When I say right now, that I am grateful for my life and have been humbled to not take it for granted, it's not a cliche. That is truly my sentiment after hearing a news story in the recent days.
If you haven't heard, actress Natasha Richardson had a ski accident a few days ago, in which she fell and hit her head on the ground. She was fine immediately after, and it was not until an hour later that she started complaining of a headache and was taken to the hospital. Before that day ended, she was unconscious, suffering from swelling of the brain. The news are filled with conflicting reports, some say she's brain dead, some say she has not reached that state yet. Nevertheless, she has suffered from a hematoma, and now in critical condition.
I cannot get this news out of my head because I realized this could've been me when I fainted, fell down, and hit the back my head--hard--on the bathroom floor 3 weeks ago when I had a 103F fever. I didn't just fainted and fell once, but twice, although I didn't hit my head the second time. I remember the fear I had when I woke up seconds later to feel my head pounding and find myself lying flat on the bathroom floor. My immediate thought was not of why I fainted, but what can result from this within the next few hours or days.
The knowledge I have gained from nursing school told me that I could either get up, walk back to my bed, and have no effect from the fall, or I could get up, have headaches, and start projectile vomiting within an hour to a day or to a week time frame. When I got up from the floor, I had a gut feeling that I would be okay, that this wasn't going to turn ugly, but I very well knew I wasn't going to be out of the wood for at least a week. That day I wasn't praying for my fever to go down, instead I was fervently praying for no hematoma formation. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was praying for my life the rest of that day--or week for that matter.
When I told my preceptor of my fainting episodes, she immediately replied, "Oh my God, thank God you're okay. That's how people die! They faint, hit their head somewhere, and they think it's nothing. But then it turns ugly and they die." That pretty much confirmed that I wasn't being dramatic to be worried and afraid of the fall I had. What my preceptor said was exactly what I was thinking, and that was exactly what happened to the actress. She thought it was a minor fall, she talked and walked back to her hotel room, and then she went into a coma within short hours. Just like that.
My heart and prayers go to the actress and her family. I don't know them, but it's a very sad and unfortunate situation, and I cannot stop thinking that it could've been my family and I in the very same situation.
It's another reminder that anything can happen, to you and the ones you love, that life can be too short and unpredictable. So use the time you have now to love, to bless, to care, to be kind, to appreciate, to fulfill, and to be thankful of. Don't waste it, don't take it for granted. Do what you need to do, and say what you need to say before life takes an unexpected turn and you find yourself wishing you've done or said some things sooner or differently.
I am truly grateful that I am still alive today, and humbled that I was still given a chance to live.
ETA:
An official statement just came out from the family stating that she has passed away. I can't fathom what her family is going through. It's another odd feeling to realize what I had worried could happen after I fell 3 weeks ago actually happened, but to another person. And it's also a little eerie to think of what my preceptor had said after I told her the bathroom incident. I just had a different ending, a healthier and living ending.
Showing posts with label real. Show all posts
Showing posts with label real. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
What is this feeling?
As much as I'm at peace with my granmpa's death last summer, today I realized that I don't know if I'll ever be "okay" when I have patients in the similar situation my family and I went through that fateful July.
The first one happened last semester, and I wrote about it. At the time, I thought it was just a one time thing. It was my first and of course I was bound to feel...something. I thought it'd go away and but it didn't. Yesterday, I started to realize that one of my patients is dying and the family was finally able to made that difficult decision to let go of treatment and do palliative care instead. Today, everything is more...official, I guess. All PO meds are on hold, and the Morphine Sulfate surfaced in the order. Again, I got that uneasy feeling I did last semester.
I think what did it for me is seeing the Morphine PRN dose on the MAR first thing in the morning, just because that is the staple drug for end of life patients to keep them comfortable. It's become some kind of a sign for me that, yes, the time is near for that person. We were given doses of that, too, from the hospice care for Grampa when he went home from the hospital. I had to give him that, and so did my cousins.
Then my chest got thighter as I walked in the room. The patient is much like my Grampa was before he died. Eyes opened but no one is there. They can't talk and you wonder if they knew who you were, and you wish they remember who you were. They're just lying there, waiting for their time to come, and it's an excruciating wait for the family members.
It's a weird weird thing to experience, I can't say enough how uncanny it is to watch a dying person, especially when you've watched a family member went through it. I wasn't exactly sad or upset, I didn't feel like crying or breaking down. There is just...an uneasiness to it. There is a voice screaming in my head that this is the same thing as Grampa: the Morphine, the inability to talk, the waiting, the what happens when we bring him home, the ever present wondering of when he'd actually die. It keeps screaming I have been here before and I should never be reminded of it again.
