Thoughts...
So there was a "debriefing" this morning at Children's regarding Sarah's death. It was really much less informative than a get-together that Kyle's program director held last night for the rest of the interns. Still no word yet, but it's a coroners case (unexplained death and all) so we'll definitely get an answer. They are supposed to release her body today, and then the family is going to see her for a while before she is cremated (her wishes, I'm told). There will be a service on Friday in.... Hooverville? Somewhere "outside of Oberlin". I didn't realize you could be "outside of Oberlin"
I'm doing ok, I suppose. Kyle is doing pretty well actually. The interesting thing is that nobody knew her all that well. I mean, there's an obvious loss because they were just a small group of 7. Now it will be "the 7 of you, I mean 6"... awkward stuff like that. But honestly, when we were all together last night it wasn't glaringly obvious that she was missing, because it's USUALLY just the rest of the group. I think one of the girls is having a REALLY tough morning today, though, because she was currently on the same team as Sarah. That will be a constant reminder, as they have to rearrange assignments, cover for her patients, deliver a standard line (whatever that may be) to her patients, etc.
The residents are really coming together to support each other beautifully. An email went out yesterday at about 6am after resuscitation failed (45 minutes) and 20 residents who were not scheduled showed up just to see where they could help the hospital. Kyle was able to come home last night instead of being on call because people stepped in and filled in for the med-peds interns.
The Peds residents are really being wonderfully supportive. Truthfully though, the ones that need even more support than the med-peds interns are the folks who were on call Saturday night with Sarah and had to be involved in the resuscitation efforts. I can't imagine their shock. They would have gone in to wake her up thinking she left her pager somewhere or the battery had died. And then I'm sure chaos broke loose. We're told that the senior who found her just yelled down the hall and woke all of the on-call residents in the nearby hallways to respond until the code team could get there. I hope that that group gets some counseling, honestly. As bad as this sounds, it's really never a shock to run a code in a hospital setting. It's sad, it's stressful, but it's expected. But probably not on a young adult, in a call room that you might have just slept in last month.
The real kicker, however, for most of us is just that whole reality shock thing that happens when someone you can too closely identify with dies. I guess that I have actually had a substantial number of people close to me die. There are obviously a "typical" range of emotions and thoughts you deal with, but when it's someone close to you the sole focus, for a while anyway, is the loss of THAT person. How much you will miss them, the void they will leave.
This has been so different for me, and Marti hit the nail on the head, it "shook us to the core". It's just too easy to relate to Sarah's husband Matt. I freaking HATE Kyle's call nights. I hate that he isn't home to kiss me goodnight. I hate that I'm scared in an empty house when I hear the slightest noise. I hate that I have to go so long before seeing him again, when I'm used to seeing him every day. But there is always the same conversation ending that makes it not all that big a deal, "I'll be home early tomorrow though, and we can hang out". Or, "but I'll be post call, so I'll be there when you get home".
Amanda, a friend of mine and the chief resident of the medicine-pediatrics program was with Matt yesterday morning. She said he spent a little bit of time reminiscing, story-telling. They were high school sweethearts. He was a year ahead of her, and twice had to start school (undergrad and law school) and move home to wait for her because he missed her. They first went on a double date, and Sarah ended up pursuing him because she liked him better than her date.
But before he was able to even talk about her, he said something to this effect. And this is what gets me every time, and probably will for as long as I remember it.
"Amanda, I don't know what to do. Not with the big issues, just right now. Sarah was my best friend as much as she was my wife. She was the one person who knew everything, who I talked to first -- good or bad. Quite often, she was the only one I needed, so the only one I talked to. Now what?"
Oh, how I can relate to this. I have wonderful friends. I DO tend to tell you all lots of stuff. I trust that if something gigantic ever unfolded I could call some of them at any time, and they would be there to listen. Hell, I could probably show up on their doorstep and they'd eventually forgive me
But, as much as I appreciate and adore you all, I can relate to this. I DON'T call up my friends with news, good and bad. I talk to Kyle. He talks to me. We don't call our families with much other than small talk. It's not that we don't want to, it's just that we don't often need to. Please don't take this wrong, and think we're unhealthily dependent on one another. It's just true, as cliche as it might be -- we were best friends first, and I would be lost without him.
So I am just in this weird limbo sort of place. I've never been touched by someone's death that I truthfully won't "miss" in my own life, but this is seeing things from a totally different angle. I'm concerned for the program directors, and all the logistics they'll have to handle. I'm concerned for the peds residents, who are friends to us, and the things they'll have to see and talk about and handle over the next few weeks. I'm concerned about all the things that the people closest to someone who dies really don't always think about, and who obviously should never be bothered with.
