final breaths

that patient that i mentioned a few days ago, the one with the fungal infection in his brain... well, i've been keeping tabs on him lately. i've not been his nurse, but i've visited, spoken with his wife, and caught up on his condition with his nurses. he seemed to be in the clear. he was doing remarkably well for how sick he had been and for having just had massively invasive brain surgery. his team of neurosurgeons and oncologists were optimistic for a full recovery.

today, i got to work and looked at the six intensive care beds on our unit. someone had been admitted overnight. his name was W - the same name as the above mentioned patient with whom i feel so connected. and there was a butterfly by his name - gasp! the butterfly is the symbol we use on a patient's door to signify that we have put them on comfort care (translation - that we have finally acknowledged the imminence of death, and instead of fighting it with all of our artillery, are welcoming it with open arms). what had happened?

W had become unresponsive last night. a ct scan of his brain showed an enormous head bleed. death was inevitable. with grace and bravery, his family accepted the news and continues to wait at his bedside.

this job is so hard. i so badly wanted to go into W's room, to console his family, to say goodbye and make peace within my own heart. but at the same time, i didn't want to walk in their at all. what do you say to a wife who is losing her husband? to children, close to my age, who are losing their dad? i almost had to force myself into the room... but i am so glad that i visited. when i went in to offer my support, W's wife, son, and daughter were all laying their heads in W's bed; they were holding his hands, loving him, and nurturing him as he takes his final breaths. it is a beautiful scene. one family. together. for one final time.

i say it is beautiful only because it is not mine. i am so sad for W.