But it's life. People die everyday, and unfortunately, you will witness that more times than you'd like. Heck, I'm only a student nurse and it already happened twice. My career awaits many a future experience of taking care and witnessing dying patients. After the first time, I thought I had to find a way to be okay with this, to erase that feeling out of me. But after today, I realized I can never make that feeling go away, and I'm accepting that I will forever be taken back to Grampa when that happens again. I will always take a sharp breath, my chest will always feel thight, and I'll always get this inexplicable feeling when I have a dying patient.
As if one dying patient isn't enough, the universe, of course, just has to mess around with me some more. Another patient on the floor, although wasn't mine, vomitted, had a seizure, and went into a code. (This was also a second code, the first one I saw was also last semester) Oh, the brouhaha of a code, there's nothing like it. It seems like, in a code, no matter how fast you're moving to get things, you are never fast enough. How many times did I hear that doctor yelled out "I NEED PROPOFOL 10 cc FAST!!! WHERE IS THE PROPOFOL?! GIMME THE PROPOFOL!!!" in the 10-15 seconds it took the other doctor to get the Propofol and have it drawn up in syringe? You're trying to bring someone back to life, get that heart beating again, breathe air into the lungs. It's a person's life literally in the hands of the many medical staff who rush into that room, and I don't think you'll ever be fast enough. No matter how experience and collected these people are, it's still a total and utter chaos.
Now, the code didn't do anything to me. It was actually exciting, to be honest. This patient was actually in a much somber situation than my dying patient, but I was fine. I've never had to watch a family member going through a code, having tube inserted down their throat, surrounded by doctors and nurses doing everything to revive them. After 30 minutes--that seemed like hours--the patient was stabilized and transfered to an ICU unit.
And then I knew there is a difference. In some cases, I'll be fine. In some others, I'll just have to deal with that weird feeling. That's just the way it goes now, and perhaps for the rest of my career. All in all, for me, it's still an other wordly experience to witness births and deaths. They make me appreciate and respect life more.
The first one happened last semester, and I wrote about it. At the time, I thought it was just a one time thing. It was my first and of course I was bound to feel...something. I thought it'd go away and but it didn't. Yesterday, I started to realize that one of my patients is dying and the family was finally able to made that difficult decision to let go of treatment and do palliative care instead. Today, everything is more...official, I guess. All PO meds are on hold, and the Morphine Sulfate surfaced in the order. Again, I got that uneasy feeling I did last semester.
I think what did it for me is seeing the Morphine PRN dose on the MAR first thing in the morning, just because that is the staple drug for end of life patients to keep them comfortable. It's become some kind of a sign for me that, yes, the time is near for that person. We were given doses of that, too, from the hospice care for Grampa when he went home from the hospital. I had to give him that, and so did my cousins.
Then my chest got thighter as I walked in the room. The patient is much like my Grampa was before he died. Eyes opened but no one is there. They can't talk and you wonder if they knew who you were, and you wish they remember who you were. They're just lying there, waiting for their time to come, and it's an excruciating wait for the family members.
It's a weird weird thing to experience, I can't say enough how uncanny it is to watch a dying person, especially when you've watched a family member went through it. I wasn't exactly sad or upset, I didn't feel like crying or breaking down. There is just...an uneasiness to it. There is a voice screaming in my head that this is the same thing as Grampa: the Morphine, the inability to talk, the waiting, the what happens when we bring him home, the ever present wondering of when he'd actually die. It keeps screaming I have been here before and I should never be reminded of it again.
But it's life. People die everyday, and unfortunately, you will witness that more times than you'd like. Heck, I'm only a student nurse and it already happened twice. My career awaits many a future experience of taking care and witnessing dying patients. After the first time, I thought I had to find a way to be okay with this, to erase that feeling out of me. But after today, I realized I can never make that feeling go away, and I'm accepting that I will forever be taken back to Grampa when that happens again. I will always take a sharp breath, my chest will always feel thight, and I'll always get this inexplicable feeling when I have a dying patient.
