Pardon the Hiatus

Tonight, I experienced the worst moment in my job.

I know I haven't written for a while, and this isn't necessarily the happiest note on which to return, but, well, let's just say it's something that really struck me.

Let me tell you about it. Fair warning, though. It is a little graphic. But true to life.

Waking Nightmare

      --BD

For six hours we hold a death watch -

for six hours you sleep.

Every second another breath, another

moan, and still you sleep.

For six hours I watch her heart

beat 140 times a

minute, until 2:17 in the

morning, and suddenly the

watch is over.

I run to wake you when her

heart rate plunges to 56, shake

you until you leap off the

cot, tell you that it's time to

say goodbye, pray that in the

dark you don't notice that her

face is already purple, that she isn't

breathing.

You hug and kiss and sob, look

up, murmur “Is she - “ and I

nod, say “She's gone.” Your

shoulders shake, your nose to her

cheek, and I reach to close her

open eye before you can stare

into its empty haze.

As you say goodbye, the only

emotional response I can find for

you is a pounding heart, a flushed

face.

When she is waxen and cold,

when she has been pronounced

dead, I give you coffee and a

blanket, sit you in a rocking chair.

You cry, we clean, and when it is

over you stumble to the elevators with

family -

And even though you

won't remember me, I will probably

always remember you -

I say this is the worst moment because regardless of all the things I hate, of all the things I object to on principle, this was the worst. I woke a man out of a sound, restful sleep to tell him that his wife was dead. He knew it was coming, but when you factor in denial, it doesn't matter. That is one of the worst possible things to wake to. And it was my job to do it. I know he doesn't take it personally, and neither do I. But in a way it does become personal, because it is an experience and a memory that is vivid to me, even if for him it is lost in a haze of grief and denial. In some ways, it's the day I've been waiting for ever since I started taking my own patients, what, 8 or 9 months ago? I think it happened under the best of possible circumstances - we didn't have to code somebody who wasn't going to make it regardless, so instead we were keeping her comfortable.

Almost makes me think we should medicate the family, too...

Don't worry, more to come, that should be on a lighter, more reader-friendly note.