March 13, 2013
-
exhaustion
Dr B is the one who mentions it first, “Have you had any more fainting spells? I worry about you.” He’s referring to a syncopal episode I had when we were transferring a tiny patient from the operating room bed to the crib. The room shifted violently, and I swayed, grabbing the operating room bed and hanging on for dear life. I wave it away, “It’s probably just ‘thyroid’. I’ll get a checkup soon.”
I need more than thyroid studies. I have palpitations that herald arrythmia. My grandmother died at 45 from a lethal arrythmia. It carried her off in her sleep. My aunt never forgave her. She never told anyone about the flutters she felt in her chest, the discomfort that left her fearful. I can’t deny my own symptoms. I don’t have the luxury of ignorance.
“But can they save you?” Angel me asks, “Or are you destined to be one of ‘us’?”
The fatigue makes it worse. I’m called out to mediate a minor spat between coworkers. I’m pulled from a room, “Open Room 9. STAT! They have to bring the baby from cardiac cath!” I don’t have an experienced scrub, and he whines and complains, which makes me want to slap sense into him. There is no one to help me, and even though I feel like I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, there aren’t so many “bumps” in the road. Still I growl to the charge nurse that other team members who are off need to be summoned. One of the nurses who is an experienced scrub shows up 40 minutes after she’s called. I holler her into the room when I sprint out to send an order for units of blood. My second circulator takes nearly 2 hours to saunter in. I chew her a new ass in the substerile room, “Where the FUCK have you been? When they call you in on your day off then you fly in here! This baby is sick as hell!” She tries to turn it back on the operating room. I cry bullshit.
Dr S tells another anesthesiologist that I was the only salvation. That gets back to me.
We take the baby to PICU following the surgery. His recovery is measured in the tiniest victories. I’m sent upstairs to do other surgeries on him. When I bring up other patients, I drop by to see my babies. The nurses understand it, and give me report. As I leave I hear one of the nurses tell the respiratory therapist, “She’s good. She never forgets that she’s taking care of someone’s child. I love that about her.”