As if one dying patient isn't enough, the universe, of course, just has to mess around with me some more. Another patient on the floor, although wasn't mine, vomitted, had a seizure, and went into a code. (This was also a second code, the first one I saw was also last semester) Oh, the brouhaha of a code, there's nothing like it. It seems like, in a code, no matter how fast you're moving to get things, you are never fast enough. How many times did I hear that doctor yelled out "I NEED PROPOFOL 10 cc FAST!!! WHERE IS THE PROPOFOL?! GIMME THE PROPOFOL!!!" in the 10-15 seconds it took the other doctor to get the Propofol and have it drawn up in syringe? You're trying to bring someone back to life, get that heart beating again, breathe air into the lungs. It's a person's life literally in the hands of the many medical staff who rush into that room, and I don't think you'll ever be fast enough. No matter how experience and collected these people are, it's still a total and utter chaos.
Now, the code didn't do anything to me. It was actually exciting, to be honest. This patient was actually in a much somber situation than my dying patient, but I was fine. I've never had to watch a family member going through a code, having tube inserted down their throat, surrounded by doctors and nurses doing everything to revive them. After 30 minutes--that seemed like hours--the patient was stabilized and transfered to an ICU unit.
And then I knew there is a difference. In some cases, I'll be fine. In some others, I'll just have to deal with that weird feeling. That's just the way it goes now, and perhaps for the rest of my career. All in all, for me, it's still an other wordly experience to witness births and deaths. They make me appreciate and respect life more.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
5.16.2009.
I just applied for graduation.
I will be walking in that cap and gown across the stage on May 16, 2009.
Wow, I, and the other 64 people in my class, finally get to say that. I don't know how they feel, but I'm pretty stoked about it.
But scared too, because ohmahgaah this is it I'm going to be a real nurse and how the heck am I going to do that when I feel so inadequate and incompetence and I don't know anything and jebus am I going to make it am I going to be a good nurse there are patients' lives on the line here!!!
Yeah, it freaks me out, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.
School does its best to teach and provide us with experience, but it's nothing like the real thing. How many times have I gone to clinicals and come across drugs that I never heard before in class? How many of the machines I saw, when I had clinical at the Cardiac Recovery Unit that one time, can I name and tell you what they're for? Heck, I'm a senior II and how many IV have I put in? None. And how many venipuncture have I done? Only one, and that wasn't even on a patient, it was on my internship friend for a check off (and yes, my friend did one on me too).
But then, it always surprises me at how much I know that I didn't know I know before. I know, I just lost you right there. Do you know what I mean? Okay, okay, I'll stop.
What I mean is that, the general feeling among the seniors is that we don't know anything. It's like, wait-how many conditions does this patient have? How do you pronounce this drug?! What is that futuristic looking machine is for? They did what on that patient?! Is he gonna cra--holy sh*** BP's dropping--fast--he is crashing! Will we know how to think and act critically? My own immediate answer to that question used to be "No.... I don't know...maybe?" But now I'm starting to think differently, in that I think I know more than I thought I do.
Today is an example, we had a 50 questions pharmacology exam that wasn't counted for a grade, just to see what we know so far; students usually don't do so hot on this impromptu exam. During the review, the instructor asked, "Once you start Iron therapy in an anemic person, how many days will it take until you see some improvement?" There was a lot of answer thrown out, "a month" being the most common I heard, but "120 days" just rolled off my tongue. I wasn't shouting it out to be heard to the class, more like saying it to myself, and I didn't hear if anyone else has shouted "120 days" also. I was just thinking, "120 days, that's the lifespan of adult Red Blood Cells, you have to wait 120 days for the new RBC's to see some result from that Iron."
And I was right.
My exact thought at that moment was, "Huh. Where did that come from?! How did I come up with that?!" While the grade of that exam is a failing one by the school's standard, it's still better than what I expected and it's higher than the class average. I've been surprised at myself a lot--especially in the last semester, perhaps it's time for me to start setting higher expectations of myself.
I guess what I need to keep telling myself from now until that May graduation day is that I am more competent than I thought I am, and I am more than I give myself credit for. I have been pushing myself to trust my gut and go for it for the past year, and I've found out that--actually--more often than not, I was doing and/or saying the right thing. It's like this whole nursing thing has finally been coming together in my head, unbeknown to me, and I am now starting to realize it. Although, I still have to admit that believeing in yourself is sometimes easier said than done in this world.
There is still much learning to be done and confidence to be built in on my part.
But you better your bottom dollar I'll be as ready as I can be when 5.16.2009 comes along.
I will be walking in that cap and gown across the stage on May 16, 2009.
Wow, I, and the other 64 people in my class, finally get to say that. I don't know how they feel, but I'm pretty stoked about it.
But scared too, because ohmahgaah this is it I'm going to be a real nurse and how the heck am I going to do that when I feel so inadequate and incompetence and I don't know anything and jebus am I going to make it am I going to be a good nurse there are patients' lives on the line here!!!
