Being a nurse on 10-10-10
I’ve never written a blog before. I’ve never made a post about work before, but yesterday was an exceptional day.
I could never dream that the supposedly prosperous date 10/10/10 would leave me physically and emotionally drained.
I turned up at 07.00 for what I assumed to be a usually busy Sunday in A&E, but I never expected it to be quite so busy. It was the day of the Great Eastern Run we assumed we’d have a couple in because it was such a warm day.
At 07.30 we got a pre-alert, we critical patients are in bound the ambulance pre-alerts so we can be ready in the resuscitation room, at motorcyclist (you hear that and never expect it to be a good thing) in cardiac arrest. We never realized it would set the tone of the shift.
The thing with CPR that some may not realize is it’s a work out. You’re stood rocking backwards and forwards pushing with all your strength trying to pump the blood around the body to keep the brain perfused. The lactic acid builds in your arms, your stomach muscles tone as you rock, your whole body is tense. The adrenaline zooms through your body.
In this case a young man of forty who has tubes hanging out of his mouth, eyes open but no one is there, the grayness and coldness of the skin. I won’t go into the details of his injuries, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight, at all. You can’t help but wonder if he came back, what he physical state he would be in.
They call time of death. Following your physical work out comes the emotional. You go through a multitude of emotions, anger you couldn’t do more, sorrow he’s gone all though you didn’t even know him, anger again because you can’t help but feel you should have gone on longer, and then stall them. You have to go to the family. Whatever you feel doesn’t compare to what the family feels. You can’t feel anything until you get home.
Then family may comprise of many people by then. They usually are already in various states of shock, some crying and some staring into space. You walk through the door and they hopefully look up, every time I have to escort the doctor I dread the look of hope that greats us.
The usual spiel exits the doctors’ mouth, I can always tell the family are waiting for the words ‘he’s alive’ or ‘he’s dead’. Nothing sinks in after those two words, which ever they may be. At this point my role shifts to being the nurse for the family. They’re my patient now. They deceased patient has to be made to look acceptable, the family have to be warned regarding injuries and how he now appears, they have to be supported as much as possible, and they have to leave the department following the best possible care they could have received.
Yesterday this was the first of four. Three being runners from the not-so-Great Eastern Run. Four physical work outs, four emotional work outs, four looks of hope, four grieving families, and one emotionally drained achy nurse.
10 Comments
Much love xxx
I've had a short meeting today about a new care bundle being introduced, but mainly slept and sat on my arse lol.
I hope you realise what a great job you do Tors. I have every admiration for people that not only do this job, but do it in such a respectful and caring way.
Have a good evening x
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