Countdown Day 14: Death

I feel like parts of me are dying. Exhaustion has settled in with extreme changes and demands in the last two weeks. For me. My community. My clients. My patients. My country.

Yesterday started with finding my car was broken into. OK. It’s not the end of the world. Keep going. Get to work. Figure it out. Go to Security to get yet another new ID badge, since that was stolen with my nursing backpack. Do the things. Keep moving.

Held my patient’s hand and played some music for him while he died. His lovely wife at home. Praying.

My other patient (COVID) was able to nod and respond, looking in my eyes today. She’s been there since March 28 🙁

After my first patient was wrapped in the white bag and moved to the morgue ‘trailer’ (because there’s been too many bodies for mortuaries to deal with), I received a patient from OR. Very unstable and critical.

They didn’t call to say they were coming. No ventilator waiting in the room. No IV pumps (which are VERY hard to find). Just rolled in with the Dr saying “I haven’t been able to stabilize his blood pressure”. And then. They walked out. WTF?!!!! You’re a doctor and you leave me with a 70/49 BP?!! Oh. And BTW, you didn’t put in the special IV lines I need to pour fluids and meds in to save his life?!! WTAF?!! TOTAL DUMP on the ICU nurse 😡

The next six hours were a constant fight. Fighting for his life. Fighting for supplies and resources that were seemingly unavailable. Asking for help. Getting it for 3-4 min. Asking for help again and again and again. Not getting doctor orders. OK. I’ll stop my RANT here.

I couldn’t sleep until 1am. It happens when you’re whole body and mind are ramped up in fighting mode. You know. You’ve been there. Your situations may look different than mine, but they’re just as intense. Some much more than mine.

Today. I finally found sushi. I almost cried. My soul food! After a bit of a walk along the Hudson, the exhaustion hit again.

Curled in a ball the rest of the day. I recover. Parts of me have died in the last two weeks. Parts of my beliefs. Parts of my wracked body. Parts of my soul.

Regrowth is coming.