Yeah, it freaks me out, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.
School does its best to teach and provide us with experience, but it's nothing like the real thing. How many times have I gone to clinicals and come across drugs that I never heard before in class? How many of the machines I saw, when I had clinical at the Cardiac Recovery Unit that one time, can I name and tell you what they're for? Heck, I'm a senior II and how many IV have I put in? None. And how many venipuncture have I done? Only one, and that wasn't even on a patient, it was on my internship friend for a check off (and yes, my friend did one on me too).
But then, it always surprises me at how much I know that I didn't know I know before. I know, I just lost you right there. Do you know what I mean? Okay, okay, I'll stop.
What I mean is that, the general feeling among the seniors is that we don't know anything. It's like, wait-how many conditions does this patient have? How do you pronounce this drug?! What is that futuristic looking machine is for? They did what on that patient?! Is he gonna cra--holy sh*** BP's dropping--fast--he is crashing! Will we know how to think and act critically? My own immediate answer to that question used to be "No.... I don't know...maybe?" But now I'm starting to think differently, in that I think I know more than I thought I do.
Today is an example, we had a 50 questions pharmacology exam that wasn't counted for a grade, just to see what we know so far; students usually don't do so hot on this impromptu exam. During the review, the instructor asked, "Once you start Iron therapy in an anemic person, how many days will it take until you see some improvement?" There was a lot of answer thrown out, "a month" being the most common I heard, but "120 days" just rolled off my tongue. I wasn't shouting it out to be heard to the class, more like saying it to myself, and I didn't hear if anyone else has shouted "120 days" also. I was just thinking, "120 days, that's the lifespan of adult Red Blood Cells, you have to wait 120 days for the new RBC's to see some result from that Iron."
And I was right.
My exact thought at that moment was, "Huh. Where did that come from?! How did I come up with that?!" While the grade of that exam is a failing one by the school's standard, it's still better than what I expected and it's higher than the class average. I've been surprised at myself a lot--especially in the last semester, perhaps it's time for me to start setting higher expectations of myself.
I guess what I need to keep telling myself from now until that May graduation day is that I am more competent than I thought I am, and I am more than I give myself credit for. I have been pushing myself to trust my gut and go for it for the past year, and I've found out that--actually--more often than not, I was doing and/or saying the right thing. It's like this whole nursing thing has finally been coming together in my head, unbeknown to me, and I am now starting to realize it. Although, I still have to admit that believeing in yourself is sometimes easier said than done in this world.
There is still much learning to be done and confidence to be built in on my part.
But you better your bottom dollar I'll be as ready as I can be when 5.16.2009 comes along.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Ready to launch.
I have been thinking.
A lot.
I have put in so much into this decision and I'm going to commit to it and do my parts to go through with it.
I'm moving to New York City in June 2009.
For some people, this isn't a surprise, even for you (I have no idea how many--if there is any) if you've been following my blog because I've talked many times about my amazing summer there. But now, now I'm saying it out loud and putting it out there. I didn't just make this decision in the time following my summer stint there. Although it sealed the deal, my journey to have come to this point began more than 3 years ago.
I visited NYC for the first time in 2005, and I fell in love. There is just something about it that charmed its way into my life and managed to stay since then. For a while I thought I'd move a year or two after graduation, but for the last year or so I knew if I'm ever going to make this dream of mine come true, I have to move right after graduation. Then the internship fell into my lap, an offer I couldn't refuse, and the 3 months I spent there confirmed every reason I have for moving and drove away every doubt I had about making the move--okay, maybe not entirely drove away the doubts, but those doubts were greatly minimized to a point where I am not afraid of them anymore.
A lot of people want to move to NYC, it has a lot to offer: the fun, the lifestyle, the people; it's the best City in the world, they say. I have many reasons too. Out of the places I have traveled to in the U.S., NYC is on top of the "Yeah, I can see living here..." list. I just feel like I fit there, and I am not alone in thinking this way. My family and friends are very supportive and encouraging, telling me that they, too, can see me living there and making it.
I've been where I live now ever since I moved to this country, that is 9 years ago, and by now, I'm getting restless. I want to go to the next level of my life, where I'm out of my comfort zone, where I can grow as a person, where I can open my eyes and see more of what this world can offer, where I can meet new people, where I can make a difference. I'm young and this is my time to spread my wings, if we want to be cliche here.
