7 Years
Once I was 7 years old...
I never thought I'd be a nurse.
I wanted to become many things - but being a nurse wasn't one of them.
But here we are - 7 years of being a fully qualified registered nurse.
10 years since taking those baby steps in nursing school.
I couldn't be more proud of myself.
And I certainly could not be happier to have come this far.
But this week has been especially hard.
I watched Death walked out the door with a 16 year old.
I remember a lot of things on that day. I remember her parents panicking as they watched their baby girl go into respiratory distress. I remember the calm, soothing tones of our voices that do not match our body language - our eyes and hands working furiously fast to manage that moment. I remember the flurry of things that happened after as the cardiac arrest team came crashing into the room, I remember the exact time of when we started chest compression, I remember doing those chest compression on her, I remember the exact time of when we finally stopped.
I remember hearing the devastating wails of a mother, and the soul-crushing sobs of a father.
But that one moment that I remember most was those seconds when she looked straight into my eyes and all I could see was fear, her cold hands grasping mine so tight, the way she gasped for breath and told me she can't breathe.
It has been the only moment replaying over and over in my mind.
And I couldn't let it go.
May you rest in peace, sweetheart.
When we finally emerged from that room, I vividly remember someone (but don't remember who) asking if I was okay, and I mustered all my strength to say yes, I'm fine. I remember washing my hands, and walking a few steps down the corridor and then again someone asking - are you really okay?
And all the sudden, I was crying, I was shaking - from shock, from the adrenaline - and I was engulfed by 4 different people hugging me all at the same time.
I don't remember breaking down like that, ever.
I've had my fair share of deaths - but nothing like this.
All I could do right then and there was to wipe the tears off my face, brace myself, and turn to face the rest of the 19 living patients still on the ward.
I am still the nurse-in-charge, and I still have a list of to-dos to check off before the shift ends, death notwithstanding.
Everything about that day reminded me why I am still doing what I do, and to be completely honest, I am genuinely amazed I got through the shift with most things ticked off that list.
It is the cruel fact that life goes on, and we simply have to soldier on.
7 years ago I would've completely found this feat impossible.
Now this is what I do best (apart from cooking) day in day out.
Absolutely insane.
So let this be a little lesson:
That life is precious, but death even more so. Because it teaches the living so many things.
An applause for all my achievements and failures, for the grand visions of what is yet to come, & for having the courage to be brave.
And a little prayer to the girl we lost, to her family and their insurmountable sorrow.
A. xx
I never thought I'd be a nurse.
I wanted to become many things - but being a nurse wasn't one of them.
But here we are - 7 years of being a fully qualified registered nurse.
10 years since taking those baby steps in nursing school.
I couldn't be more proud of myself.
And I certainly could not be happier to have come this far.
But this week has been especially hard.
I watched Death walked out the door with a 16 year old.
I remember a lot of things on that day. I remember her parents panicking as they watched their baby girl go into respiratory distress. I remember the calm, soothing tones of our voices that do not match our body language - our eyes and hands working furiously fast to manage that moment. I remember the flurry of things that happened after as the cardiac arrest team came crashing into the room, I remember the exact time of when we started chest compression, I remember doing those chest compression on her, I remember the exact time of when we finally stopped.
I remember hearing the devastating wails of a mother, and the soul-crushing sobs of a father.
But that one moment that I remember most was those seconds when she looked straight into my eyes and all I could see was fear, her cold hands grasping mine so tight, the way she gasped for breath and told me she can't breathe.
It has been the only moment replaying over and over in my mind.
And I couldn't let it go.
May you rest in peace, sweetheart.
♠
When we finally emerged from that room, I vividly remember someone (but don't remember who) asking if I was okay, and I mustered all my strength to say yes, I'm fine. I remember washing my hands, and walking a few steps down the corridor and then again someone asking - are you really okay?
And all the sudden, I was crying, I was shaking - from shock, from the adrenaline - and I was engulfed by 4 different people hugging me all at the same time.
I don't remember breaking down like that, ever.
I've had my fair share of deaths - but nothing like this.
All I could do right then and there was to wipe the tears off my face, brace myself, and turn to face the rest of the 19 living patients still on the ward.
I am still the nurse-in-charge, and I still have a list of to-dos to check off before the shift ends, death notwithstanding.
Everything about that day reminded me why I am still doing what I do, and to be completely honest, I am genuinely amazed I got through the shift with most things ticked off that list.
It is the cruel fact that life goes on, and we simply have to soldier on.
7 years ago I would've completely found this feat impossible.
Now this is what I do best (apart from cooking) day in day out.
Absolutely insane.
♠
So let this be a little lesson:
That life is precious, but death even more so. Because it teaches the living so many things.
An applause for all my achievements and failures, for the grand visions of what is yet to come, & for having the courage to be brave.
And a little prayer to the girl we lost, to her family and their insurmountable sorrow.
A. xx
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