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I think I spelled it right...I suppose I'm hoping that by breaking out and writing here on a regular (ok, intermittent) basis, I will find some comfort and some peace---about where I am in my life journey, my marriage, my career, my relationships.
Life is difficult. I think this is the first line in the book "The Road Less Traveled", which I read quite a while ago. I didn't retain much regarding the contents of the book, but I'll never forget the first line. And damn, is it ever true.
This week has been especially rough....A little background--I work in transplant (post heart-lung and lung) here in CA. It's been an amazing experience--I really love what I do, and I feel privileged to be the person that almost 150 patients count on for triage of their transplant-related issues. Fortunately for me, I don't hear from all 150 on a regular basis! There are probably around 30 or so who have ongoing issues that I happen to talk to on a regular basis, and this group changes depending on how far out each person is from their transplant (I speak to or see the more newly transplanted people most frequently).
Last weekend, a patient of ours (43 years old) died very suddenly at home. I don't know how to convey this in words, but the emotion I felt when I learned of his death was like nothing I've ever experienced, and I think it honestly caught me by surprise. I learned of his death via e-mail, when I first came into the office, and all I could do was bury my head in my hands and sob. It was such a raw feeling of despair....it felt and still feels so personal to me, because this guy was under my watchful and protective wing....we joked and laughed together--I knew his wife; he had shared with me the letter he had just written to his donor family to thank them for the gift of life; I had just seen him in clinic three days prior to his death; he was MY responsibility. I know this may sound extreme--obviously, others are involved in his care, and I naturally recognize this.
I've seen a lot of death in the short 6 years I've been a nurse--death is a lot of what you see in the ICU. Yes, I felt sadness and shed tears when people died in the ICU, but it was such a different emotion from what I am experiencing now. In the ICU, you turn care over to different nurses and go home after your shift. In this job, I AM the other nurse. These people are my patients until they die, I die, or I no longer work in this job. And it's such an amazing, painful, awesome, frustrating, fulfilling....job.....or perhaps a better word is "privilege" or "calling".
I keep thinking that the more I talk about this or write about this guy's death, the closer I will come to feeling at peace, or being comforted. But I'm just not getting there. I want so badly to call his wife to give her gentle words of comfort, but selfishly, I haven't been able to because I fear I will break down in tears. But would that be such a bad thing? I cried with the families in the ICU, why would I try to stifle that emotion now? Maybe I will call her tomorrow...maybe after that, I will be able to move on...I hope.
Life is difficult. I think this is the first line in the book "The Road Less Traveled", which I read quite a while ago. I didn't retain much regarding the contents of the book, but I'll never forget the first line. And damn, is it ever true.
This week has been especially rough....A little background--I work in transplant (post heart-lung and lung) here in CA. It's been an amazing experience--I really love what I do, and I feel privileged to be the person that almost 150 patients count on for triage of their transplant-related issues. Fortunately for me, I don't hear from all 150 on a regular basis! There are probably around 30 or so who have ongoing issues that I happen to talk to on a regular basis, and this group changes depending on how far out each person is from their transplant (I speak to or see the more newly transplanted people most frequently).
Last weekend, a patient of ours (43 years old) died very suddenly at home. I don't know how to convey this in words, but the emotion I felt when I learned of his death was like nothing I've ever experienced, and I think it honestly caught me by surprise. I learned of his death via e-mail, when I first came into the office, and all I could do was bury my head in my hands and sob. It was such a raw feeling of despair....it felt and still feels so personal to me, because this guy was under my watchful and protective wing....we joked and laughed together--I knew his wife; he had shared with me the letter he had just written to his donor family to thank them for the gift of life; I had just seen him in clinic three days prior to his death; he was MY responsibility. I know this may sound extreme--obviously, others are involved in his care, and I naturally recognize this.
I've seen a lot of death in the short 6 years I've been a nurse--death is a lot of what you see in the ICU. Yes, I felt sadness and shed tears when people died in the ICU, but it was such a different emotion from what I am experiencing now. In the ICU, you turn care over to different nurses and go home after your shift. In this job, I AM the other nurse. These people are my patients until they die, I die, or I no longer work in this job. And it's such an amazing, painful, awesome, frustrating, fulfilling....job.....or perhaps a better word is "privilege" or "calling".
I keep thinking that the more I talk about this or write about this guy's death, the closer I will come to feeling at peace, or being comforted. But I'm just not getting there. I want so badly to call his wife to give her gentle words of comfort, but selfishly, I haven't been able to because I fear I will break down in tears. But would that be such a bad thing? I cried with the families in the ICU, why would I try to stifle that emotion now? Maybe I will call her tomorrow...maybe after that, I will be able to move on...I hope.
I think I'll sleep on this, and will hopefully be free of the "toothless" dreams!!! 
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