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tamingthemuse2007-03-26 05:10 am
dedra.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2007-03-26 05:10 am
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Title: Hope
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Fandom: None
Rating: G
Summary: Every nurse has that one patient that she will never forget. This is my unforgetable patient.
Author's note: Not necessarily graphic, but does have some medical terms in it. This is a true story, although the names have been changed. Sometimes the difficult patients are the ones that are the most rewarding.
Nursing school isn’t easy. They deliberately make it difficult and stressful to weed out the slackers, the excitable ones, and the ones who will never cut it in a million years. They want the best out there on the floor to care for the sick and dying, even if they have to make you suffer to figure out if you are one of the lucky ones.
Lucky? Yes. Lucky enough to hold a life in your hand and not falter. Lucky enough to make the right call at the right time and never stumble in your quest for excellence. Lucky enough to pass all the tests and perform all the practical examinations and still be willing to do the job and do it right.
Luck, however, has very little to do with it. It’s more guts than luck. You either do it all the way, with your heart and soul, or not at all. You’re either in the job for the gratification of that one smile, that one statement, that one thank you in a ten-year career, or you’re in it to meet a rich doctor and go home with the diamond for a prize.
You either bat a thousand or nil. You can’t have it both ways.
One of the most memorable patients that I ever chanced to have made me open my eyes to the reasons that I was a nurse and not a doctor. Don’t get me wrong; I have the intelligence and the grades to be in med school—I chose not to be. I choose to see my patients as people and not diseases to be treated. I choose to see my patients as individuals and not another case. I choose to see my coworkers as helpers instead of irritants and hindrances to a good night’s sleep. That’s my choice and it’s a conscious decision, one that I made long ago.
I’ll call my patient Hope, although that isn’t her real name. She was hope personified. She hoped every day that she would be able to conquer the cancer that riddled her body and made her surgery one of the quickest on record in our hospital. She prayed that her family would not suffer through endless nights in the hospital. She blessed each one of us lucky enough to take care of her.
She was the most hopeless case that I ever worked on in my life and I feel blessed—blessed—to have cared for her.
She had an open abdominal wound that made an experienced nurse like me cringe inside, with dressing changes ordered every four hours around the clock. It certainly wasn’t the worst that I’d ever seen, but it was the look on her face that would cause the flinch that I frequently had to suppress. It was the face of hope. Hope that she was getting better. Hope that the tubes could come out and she could go home. Hope that I could give her some good news instead of telling her the awful truth.
I had to go to the chapel after every dressing change to cry. It was the only place that I could go, questioning my beliefs and my faith in a God that could allow such a thing to happen to His child. It seemed to make me stronger instead of weaker.
Hope had this habit while she was sleeping, what little she did sleep. She would flinch and cry out in pain, even though she kept telling us that she wasn’t having any pain. When I finally caught her awake in the middle of a long night shift, she ultimately confessed the truth to me and to her husband who never left her side.
Because she was overweight and her body was so cancer-riddled that it couldn’t process the drugs they used, she was awake for her surgery. She described everything that she could hear. The song by Diana Ross on the radio. The discussion about the upcoming weekend by the staff surrounding her bed, gowned and masked for the procedure. The dismay of the doctor when she cut deep into flesh and found more cancer than healthy tissue. Every word that had been said, everything that had been done, she was conscious and awake for.
She said that every time that she fell asleep, she felt the pain again.
To me, this was intolerable. I went back through records, pouring over her operative reports from the anesthesiologists and proving without a doubt that she was awake. I talked to doctors, managers, and counselors, did research on the Internet, and spoke to the husband. I even managed to convince them that indeed, she had been awake for the procedure.
It was then, at that pivotal moment when I stood up for one who couldn’t stand up for herself, that I was accused of being too close to my patient. It was suggested that I was becoming ‘emotionally invested’ in my patient and should be taken off her case permanently.
Nothing has ever angered me more and I was quick to tell them exactly that. I cited journal articles that stated that nurses who care about their patients provide better nursing care to the patients. I wrote letters that used our hospital’s ‘core values’ as a touchstone to prove my point and put them in each doctor’s mailbox. I even got the other nurses on my shift involved, as well as the priest that served our hospital.
I won my case. I was Hope’s nurse, every night that I worked. No matter where I was assigned, she was my patient. Not only by my request, but also by hers.
Hope and I grew quite close in the short time that she was in my care. I brought her a guardian angel one night and prayed with her, pinning it to her gown and telling her that the angel would guard over her sleep. She told me that morning that it was the first night that she hadn’t dreamed of her surgery since it had happened.
One night, I arrived at work to have the nurses from the previous shift meet me at the elevator door. “Hope is asking for you.” With my heart in my throat, I went to her room at the end of the hall and knocked on the door. I saw two weeping men at the end of the bed and I knew in my heart that the end had come.
They turned to me and opened their arms and I stepped into their family circle without hesitation. Then I heard her calling my name and went to her side.
“I waited for you to come on duty.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Thank you. You made this bearable. You cared and you believed me. I knew that you would.”
“Are you hurting, Hope?”
“No. I feel pretty good right now. Goodbye.”
She took a breath, let out a sigh, and she was gone.
With shaky hands, I took the angel off her gown and handed it to her husband John. He clasped it in his palm, then hugged me fiercely before whispering, “I’m going to have this buried with her. That way you’ll always be by her side.”
To some, that may seem morbid. To me, it was the greatest gift that he could have given me.
Some days you bat a thousand. Some days you have to admit defeat. Sometimes, death is a blessing. I can’t say that every night is easy, or say that sometimes I wonder why I picked nursing for a career.
I can say, however, that I wouldn’t give it up for the world. If not because of the lives that I will touch, then only because of Hope.
