoming more acidic. Doctors order more changes to the ventilators. We wait. More tests; more bad news. One more set of changes, we aren't ready to give up yet. Carbon dioxide keeps rising. The doctors call a meeting with the husband. He's not ready, but he knows he has to say goodbye.
It's about two in the morning. Her husband doesn't want to call anyone, becuase that would mean leaving her side for even just a few minutes. No, he will wait until she's gone, he wants to have the last few minutes with her alone. Then I get called in. It's what they call a "terminal extubation." We pull the tube and turn off the breathing machine. The nurses have given meds to make sure she stays comfortable, like she's sleeping. Walking into that room, I feel like Jack the Ripper. He's holding her hand, saying "I love you" over and over with tears running down his cheeks.
I leave as quietly as I entered, and watch the monitors from outside as her heart rate slows. Fifteen minutes later, she's gone.
Every day I see anywhere from 5 to 35 patients. The majority of them greatly benifit from the treatments I deliver. A handful of those really could die without what we do. A few times I have made a change or noticed a need that truly has saved a life.
But that doesn't make nights like this any easier. It only teaches me to cherish life, and the ones I love, and the ones who love me, and would hold my hand refusing to leave, even to make a phone call.
Find a way to cherish life today. Find a way to love someone a little harder today. I double dog dare you.
I am confident that the family had no better nurse in their room that night than you! You are compassionate and caring ... just what they needed. Big hugs to you!
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