The Promise

Raising kids is tough. There's no argument to that statement. Being a good wife is even more tough. Kids are easily appeased by staying up an extra half hour or when we have dessert after dinner. The husband isn't going to be swayed that easily (well, maybe softened up a bit because of the no doubt delish dessert I've served in this imaginary setting). Being a nurse trumps them both. It is the toughest. And that is because it's in a category all it's own. There's nothing to compare it to. It just is.

When I decided I wanted to be a nurse, I was in elementary school. And it was strictly because I thought it would be cool to use needles and glass bottles. Nurses were perceived in my mind always with an antique glass syringe filled with a green liquid sloshing around, ready for their patient. And they got to use a stethoscope which was super awesome. We had a plastic Fisher-Price medical kit when I was young and I loved to loop it around my neck. When you have a bright yellow stethoscope around your neck with a black foam bell you just feel more important, like there's really emergent things you must attend too. I guess I went into nursing because I wanted to be important to people. I could help them when they needed me most.

I've now become a nurse. It's a very rewarding job. I never have the same day twice in a row, it's always changing from one minute to the next which can add to the stress but also keeps my mind sharp. I have never stopped learning and I will never stop learning. Everyday I gain some kind of knowledge I didn't possess the last shift I worked. I've been able to meet some very interesting people, I've heard the most amazing stories about the lives of these strangers I attend too. I meet their families and shake hands with them. I listen to anecdotes and life lessons they want to pass along to me. I see pictures of their pets and learn about their jobs and their education. It's all very intimate in those closed patient room settings where for twelve hours I am their link to getting better.

But sometimes, getting better just isn't in the cards. Sometimes, my job is just getting my patient comfortable.

I recently cared for a woman who was very sick. She had a laundry list of medical issues, any one of which would be a hard way to live but she had those and then some. She had been away from her husband and family for nearly a year trying to get well enough to travel home to their remote town in another state. The medical resources were not available to her if she were to go home so she moved from hospital to care center and back again, hoping to gain enough strength to travel.

Another set-back deterred her plan and she ended up in my care. I knew this was going to be a tough case. I spoke with her husband and assured him that she was ill but we were hopeful we had intervened quickly and that with time, she would be well again. He was cautiously optimistic and explained that he was twelve hours away so he wanted to be notified immediately if her condition changed so that he could start the drive.

I cared for the woman the next day and she seemed to be doing a little better in some ways, worse in others but I could feel that her heart just wasn't in it anymore. She was tearful, frustrated and sometimes a little mean. I knew she was angry and alone and that she really just wanted to go home. Later that evening her breathing became more labored and we had to support her more with increased oxygen and a face mask. She was unable to speak well with the mask in place so she wrote a note on a paper attached to a clipboard to communicate her needs. She wrote, "Call my husband. He promised."

I had no clue what that meant but I called her husband anyway. I told him what she'd written and he was very quiet. He explained that she had him promise that when she knew the time was right, he would let her go. He told me he was leaving that night to come to the hospital.

The next morning he arrived and spoke with the physician on duty that day. We developed a treatment plan and began to withdraw supportive care. I kept her comfortable, supported her husband as best I could, and before long she passed.

It was only afterwards that I really thought about that promise they made to one another. The promise that had him drop everything and drive twelve hours to be by her side. It would have been very easy for us to continue our medical interventions and once she was well enough, send her back to the care facility to continue rehabilitation. But that's not what she wanted. And he was strong enough to let her go.

I'm in awe of the strength I see in people everyday. I can't imagine and don't want to know what that would feel like to make the decision to let a loved one pass. I've had people tell me, "Being a nurse is so hard, I don't know how you do it." Being a nurse is tough. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I think being a patient is much harder, being a family member watching someone you love be sick, be in pain, or hold their hand while they pass, is a much harder thing to do. My job, in comparison is very easy. I get to wield shiny needles and long syringes with fancy liquid inside, I get to play with glass bottles full of goo and wear a stethoscope around my neck. I get to punch out at the end of the day and return home to my healthy husband and kids. My job is hard. But it's just a job. And the promises I make are thankfully, very easy to fulfill. I promise to be a good mom. I promise to be a good wife. I promise to be a good nurse.