But when I think of Matt, my heart just absolutely melts. It is gut-wrenching, and leaves me a sobbing mess. I guess it's the feeling parents of high-schoolers get when there is a shooting at a high school across the country. Or the family of firefighters, armed forces, etc get when they hear all too often about a death of someone they didn't know at all. But it's something I'm just close enough to to be reminded of for a long time. Very often, we hear something on the news and we struggle with it, come to terms with it, sympathize and fairly quickly move on, as soon as the media lets something go. But this is just enough a part of my life and the residents lives that it will be unavoidable for a much longer period of time.
They're turning the wing of call rooms into some storage closets, at least for the next several years. There are lots of events that the med-peds interns and their families are expected to go to "in support of their program" that honestly sound like they are just going to drag out the whole process and completely overwhelm people this entire holiday season. There are interview dinners we have to go to where we will constantly be reminded because they will feel an obligation to share (in limited detail) what the program is going through. And then there's Matt. In a few months, we're helping him move back home. He obviously can't live on the same budget, nor does he have anyone in Cincinnati worth staying around for. But how do you help someone pack up and leave their home that they had with their wife? What do you do with the ornament that says 'our first christmas together' when you know that they never got to have that Christmas? That's the crap I can't handle very well.
I lost my best friend in the world to Cystic Fibrosis when I was 13. I lost another dear friend my freshman year in college and yet another 2 years ago, both to car accidents. It's always hard, but I'm a different person than I was then, with a different role in life. I can't believe how mushy and silly and cliche and perhaps just stupid this is going to sound, but I've written a novel already -- why not finish with a doozy It's different when you're faced with the idea of losing a spouse. And, I'm sure, even insanely different when you're faced with the idea of losing a child. The love that you have for those people in your life (well, or some people have anyway) is incomprehensibly different than the love you have for friends. At least the love I have for my friends, maybe it's just me.
I really appreciate all of your support. When Kyle called and told me this news I was a rock, and thought I would be the greatest support person throughout this whole thing. I hardly even knew the girl, but I know very well all of the interns. A perfect situation to show support for people you love, when you aren't knee-deep in loss yourself. And I guess that's still my role. I think that's why I'm rambling here, because it's my outlet. Kyle actually tried to talk with me last night because he is really handling this well, but he just made me crazy. Men are on such a different planet it isn't even funny :)
Hug those you love extra tight today. I know I will be!
I'm doing ok, I suppose. Kyle is doing pretty well actually. The interesting thing is that nobody knew her all that well. I mean, there's an obvious loss because they were just a small group of 7. Now it will be "the 7 of you, I mean 6"... awkward stuff like that. But honestly, when we were all together last night it wasn't glaringly obvious that she was missing, because it's USUALLY just the rest of the group. I think one of the girls is having a REALLY tough morning today, though, because she was currently on the same team as Sarah. That will be a constant reminder, as they have to rearrange assignments, cover for her patients, deliver a standard line (whatever that may be) to her patients, etc.
The residents are really coming together to support each other beautifully. An email went out yesterday at about 6am after resuscitation failed (45 minutes) and 20 residents who were not scheduled showed up just to see where they could help the hospital. Kyle was able to come home last night instead of being on call because people stepped in and filled in for the med-peds interns.
The Peds residents are really being wonderfully supportive. Truthfully though, the ones that need even more support than the med-peds interns are the folks who were on call Saturday night with Sarah and had to be involved in the resuscitation efforts. I can't imagine their shock. They would have gone in to wake her up thinking she left her pager somewhere or the battery had died. And then I'm sure chaos broke loose. We're told that the senior who found her just yelled down the hall and woke all of the on-call residents in the nearby hallways to respond until the code team could get there. I hope that that group gets some counseling, honestly. As bad as this sounds, it's really never a shock to run a code in a hospital setting. It's sad, it's stressful, but it's expected. But probably not on a young adult, in a call room that you might have just slept in last month.
The real kicker, however, for most of us is just that whole reality shock thing that happens when someone you can too closely identify with dies. I guess that I have actually had a substantial number of people close to me die. There are obviously a "typical" range of emotions and thoughts you deal with, but when it's someone close to you the sole focus, for a while anyway, is the loss of THAT person. How much you will miss them, the void they will leave.
