I Want To Forget

I am a Trauma Nurse and I think something is wrong with me.

Lately, I wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes to go to the bathroom, but mostly just because I can’t sleep.  Tears flow very easily these days when I hear a touching story on a podcast, witness tender moments on television, or expose myself to the world tragedies broadcast on the evening news.  Eventually, it stops.  Eventually.

I don’t know when I got to be so sensitive.  Or perhaps I have been sensitive this whole time.

Other things in my life seem normal like eating, drinking, and socializing with friends and family.  I find ways to have fun and connect with the people I love.  It makes me feel almost normal.

But then the sadness strikes when I am alone, or even just feeling alone around other people.

Can it be that my return to working in surgical trauma has reminded me of how heartbreaking this world can be?

I have been in operating room nursing for 13 years with over half of those spent at a Level I Trauma Center.  I can’t remember feeling this way.  I can’t remember crying like this.  There is a distinct possibility that I have done what I usually do:  compartmentalize my feelings until I am ready to confront them.

And so here I am.  Dealing with This.  Now.

The emotions emerged after caring for a trauma patient.  He was a gunshot wound victim.  Just a kid barely in his teens.  The entire surgical team worked together to save his life.  We really tried.  We did everything humanly possible that we could do.  Everything.  We tried everything.  He didn’t make it.

His life ended in front of our eyes.

And he was just a kid.

I have been an operating room nurse for 13 years with over half spent in trauma and that was the first time I ever had a patient pass away on my watch.

It was the first time I had to clean the body of my patient, a victim of gun violence, and make him presentable so that his family could view him.  My friend, another trauma nurse, had to show me how to do it.  With tenderness and compassion, the two of us wiped away blood and betadine prep solution from his torso.  She gently cleaned his baby face, covered him in a fresh green gown and blankets, then positioned his hands so he looked like he was sleeping. The learning continued as she walked me through the finer points of hiding the body bag under his body with some bedsheets because how terrible would it be for his family to see that.

How terrible it felt to do all this…

We waited and hoped his family was somewhere in the hospital.  We hoped that they would get to see him before his body was sent to the morgue.

But they weren’t there.

And so, for the first time, I closed the body bag of a teenage boy who died of a gunshot wound.  And, with my friends, helped move him onto the unpadded, cold, steel-framed morgue cart.

This night…  I want to forget.

 

 

On Call

Working at a Level I Trauma Center means that I have to take call.  My colleagues and I sign up for at least one slot per week over a six week period of time right after our new schedule comes out.  Sometimes we pick up our friends’ call slots or take on extra call which is a nice option if you’re trying to pay off student loans, credit card debt, or that new hardwood floor you installed.

One night I was on call from 11:00 PM to 7:00 AM in the morning.  Something told me to go to bed early that night so that I had at least a few hours of sleep after working a 10 hour shift from 7:00 AM – 5:30 PM.  As usual, my gut instinct was right.  It was summer in Big City after all.  My phone rang at 12:09 AM

“We need you to come in.”

I mumbled, “OK be right there.”

In a matter of 30 minutes, I was at the hospital, dressed, and ready to work.  I was part of the team that was “on deck” just hitters are in baseball.  One team already started working on a patient with a gunshot wound to the abdomen, so we were available for the next trauma.  While we waited, my coworkers and I prepared the empty ORs for the next day’s cases.

I guess it had been a busy evening because the overnight staff had not eaten or taken any breaks.  I was asked by the charge nurse to take over for the circulating nurse who was working the case in progress.  When I walked in, she let out a big sigh of relief.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

I recognized an Orthopedic resident with whom I worked with regularly.  Apparently, my friend was taking on the details from the young doctor for what was to be the second procedure performed on this patient.

OR Nurses are crossed trained over several surgical specialties, but we all have one or two which we are the most comfortable and confident.  Part II was not my co-worker’s expertise; it was mine.  Immediately, I started rattling off a list of what we were going to need for repositioning, instrumentation, and supplies.  As I took over care of this patient, my co-worker collected the items I needed and left them outside the door to my room while I worked out a plan for the transition.  The surgeon and the Ortho residents also provided input on other supplies.

One more staff member on call came in — a teammate of mine from Ortho.  Halleluiah! We could not believe our luck!  We had everyone we needed in place.  The transition from one complex surgery to another could not have been smoother.

In retrospect, the success of this surgery depended on three factors:

  1. Expertise – knowledge of the procedure and the items needed for it
  2. Teamwork – sharing the knowledge and then acting as a unit to prepare and execute
  3. Communication – a constant exchange of information that helps the team operate in sync

These three elements are crucial to the success of delivering the best patient care in surgery whether during a regular work day or while on call.  This is not a guarantee that the outcome will be positive; however, ultimately, we can truly say we did everything we could do for our patient.