36 hours later the patient was dead.
I actually knew this was coming. Or at least I figured the patient's days were numbered. Early in the morning on the night that I took care of him/her, the patient took a decided turn for the worse. I had to increase their oxygen, get a bunch of other respiratory stuff done quickly, and had the doctor come up to look at them because their breathing had changed so much in such a short period.
I left the hospital that day knowing that I had given the patient excellent care, but that the patient probably wouldn't survive until Christmas. I didn't give the patient a second thought until I came back to the hospital 36 hours later and heard they had just died.
I always knew that nursing had life and death ramifications, but somehow it seems different when there is a face attached to the dying--when you realize that your care actually made a difference in a patient's life span.
Sometimes, you are able to detach yourself from the death of a patient. You assume care knowing that your role is to make the patient as comfortable as possible and provide the family with as much support as you can. Sometimes, it's a code and you get caught up in the adrenaline rush. Sometimes, though, it catches you off guard. One day the patient is chatting with you and the next time you work, they are dead. It's final. There is no other solution.
It's inevitable that death will happen to all of us someday--really the only question is when? The Bible says, "Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave,where is thy victory..." (I Corinthians 15:55) I'm grateful that when death stares me in the face, it won't have the victory, because mine has already been won.
I promised a blog about all my experiences as a new nurse, death is one of those. The funny returns with the next post.
