As a nurse in a surgical critical care unit I often have people comment things like, “wow, I bet that’s intense,” or even, “you must see some really cool stuff!” And I suppose I do.
I get to see men and women recover after open heart surgery and people come off the ventilator that we thought may not. I see plenty of excitement, lots of trauma, and advances in medicine that would make your head spin.
I get to see young men stand up and walk after a debilitating car wreck, or a woman proudly put on her lipstick and mascara a day after having a portion of her lung removed. I see the joy on a wife’s face when her husband finally wakes after anesthesia, and the excitement of a son as he videos his dad walking down the hall two days after his rib cage was pried open barbarically.
I see happiness and miracles aplenty; I see healing and mended lives made new. It’s wonderful.
But then there’s the other stuff, the things people may not think of when they try and guess what it is exactly that I do.
I see families make tough decisions, like to finally take their loved one off the ventilator. I watch as my patient struggles to breathe through an ocean of inescapable mucous trapped in her failing lungs.
I see daughters wince as dad’s chest heaves up and down laboriously, and I see the fear and helplessness in their eyes.
I see them watch me expectedly and intensely as I push the medication I begged from the physician to try and ease mom’s tortured respirations, and I see my own self begging God to help me lessen my patient’s distress without being the definitive cause of her demise.
I see children cry desperately as they hold the hand of a dying parent who cannot squeeze back their grasp, and I feel my own tears well up behind my eyes as I place myself in their grieving shoes.
I watch along with loved ones as heaving breaths of the patient come further and farther in between, and I hold my breath with them as the heart rate slows, slower and slower, until it ceases.
I see husbands kiss the dry, cracked lips of their dying wives, and feel that last breath on their tear-streaked face as they pass from this earth.
I watch them collapse over the body in a mound of inconsolable grief.
I see children left behind and newly made widows cling to one another in racking sobs, and I watch helplessly as I pray silently, Lord, give them peace as only you can.
I watch myself try my best to console, hugging, patting, and saying, “you did the right thing,” or even, “there is no pain anymore,” but understanding that my well-intended, though stammering words of comfort can only do so much.
As a nurse I see a lot of things, and many of those things I wish I did not have to see. There is life and restoration of health, but there is also death and grief. I see happy smiles and hear cheerful laughter, but I also see dashed hopes and painful wails that rip at your own aching heart.
But then I see weary family as they leave the bedside of their departed love one stop to speak to me. I watch in awe as they envelope me in a tearful hug, thanking me for all the things I was sure I hadn’t done.
I watch in shock but also gratitude as they try to smile for me, expressing how thankful they are that I made things more bearable for their family member at the end.
I see these things, and although they are painful, they are also a reminder of why I do what I do. They’re a breath of fresh air when I was afraid the wind had been sucked from my own sails in the midst of so much heartache and loss.
They’re the confirmation, these things I see, that I am exactly where I need to be. That even when I see the unseeable, I also can see God’s hand working through me.
Ruthie says
Thank you. I remember and am thankful for how you helped us. Just your sweet smile made our day a little brighter one year ago
Love you
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you! I love you both like a mother and father!
Barbara Allen says
God bless you Brie!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you!
Nate N says
Well written and illustrated. Thank you for writing it. I hope more people read it.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you.
Serena says
I lost my mother 1 week ago after complications from open heart surgery..had to let her go after every possible attempt to save her..I work as an RN also….but in the ER. There’s no way I could do what you do. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This really hit home.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you. God bless you.