This has been so different for me, and Marti hit the nail on the head, it "shook us to the core". It's just too easy to relate to Sarah's husband Matt. I freaking HATE Kyle's call nights. I hate that he isn't home to kiss me goodnight. I hate that I'm scared in an empty house when I hear the slightest noise. I hate that I have to go so long before seeing him again, when I'm used to seeing him every day. But there is always the same conversation ending that makes it not all that big a deal, "I'll be home early tomorrow though, and we can hang out". Or, "but I'll be post call, so I'll be there when you get home".
Amanda, a friend of mine and the chief resident of the medicine-pediatrics program was with Matt yesterday morning. She said he spent a little bit of time reminiscing, story-telling. They were high school sweethearts. He was a year ahead of her, and twice had to start school (undergrad and law school) and move home to wait for her because he missed her. They first went on a double date, and Sarah ended up pursuing him because she liked him better than her date.
But before he was able to even talk about her, he said something to this effect. And this is what gets me every time, and probably will for as long as I remember it.
"Amanda, I don't know what to do. Not with the big issues, just right now. Sarah was my best friend as much as she was my wife. She was the one person who knew everything, who I talked to first -- good or bad. Quite often, she was the only one I needed, so the only one I talked to. Now what?"
Oh, how I can relate to this. I have wonderful friends. I DO tend to tell you all lots of stuff. I trust that if something gigantic ever unfolded I could call some of them at any time, and they would be there to listen. Hell, I could probably show up on their doorstep and they'd eventually forgive me
But, as much as I appreciate and adore you all, I can relate to this. I DON'T call up my friends with news, good and bad. I talk to Kyle. He talks to me. We don't call our families with much other than small talk. It's not that we don't want to, it's just that we don't often need to. Please don't take this wrong, and think we're unhealthily dependent on one another. It's just true, as cliche as it might be -- we were best friends first, and I would be lost without him.
So I am just in this weird limbo sort of place. I've never been touched by someone's death that I truthfully won't "miss" in my own life, but this is seeing things from a totally different angle. I'm concerned for the program directors, and all the logistics they'll have to handle. I'm concerned for the peds residents, who are friends to us, and the things they'll have to see and talk about and handle over the next few weeks. I'm concerned about all the things that the people closest to someone who dies really don't always think about, and who obviously should never be bothered with.
But when I think of Matt, my heart just absolutely melts. It is gut-wrenching, and leaves me a sobbing mess. I guess it's the feeling parents of high-schoolers get when there is a shooting at a high school across the country. Or the family of firefighters, armed forces, etc get when they hear all too often about a death of someone they didn't know at all. But it's something I'm just close enough to to be reminded of for a long time. Very often, we hear something on the news and we struggle with it, come to terms with it, sympathize and fairly quickly move on, as soon as the media lets something go. But this is just enough a part of my life and the residents lives that it will be unavoidable for a much longer period of time.
They're turning the wing of call rooms into some storage closets, at least for the next several years. There are lots of events that the med-peds interns and their families are expected to go to "in support of their program" that honestly sound like they are just going to drag out the whole process and completely overwhelm people this entire holiday season. There are interview dinners we have to go to where we will constantly be reminded because they will feel an obligation to share (in limited detail) what the program is going through. And then there's Matt. In a few months, we're helping him move back home. He obviously can't live on the same budget, nor does he have anyone in Cincinnati worth staying around for. But how do you help someone pack up and leave their home that they had with their wife? What do you do with the ornament that says 'our first christmas together' when you know that they never got to have that Christmas? That's the crap I can't handle very well.
I lost my best friend in the world to Cystic Fibrosis when I was 13. I lost another dear friend my freshman year in college and yet another 2 years ago, both to car accidents. It's always hard, but I'm a different person than I was then, with a different role in life. I can't believe how mushy and silly and cliche and perhaps just stupid this is going to sound, but I've written a novel already -- why not finish with a doozy It's different when you're faced with the idea of losing a spouse. And, I'm sure, even insanely different when you're faced with the idea of losing a child. The love that you have for those people in your life (well, or some people have anyway) is incomprehensibly different than the love you have for friends. At least the love I have for my friends, maybe it's just me.
I really appreciate all of your support. When Kyle called and told me this news I was a rock, and thought I would be the greatest support person throughout this whole thing. I hardly even knew the girl, but I know very well all of the interns. A perfect situation to show support for people you love, when you aren't knee-deep in loss yourself. And I guess that's still my role. I think that's why I'm rambling here, because it's my outlet. Kyle actually tried to talk with me last night because he is really handling this well, but he just made me crazy. Men are on such a different planet it isn't even funny :)
Hug those you love extra tight today. I know I will be!