Author:
spikespetslayerFandom: None
Rating: G
Summary: Every nurse has that one patient that she will never forget. This is my unforgetable patient.
Author's note: Not necessarily graphic, but does have some medical terms in it. This is a true story, although the names have been changed. Sometimes the difficult patients are the ones that are the most rewarding.
Nursing school isn’t easy. They deliberately make it difficult and stressful to weed out the slackers, the excitable ones, and the ones who will never cut it in a million years. They want the best out there on the floor to care for the sick and dying, even if they have to make you suffer to figure out if you are one of the lucky ones.
Lucky? Yes. Lucky enough to hold a life in your hand and not falter. Lucky enough to make the right call at the right time and never stumble in your quest for excellence. Lucky enough to pass all the tests and perform all the practical examinations and still be willing to do the job and do it right.
Luck, however, has very little to do with it. It’s more guts than luck. You either do it all the way, with your heart and soul, or not at all. You’re either in the job for the gratification of that one smile, that one statement, that one thank you in a ten-year career, or you’re in it to meet a rich doctor and go home with the diamond for a prize.
You either bat a thousand or nil. You can’t have it both ways.
One of the most memorable patients that I ever chanced to have made me open my eyes to the reasons that I was a nurse and not a doctor. Don’t get me wrong; I have the intelligence and the grades to be in med school—I chose not to be. I choose to see my patients as people and not diseases to be treated. I choose to see my patients as individuals and not another case. I choose to see my coworkers as helpers instead of irritants and hindrances to a good night’s sleep. That’s my choice and it’s a conscious decision, one that I made long ago.
I’ll call my patient Hope, although that isn’t her real name. She was hope personified. She hoped every day that she would be able to conquer the cancer that riddled her body and made her surgery one of the quickest on record in our hospital. She prayed that her family would not suffer through endless nights in the hospital. She blessed each one of us lucky enough to take care of her.
She was the most hopeless case that I ever worked on in my life and I feel blessed—blessed—to have cared for her.
She had an open abdominal wound that made an experienced nurse like me cringe inside, with dressing changes ordered every four hours around the clock. It certainly wasn’t the worst that I’d ever seen, but it was the look on her face that would cause the flinch that I frequently had to suppress. It was the face of hope. Hope that she was getting better. Hope that the tubes could come out and she could go home. Hope that I could give her some good news instead of telling her the awful truth.
I had to go to the chapel after every dressing change to cry. It was the only place that I could go, questioning my beliefs and my faith in a God that could allow such a thing to happen to His child. It seemed to make me stronger instead of weaker.
Hope had this habit while she was sleeping, what little she did sleep. She would flinch and cry out in pain, even though she kept telling us that she wasn’t having any pain. When I finally caught her awake in the middle of a long night shift, she ultimately confessed the truth to me and to her husband who never left her side.
Because she was overweight and her body was so cancer-riddled that it couldn’t process the drugs they used, she was awake for her surgery. She described everything that she could hear. The song by Diana Ross on the radio. The discussion about the upcoming weekend by the staff surrounding her bed, gowned and masked for the procedure. The dismay of the doctor when she cut deep into flesh and found more cancer than healthy tissue. Every word that had been said, everything that had been done, she was conscious and awake for.
She said that every time that she fell asleep, she felt the pain again.
To me, this was intolerable. I went back through records, pouring over her operative reports from the anesthesiologists and proving without a doubt that she was awake. I talked to doctors, managers, and counselors, did research on the Internet, and spoke to the husband. I even managed to convince them that indeed, she had been awake for the procedure.
It was then, at that pivotal moment when I stood up for one who couldn’t stand up for herself, that I was accused of being too close to my patient. It was suggested that I was becoming ‘emotionally invested’ in my patient and should be taken off her case permanently.
Nothing has ever angered me more and I was quick to tell them exactly that. I cited journal articles that stated that nurses who care about their patients provide better nursing care to the patients. I wrote letters that used our hospital’s ‘core values’ as a touchstone to prove my point and put them in each doctor’s mailbox. I even got the other nurses on my shift involved, as well as the priest that served our hospital.
I won my case. I was Hope’s nurse, every night that I worked. No matter where I was assigned, she was my patient. Not only by my request, but also by hers.
Hope and I grew quite close in the short time that she was in my care. I brought her a guardian angel one night and prayed with her, pinning it to her gown and telling her that the angel would guard over her sleep. She told me that morning that it was the first night that she hadn’t dreamed of her surgery since it had happened.
One night, I arrived at work to have the nurses from the previous shift meet me at the elevator door. “Hope is asking for you.” With my heart in my throat, I went to her room at the end of the hall and knocked on the door. I saw two weeping men at the end of the bed and I knew in my heart that the end had come.
They turned to me and opened their arms and I stepped into their family circle without hesitation. Then I heard her calling my name and went to her side.
“I waited for you to come on duty.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Thank you. You made this bearable. You cared and you believed me. I knew that you would.”
“Are you hurting, Hope?”
“No. I feel pretty good right now. Goodbye.”
She took a breath, let out a sigh, and she was gone.
With shaky hands, I took the angel off her gown and handed it to her husband John. He clasped it in his palm, then hugged me fiercely before whispering, “I’m going to have this buried with her. That way you’ll always be by her side.”
To some, that may seem morbid. To me, it was the greatest gift that he could have given me.
Some days you bat a thousand. Some days you have to admit defeat. Sometimes, death is a blessing. I can’t say that every night is easy, or say that sometimes I wonder why I picked nursing for a career.
I can say, however, that I wouldn’t give it up for the world. If not because of the lives that I will touch, then only because of Hope.