Having said all of this, I do think that I'm not going to live there forever. I do feel very strongly that once I'm settling down, I'll move somewhere calmer, even come back to this Texan city that has been my second home. In my 23 year old mind, there is no way that I see myself raising a family in the jungle that is New York City, but this will be another decision I will have to make when I get to this bridge years from now. For now, let's just deal with actually moving there first before any thoughts of moving away from there.
This decision has been more than 3 years in the making and you have no idea how much I am relieved and excited to be able to say it out loud that yes, I am moving to New York City in June 2009. Yes, I am and will be making arrangements from now till then. Yes, if God's willing, I'm going to start my nursing career and a new life there.
With my last semester of nursing school--oh man, I can't believe I get to finally say that, my.last.semester. Wow, where has time gone?--starting next week, I'm excited and nervous all mushed into one. A lot will happen within the next 5 months let alone in the rest of the 12 months of this year, in a life changing way at that--applying for jobs in the City, job interviews, HESI, graduation, moving, NCLEX. It's overwhelming I can barely keep my head from exploding.
But I'm ready. I'm ready to launch this year. I'm ready for what may come. I have my faith, I have my family and my friends, I have myself to carry me through. Intermission is almost over, let's get Act II of the Senior Year rollin'!
A lot.
I have put in so much into this decision and I'm going to commit to it and do my parts to go through with it.
I'm moving to New York City in June 2009.
For some people, this isn't a surprise, even for you (I have no idea how many--if there is any) if you've been following my blog because I've talked many times about my amazing summer there. But now, now I'm saying it out loud and putting it out there. I didn't just make this decision in the time following my summer stint there. Although it sealed the deal, my journey to have come to this point began more than 3 years ago.
I visited NYC for the first time in 2005, and I fell in love. There is just something about it that charmed its way into my life and managed to stay since then. For a while I thought I'd move a year or two after graduation, but for the last year or so I knew if I'm ever going to make this dream of mine come true, I have to move right after graduation. Then the internship fell into my lap, an offer I couldn't refuse, and the 3 months I spent there confirmed every reason I have for moving and drove away every doubt I had about making the move--okay, maybe not entirely drove away the doubts, but those doubts were greatly minimized to a point where I am not afraid of them anymore.
A lot of people want to move to NYC, it has a lot to offer: the fun, the lifestyle, the people; it's the best City in the world, they say. I have many reasons too. Out of the places I have traveled to in the U.S., NYC is on top of the "Yeah, I can see living here..." list. I just feel like I fit there, and I am not alone in thinking this way. My family and friends are very supportive and encouraging, telling me that they, too, can see me living there and making it.
I've been where I live now ever since I moved to this country, that is 9 years ago, and by now, I'm getting restless. I want to go to the next level of my life, where I'm out of my comfort zone, where I can grow as a person, where I can open my eyes and see more of what this world can offer, where I can meet new people, where I can make a difference. I'm young and this is my time to spread my wings, if we want to be cliche here.
Having said all of this, I do think that I'm not going to live there forever. I do feel very strongly that once I'm settling down, I'll move somewhere calmer, even come back to this Texan city that has been my second home. In my 23 year old mind, there is no way that I see myself raising a family in the jungle that is New York City, but this will be another decision I will have to make when I get to this bridge years from now. For now, let's just deal with actually moving there first before any thoughts of moving away from there.
This decision has been more than 3 years in the making and you have no idea how much I am relieved and excited to be able to say it out loud that yes, I am moving to New York City in June 2009. Yes, I am and will be making arrangements from now till then. Yes, if God's willing, I'm going to start my nursing career and a new life there.
With my last semester of nursing school--oh man, I can't believe I get to finally say that, my.last.semester. Wow, where has time gone?--starting next week, I'm excited and nervous all mushed into one. A lot will happen within the next 5 months let alone in the rest of the 12 months of this year, in a life changing way at that--applying for jobs in the City, job interviews, HESI, graduation, moving, NCLEX. It's overwhelming I can barely keep my head from exploding.
But I'm ready. I'm ready to launch this year. I'm ready for what may come. I have my faith, I have my family and my friends, I have myself to carry me through. Intermission is almost over, let's get Act II of the Senior Year rollin'!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Reflecting.
The internship, I miss it. As I started my Child Health (Peds) class this semester, I realized just how much I'd learned over the summer. Even when, at the time, I complained that it was unfortunate that we as interns were limited in what we were allowed to do. Now, I saw just how much knowledge I've gained by doing what were seemingly trivial tasks over this summer.
Those urines I dip and how to get them out of diapers, keeping track of I&O's and the importance behind it, checking on IV's every hour and keeping track of those numbers, monitoring those vitals during conscious sedation, the little tricks you use with children to get them to cooperate with you, getting blood from those central lines. They all came rushing back to me, and when my instructors lecture or showing us things in the lab, they make an absolutely perfect sense. And once again, I am humbled to be where I was this summer.
