March 22, 2012
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Rough day….
After a rough night, I go into work hopeful and smiling. It’s a beautiful day. I’m sent to relieve a colleague for lunch (the surgeon is a nortoriously difficult one, but that doesn’t bother me in the least. He and I get along fine). I end up finishing the case because the nurse doesn’t want to return. I’m reaching for the door handle so I can get the stretcher, when my supervisor comes in, “I need you to help ____ in room 5. They’re doing an emergency craniotomy.” I give my colleague a brief report on her patient, then I trot to the next room.
I shifted into that mode that only comes with decades of experience…that place that where calm professionalism rules. Like a key turning in a switch, I slipped into my competant role. It was like old times, and I was comfortable. I was part of the team. None of that ran through my mind at the time. It occured to me much later.
But sometimes, for all the technology we have, for all of the knowledge, for all of the skill….we don’t save everyone. Sometimes they come to us past saving. Sadly, that was the case today. We still did everything we could. When I left the room to get instruments, supplies, medications, blood, I left at a dead run. We did everything because sometimes miracles happen when the patient is younger. Hours later, the patient showed no signs of improvement. We moved him back to the bed he arrived in, and made the somber procession to the unit.
I imagined that all of us were praying that somehow the patient’s condition would improve. Eyes would flutter open and focus. Extremities would move. Instead we moved a limp and unresponsive patient through the hallways of the facility, the anesthetist squeezing the ambu bag to deliver breaths to what used to be a dynamic, active person….now just a shell. A soul released to the afterlife while we maintained the body that was left behind. We walk in silence, dignified in our defeat. Humble. We give report in turn and return together, cautioning each other not to cry. We can’t debrief each other in the hallway; that will wait until we are in our department.
It is during that debriefing that we get the news. The patient is showing signs of further deterioration. There will be no miracle. We nod because we expected it, but it’s unwelcome news. Our prayers will be for the family now.
When they offer me the option of leaving early (since there is nothing on the schedule to start), I leave. I call my kids to tell them that I’m on my way.
Then I text D, “Since we are both working on your birthday, I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner on Saturday. Would that be possible?”
I kick myself when I hit send, because I know what the answer will be. When he responds, I’m devastated. He says “No”. Of course not. He’s going to go out with the fair weathers. It’s a significant day, so of course he can’t spend it with me. I reply that I figured as much, but wanted to give him one last chance. Then I asked him to destroy all photos and videos of me. I told him that I wouldn’t call, text or email.
Then I deleted him from my phone. I cried a little, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Mostly, I’m just drained. I don’t even want to waste time analyzing it, because it doesn’t matter.
I need to move soon. Because when I move I know his lazy, fat, balding ass will stay far away. He won’t come to see me. That will be fine. I might be lonely, but I won’t be sad about being a big zero. I saw what he dated before me, he tossed away a good woman, a smart woman, a beautiful woman. We had chemistry, and shared a twisted sense of humor. He’s thrown away a jewel. He’ll regret that.
I even have backup plans for Saturday night. I’m attending a benefit. I even have a new dress. I’ll be beautiful, even if no one is looking. I’m not going to look for anyone. I’ll do everything on my own. I’ll make my list of what I need, research it, and do it myself (or hire it done). I will be fine.
I won’t let anyone else in my heart though. It’s not worth it, really it isn’t. I’m tired of being the only one who loves.
