I’ve been in Arizona a week now. Maybe it’s because I already knew what to expect. Or maybe it’s because I’m not caring for the sickest of the ICU patients. Either way, when I first got here, I thought, “This is not as bad as I had expected.”
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Then I started to wonder if pandemic fatigue affected even this aspect of my perception. Was I so jaded about this virus that seeing sick people dying alone no longer affected me?
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Then I experienced something that could warm even the coldest of hearts. It happens every day in every hospital—a patient needing a breathing tube. What played out, though, could have been a scene in a movie, with a haunting melody from a cello in the background.
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Most of the patients I’m caring for already had a breathing tube when I met them. But this patient hadn't had one and now needed one because she was getting worse. Her nurse had the presence of mind to call her loved one just before we put the breathing tube in.
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I spoke with the loved one for a a minute to fill them in (the patient was very short of breath and could barely speak through the mask that was giving her oxygen). And then we video chatted so they could see each other.
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The patient’s voice was barely discernible over the bustling in the room as people connected monitors and IVs, pulled the necessary medications, set up the equipment needed; but with their eyes locked on each other, it looked like they received each other’s message.
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I’m pretty sure they didn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. When it was time to end the call, I hoped the background noise covered the tremble in my voice. I knew they might never speak to each other again.
Good or bad, I think they both might have known, too.
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Good or bad, I think they both might have known, too.
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After that, their paths diverged. One went back to work. The other lost consciousness without any idea of whether she would ever wake up. I held her hand, trying to provide some small comfort in what was clearly a very frightening moment.
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Afterward I went on to do the very mundane tasks that needed to be done for her care—entering the orders, writing the admission note, etc.
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Because in medicine, even when our heart jumps out of our chest, we keep on moving relentlessly forward, even to do the parts of the job that are not worthy of a soundtrack. That's not necessarily a good thing.
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