The first two thirds of today’s hospital shift on the ward was spent slowly and then very quickly reaching the edge, of a panic attack or breakdown or completely giving up, I won’t know (on life or career, I don’t know where the ‘just’ might go in that sentence, and haven’t really ever). But after composing myself during afternoon break, I ended up beside a patient for hours simply rambling in an almost desperate bid to stop her hands shaking like mine do.
I had read her notes earlier in an attempt to be seen doing something, and because it was given by the nurse I was under. I knew this patient already; she was admitted on Friday or Saturday into C Bay where I had been working, and today was moved into A for a slightly quieter environment (away from A3 who switches from threatening to bash your head in if you don’t let her out, walking up and down the corridors continually and trying the ward doors until the metal lock could break out of emotion if it were sentient, then swearing and staggering away only to try again; but with the right person at the right time with the right activity, would call you ‘dear’ and smile and tease with you) (and a new admit since my last shift, a woman who screams she is dead and dying all through the night until the other patients in the bay reply ‘good then we will get some rest finally’ even though, A confesses to me, that is terrible) (who could be expected to deal with these things for days and nights while feeling so half dead oneself?)
Aside from being shocked that she had a DNR (the only comment being ‘explained to patient that CPR would likely be unsuccessful if her heart was to stop’ by a doctor not mentioned anywhere else in the notes; what were the reasons; what would it be to hear such a thing?) and already knowing her admission was from a fall that caused a broken hip, one other note of morbid interest was stated that the patient’s mood was low, and she had said that she wished to fall asleep and not wake up, the comment earning her a questioned psych referral. However, within half an hour of sitting next to her and holding her hand, I found out that actually, she wished to be back at home with her husband and their yellow spotted eleven year old dalmatian Penny because her husband loves dalmatians and they have always had them since 1976, one after another, up to three at a time.
So I realised that pacing the corridors feeling sorry for myself does nothing. I have patients to feel sorry for and sit with and make just a moment for them a little less lonely. All it took was listening for one second, to actually hear I am so stressed and afraid, and to take shaking hands in mine and sit and talk about the first thing that always comes to mind – animals. As we spoke, I recalled that she has MS and used to be a ballet teacher, glimpses of a life lived despite, from snippets of conversation over the weekend. And as we spoke more, I learnt of her status as a single child but with many cousins, but all who live where they came from before moving down here just the two of them, and now the family only talk by phone because disabilities are genetic and the world is not made for moving around easily unless normal despite so called modernity.
I sat there and confessed several things that usually my nursing persona role wouldn’t admit, nothing too unprofessional or out of context, but enough to connect and learn and quell the old shaking hand in mind for a moment, fingers repeatedly running over my healthcare-short nails as my thumb continually calmly rubbed over wrinkled knuckles and wedding ring loosened from time. I sat there while the nurse came and started an iron infusion, and when it leaked and was stopped, and the nurse asked if I had ever removed a cannula and I replied that I had but only in animals, and that got a chuckle from both my lead and my patient. A simple true fact so amusing in a simple moment. I sat there until we talked about anxiety and I mentioned that the day had been a bit of a struggle, and we reassured each other, and thanked each other, and both smiled sadly that it is a subject at all. I sat there until it was minutes before day shift was over, and only then I apologised and stood, still clasping hands. I said that she would soon be back with her husband and dog who was missing her terribly, and I would be back on Friday, and Saturday, and if I found myself doubting and wandering the corridors, I would return to hold her hand again without hesitation. I said that she would be out of here perhaps later than a week, but my word has little profession to it and was only meant as reassurance. Still, I said I would return and she would be home at some point. I did all but promise, that both our lives were not over.
After answering a bell to a mostly independent patient for the commode and finishing that job, I mostly dismissed myself, joining the other student I had spent some of the day with in getting our stuff and leaving on time. As I passed the bay I had been working in, coat and bag on at 8pm, twelve and a half hours after entering, I made sure to poke my head around the door and meet my patient’s eyes. “I’ll see you on Friday, my dear,” I said, and far from giving up life or career, I’ve never meant anything more in recent hard months.
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***facts, breeds, letter, and names changed or unused for confidentially***
-Student Nurse Eliza-Mai.
strugglingbutstillfighting 