The floor I interned at receives Hematology/Oncology patients, so a lot of the children that I've taken care of are frequent fliers or regular costumers, which means they stay on the unit for a long period of time and/or frequently return for treatment. As a result, the staff get to know them and their family pretty well and vice versa. There is not a day that has gone by since I ended my internship that I don't think about those "regular costumers".
How are they responding to their treatment? Have N & M lost their hair? Is P still scared when it's time to change his port-a-cath needle? Is G still refusing his meds? Has R finished her round of chemo? How are they and their family coping? Is Y home by now? I hope her count stays up. I hope C's bone marrow transplant goes well. I hope none of them relapses....
My heart breaks for them, for what they have to go through. I used to read their charts in the lounge, then I'd watch from the window in the corner, out to the green of Central Park across the street. A playground was there, swings, slides, monkey bars, you name it, and everyday I watched as kids filter through that playground throughout all hours of the morning and afternoon, wishing the kids I had on the unit could do the same. I'd take a long sigh and get back to work, saying a little prayer as I pass each room for them to get better a little sooner.
Yet in all of this, I've found great courage. Cliche to say that, but it couldn't be more true. For two days I watched as one family broke down as their 3 year old was diagnosed with Leukemia, but in the days afterward I watched them gathered every strength they had to pull through. They took in every ounce of information the doctors tell them--treatments, procedures, side effects, risks, prognosis, asked questions, and clang to every hope. They braved procedures that they have never heard before--lumbar puncture, bone marrow aspirate, port-a-cath insertion--and one they've heard but never thought would exist in their family--chemotherapy--being done on their tiny child. They held their child's hands and soothed their child through every vitals, labs, and meds with "It's okay, it's okay. It's gonna be okay." Sometimes, I even think they said those words to assure themselves too.
Those children, they're bravery and courage personified. As angry as they might have been, as scared as they might been, as rebellious as they might have been against all of these diseases, they manage. They just do. Somehow, along the way, they find a way to cope, to accept, to fight, and a reason to live. Every so often I'd come across charts so thick with health history, full of conditions so foreign to me, I had to google as I read those charts, and every so often afterward, I've found myself dumbfounded as to how they find the strength to go through all of that for years and years. My hat is off to them.
I really do miss those kids. Baby D, unaware of the how sick he really is, moving his head happily when you play his music toys as you take his vitals. Little N, the little tod, screaming bloody murder at everything and anything done to him, but once in a while when you're just checking on him throughout the day, he'd show you what game he's playing, he'd smile and you'd forget an hour ago he was kicking all four limbs as you and your nurse restrain him down for an oral med. R, in her early teen, as sweet as she can be, letting me draw my first central line blood from her even though she's very particular about her line. S, who came in for a sickle cell crisis, was quiet as a rock, but once she talked 50 mph with her 5 year old imagination, you knew she was no longer in pain and she was going home soon.
With this experience, I look forward to my Peds clinical this semester. I love working with children, they are a source of inspiration.
Those urines I dip and how to get them out of diapers, keeping track of I&O's and the importance behind it, checking on IV's every hour and keeping track of those numbers, monitoring those vitals during conscious sedation, the little tricks you use with children to get them to cooperate with you, getting blood from those central lines. They all came rushing back to me, and when my instructors lecture or showing us things in the lab, they make an absolutely perfect sense. And once again, I am humbled to be where I was this summer.
The floor I interned at receives Hematology/Oncology patients, so a lot of the children that I've taken care of are frequent fliers or regular costumers, which means they stay on the unit for a long period of time and/or frequently return for treatment. As a result, the staff get to know them and their family pretty well and vice versa. There is not a day that has gone by since I ended my internship that I don't think about those "regular costumers".
How are they responding to their treatment? Have N & M lost their hair? Is P still scared when it's time to change his port-a-cath needle? Is G still refusing his meds? Has R finished her round of chemo? How are they and their family coping? Is Y home by now? I hope her count stays up. I hope C's bone marrow transplant goes well. I hope none of them relapses....
My heart breaks for them, for what they have to go through. I used to read their charts in the lounge, then I'd watch from the window in the corner, out to the green of Central Park across the street. A playground was there, swings, slides, monkey bars, you name it, and everyday I watched as kids filter through that playground throughout all hours of the morning and afternoon, wishing the kids I had on the unit could do the same. I'd take a long sigh and get back to work, saying a little prayer as I pass each room for them to get better a little sooner.
