old post...

here's an entry i wrote on my computer one day last month and never posted. by the way - i make it sound like everything I experience is awful - and that is hardly the case. there are many happy stories. one patient - a friend, really - walked out of the hospital after a 6 week stay. he came in with newly diagnosed AIDS and renal failure. he walked out with a smile. another lady who befriended me - a women in her 40s who gave me a rose from her collection of flowers every day to wear in my white coat. she always took the time to ask me how I was doing - and she really meant it. :) and many many more. plus there's the really awesome nursing and admin staff who give me hugs and snacks, and who told me over and over again (esp in the beginning) - "don't worry, you'll make it! :)" i guess it's just that i use this blog as an opportunity to process my thoughts out loud - so you tend to hear about the bad stuff. but really, my job runs the gamut of joy and ow-ies every day....

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Saturday night, on call. It’s about 9pm – my co-intern and I have just finished dinner. A yummy wrap and smoothie – at a great little shop which I reserve as my “treat” for weekend call nights. I don’t even remember what we were talking about – something about where he went to college, I think. With a bang the lounge door flies open – and the resident on call throws down his bag, mumbles, and runs out again. Both of us watch the door slam and stare. “Did he say there’s a code?”

“I think so, and he’s running,” my cointern replied.

We both run into the hallway, and look towards the room with the 50 y.o. female, recently diagnosed metastatic pancreatic cancer… and we both began to run.

The next 15 minutes were a blur. Chest compressions, central lines, Epi, monitor, rhythm check. “Bag the patient!” “Get out of the way!” “This is going to be over soon…”

And it was. While helping to clean up I heard the wail of a loving husband. The sound came from deep within his chest and filled the entire hallway with his grief. Just then, another woman – the deceased’s sister, and a young, 13 year old boy come running over. “Is she dead?” he screams, over and over. The broken father tries to comfort his son, but he is barely able to speak. “Please don’t run away,” he cries as he hugs his son to his chest.

“No, this is not life, this is a nightmare. I’m going to wake up and everything is going to be ok,” the boy begins to repeat, over and over again. “Give me a knife and a phone book. I NEED and knife and a phone book.”

I walked away – I could not share this family’s grief with them. I am too fragile.