in which i talk about death...good times!
my life feels somewhat crowded with other people's tragedy at the moment. i feel cluttered with bad emotions even though nothing bad has happened to me or my family.
being an oncology nurse is hard. there is a lot of death. there are also a lot of people dealing with death and dying a lot earlier than they should have to. recently, we have had a spate of people in their thirties who are dying from their cancer on our unit. we held a wedding. we allowed a patient's 14 month old son to visit.
then, we had a horrible emergency overnight on Sunday. i wasn't there to witness it, for which i am shamefully grateful. he was my patient during the day. when i turned him over to the night nurse, he had enjoyed a great day with his family. he was stable and seemingly well on the road to recovery. yesterday morning, i came in and found that he had bled to death overnight, totally unexpectedly.
when a patient is dying from cancer, there is a process. much of the process is dictated by the patient-- everyone takes their cues from the patient for the most part. as a nurse, i have a very different role for a dying patient than for a patient who is expected to make a partial or total recovery. when someone is dying, i invest my energy in making the patient comfortable, talking with the patient and/or the patient's family about their emotional needs, finding opportunities for joy and closure. creating peace.
when i am taking care of a patient who is expected to recover (not be cured from their disease, necessarily, but make it out of the hospital and enjoy a reasonable quality of life), my role is very different. i am a cheerleader, a drill sargeant, a nurturing mama, i am whatever the patient needs to get them to participate in their own recovery. i am always striving for more-- stay out of bed longer, take another walk, eat some more soup, learn how to care for your drain, your incision, your tracheostomy. i push. i talk to patients about what they want to do when they get out; some patients need the inspiration. you want to cook dinner for your wife on her birthday? great, you'd better work with physical therapy to get your strength back. i imagine the life they are going to lead when they are discharged so that i can trouble shoot what they need to be able to do when they leave (they live in a 4th floor walk up... are they strong enough to climb stairs?).
so for me, when a patient dies out of the blue, in addition to the sadness i feel for the patient and family, there is this jarring tangle of emotions as i try to process the abrupt loss of this life i have imagined and invested in.
and all of this has been much changed by my becoming a parent. life just seems like such a precious commodity.
then, we have the strange tragedy befalling the staff. two of our techs lost their husbands in the last six months, quite suddenly. one of our techs has bilateral breast cancer, and one of our nurses just found out his 31 year old wife has a massive brain tumor. they have a three month old baby.
it is so awful there are no words.
all i really want to do is take the baby and get out of the city. go to the beach, go to the mountains. i want to run away from these stories. i want to purge my brain so i can just be present without all of this encroaching fear and darkness.
i am sorry i missed the burn this year. i may have a burn of my own, a personal burn on my back patio. i just need to wipe things clean...
being an oncology nurse is hard. there is a lot of death. there are also a lot of people dealing with death and dying a lot earlier than they should have to. recently, we have had a spate of people in their thirties who are dying from their cancer on our unit. we held a wedding. we allowed a patient's 14 month old son to visit.
then, we had a horrible emergency overnight on Sunday. i wasn't there to witness it, for which i am shamefully grateful. he was my patient during the day. when i turned him over to the night nurse, he had enjoyed a great day with his family. he was stable and seemingly well on the road to recovery. yesterday morning, i came in and found that he had bled to death overnight, totally unexpectedly.
when a patient is dying from cancer, there is a process. much of the process is dictated by the patient-- everyone takes their cues from the patient for the most part. as a nurse, i have a very different role for a dying patient than for a patient who is expected to make a partial or total recovery. when someone is dying, i invest my energy in making the patient comfortable, talking with the patient and/or the patient's family about their emotional needs, finding opportunities for joy and closure. creating peace.
when i am taking care of a patient who is expected to recover (not be cured from their disease, necessarily, but make it out of the hospital and enjoy a reasonable quality of life), my role is very different. i am a cheerleader, a drill sargeant, a nurturing mama, i am whatever the patient needs to get them to participate in their own recovery. i am always striving for more-- stay out of bed longer, take another walk, eat some more soup, learn how to care for your drain, your incision, your tracheostomy. i push. i talk to patients about what they want to do when they get out; some patients need the inspiration. you want to cook dinner for your wife on her birthday? great, you'd better work with physical therapy to get your strength back. i imagine the life they are going to lead when they are discharged so that i can trouble shoot what they need to be able to do when they leave (they live in a 4th floor walk up... are they strong enough to climb stairs?).
so for me, when a patient dies out of the blue, in addition to the sadness i feel for the patient and family, there is this jarring tangle of emotions as i try to process the abrupt loss of this life i have imagined and invested in.
and all of this has been much changed by my becoming a parent. life just seems like such a precious commodity.
then, we have the strange tragedy befalling the staff. two of our techs lost their husbands in the last six months, quite suddenly. one of our techs has bilateral breast cancer, and one of our nurses just found out his 31 year old wife has a massive brain tumor. they have a three month old baby.
it is so awful there are no words.
all i really want to do is take the baby and get out of the city. go to the beach, go to the mountains. i want to run away from these stories. i want to purge my brain so i can just be present without all of this encroaching fear and darkness.
i am sorry i missed the burn this year. i may have a burn of my own, a personal burn on my back patio. i just need to wipe things clean...