Yet in all of this, I've found great courage. Cliche to say that, but it couldn't be more true. For two days I watched as one family broke down as their 3 year old was diagnosed with Leukemia, but in the days afterward I watched them gathered every strength they had to pull through. They took in every ounce of information the doctors tell them--treatments, procedures, side effects, risks, prognosis, asked questions, and clang to every hope. They braved procedures that they have never heard before--lumbar puncture, bone marrow aspirate, port-a-cath insertion--and one they've heard but never thought would exist in their family--chemotherapy--being done on their tiny child. They held their child's hands and soothed their child through every vitals, labs, and meds with "It's okay, it's okay. It's gonna be okay." Sometimes, I even think they said those words to assure themselves too.
Those children, they're bravery and courage personified. As angry as they might have been, as scared as they might been, as rebellious as they might have been against all of these diseases, they manage. They just do. Somehow, along the way, they find a way to cope, to accept, to fight, and a reason to live. Every so often I'd come across charts so thick with health history, full of conditions so foreign to me, I had to google as I read those charts, and every so often afterward, I've found myself dumbfounded as to how they find the strength to go through all of that for years and years. My hat is off to them.
I really do miss those kids. Baby D, unaware of the how sick he really is, moving his head happily when you play his music toys as you take his vitals. Little N, the little tod, screaming bloody murder at everything and anything done to him, but once in a while when you're just checking on him throughout the day, he'd show you what game he's playing, he'd smile and you'd forget an hour ago he was kicking all four limbs as you and your nurse restrain him down for an oral med. R, in her early teen, as sweet as she can be, letting me draw my first central line blood from her even though she's very particular about her line. S, who came in for a sickle cell crisis, was quiet as a rock, but once she talked 50 mph with her 5 year old imagination, you knew she was no longer in pain and she was going home soon.
With this experience, I look forward to my Peds clinical this semester. I love working with children, they are a source of inspiration.
Monday, March 3, 2008
On the more serious note.
So I'm going to be open and talk about feelings for a little bit. Yes, feelings and all things personal, because when I decided to make this blog it's not for fame or millions visits per day or anything like that, I wanted it to be a diary of my journey through nursing school so that I could look back at the written memories (and I'm only lucky and grateful when I see the few comments and support here and there) someday, and those include the good and the bad. And this post particularly about the bad and I think it should be written as a part of the memory.
Remember a few posts back when I wrote about the gruel that is the Adult/Acute (I keep forgetting what I call this class/clinical on this blog, let's just say it's Acute because next semester it's Chronic) clinical? Well, at first I look at it a t a challenge--well, I still do, in a sense. But I think it's either that first week I got grilled really shook me bad or I just want to be good at it so bad or I'm just plain so overwhelmed that I have this feeling of being terrorized by this clinical. This nightmare of I'm going to mess up and my instructor is going to chew me out for it, in front of everybody nonetheless.
I have this nervousness comes Monday night because Tuesday I have to pick a patient and it will keep me up late to do the drugs information and calculation and do a sort of plan of care for the next morning. Then this anxiousness comes Tuesday night and I couldn't sleep well because of it. Then this fear come and stay with me from the moment I wake up Wednesday morning until I finish clinical. And the thing that bothers me the most is that I know I'm worrying for nothing because I've done good so far, yet I can't shake the nervous, the anxiety, and the fear off. I know I made up for that first week, CI even praised my care plan, I know she knows I'm trying and I'm prepared. All I want is to come to clinical without having this unreasonable fear and doubt that are just, ugh, so negative!
Dang it, positive thinking, where did you go?!!
I don't like this me. Something has just been "off" with me lately, can't pinpoint exactly what. Something--or things--just changed and I'm...different, I guess. I feel like I'm back to being a teenager, in that awkward stage and not knowing who I am, trying to figure things out. It's as if everything I know of just shifted, and if only I know how to catch up with it. It could be the stress too that is getting into me, this past month and a half has been a blur of a lot of thing that are just chaotic in nature.
Needless to say, I've made an appointment to see the school counselor sometimes soon. I figure I'd better make use of this "free" service--well, we paid for it in our tuition, but it's still not paying $200/hour to sit on a shrink's couch anywhere else in this city.
Plus, there is nothing like telling your friends "Hey, I have an appointment with my shrink on this day at this time!" and watching their faces change when they assume you're this damaged little soul with so many problems that you need a psychologist's help.
I'm just kidding.
Anyway, hopefully I'd grow out of this weird phase soon.
Remember a few posts back when I wrote about the gruel that is the Adult/Acute (I keep forgetting what I call this class/clinical on this blog, let's just say it's Acute because next semester it's Chronic) clinical? Well, at first I look at it a t a challenge--well, I still do, in a sense. But I think it's either that first week I got grilled really shook me bad or I just want to be good at it so bad or I'm just plain so overwhelmed that I have this feeling of being terrorized by this clinical. This nightmare of I'm going to mess up and my instructor is going to chew me out for it, in front of everybody nonetheless.
I have this nervousness comes Monday night because Tuesday I have to pick a patient and it will keep me up late to do the drugs information and calculation and do a sort of plan of care for the next morning. Then this anxiousness comes Tuesday night and I couldn't sleep well because of it. Then this fear come and stay with me from the moment I wake up Wednesday morning until I finish clinical. And the thing that bothers me the most is that I know I'm worrying for nothing because I've done good so far, yet I can't shake the nervous, the anxiety, and the fear off. I know I made up for that first week, CI even praised my care plan, I know she knows I'm trying and I'm prepared. All I want is to come to clinical without having this unreasonable fear and doubt that are just, ugh, so negative!
Dang it, positive thinking, where did you go?!!
I don't like this me. Something has just been "off" with me lately, can't pinpoint exactly what. Something--or things--just changed and I'm...different, I guess. I feel like I'm back to being a teenager, in that awkward stage and not knowing who I am, trying to figure things out. It's as if everything I know of just shifted, and if only I know how to catch up with it. It could be the stress too that is getting into me, this past month and a half has been a blur of a lot of thing that are just chaotic in nature.
Needless to say, I've made an appointment to see the school counselor sometimes soon. I figure I'd better make use of this "free" service--well, we paid for it in our tuition, but it's still not paying $200/hour to sit on a shrink's couch anywhere else in this city.
Plus, there is nothing like telling your friends "Hey, I have an appointment with my shrink on this day at this time!" and watching their faces change when they assume you're this damaged little soul with so many problems that you need a psychologist's help.
I'm just kidding.
Anyway, hopefully I'd grow out of this weird phase soon.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Perhaps something deep this time....
“I’m a generally healthy person, which is why when the doctor told me I had a cancer I immediately told him it couldn’t be true. None of my family and friends that I know of have cancer, why me?”
I have yet to shake the face and the words of that patient out of my mind. I’ve seen these tall hospital buildings every single day for the past six weeks; in my head I know of what is inside. I knew of a wonderful woman who died of cancer and I’ve seen her in the condition she was in shortly before she passed. It should feel "normal"--however that feels--when I stepped inside Designated hospital for the first time last Tuesday, yet I found it overwhelming to see rooms with a post-op hysterectomy patient or end stage kidney disease patient who has 20 medications. Then I remember about the children’s hospital next door where little persons suffer too and it doesn’t get any more real than this.
Three months ago I watched a glimpse of a surgery on Discovery Health Channel—and Grey’s Anatomy, but soon enough I’ll be in the Operating Room witnessing a surgical procedure in person. Holly coolness Batman! That was my first reaction, but then I started worrying about fainting during a surgery, thus making a doofus out of myself. Then I thought about how my patients for the next 7 weeks aren’t people with a regular fever or a stomach ache or a broken leg, I’m not going to be in a doctor’s office taking vital signs and asking health history questions.
My patients for the next 7 weeks are people who recently have a part of their organ—or a whole organ—surgically removed due to aggressive and/or terminal diseases, and on top of taking vital signs, I may be putting in a Foley catheter or NG tube, hang an IV solutions, help them change positions on their beds, administer—and knowing—their medications and injections, recording their intake and output, and whatever it is that a first year nursing students are allowed to do—which is not a lot, but hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?
This is it, the grave diseases and disorders I’ve only known from books and TV’s are right in front of my eyes. I can see and hear them in the patients and their charts. I may be a student nurse, but the word ‘nurse’ is there nonetheless and I pray that I’ll be a great one at that. I pray that I’m sensitive to their needs, that I’m thorough and careful in my assessment, that I know how to conduct myself, that I’m pro-active, that I think fast and critically, that I am not afraid. Most importantly, I pray that I remember they’re still a person and treat them likewise.
As my friend, A, said with painful enthusiasm, “We’re gonna be damn good nurses!”
Amen, sistah, amen!
Ok, back to studying and stop using writing as an excuse for procrastinating.
Dang, that’s to many –ing’s right there…..
OK.
must.stop.writing.now.
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