Nursing Affirms Life in Face of Death
Like generals and their armies, doctors and nurses are essential to healthcare
MARTIN C. WINER
Recently, my family had the misfortune of experiencing the loss of a loved one as the result of a tragic accident. The diagnosis and prognosis were clear cut: “Catastrophic brain injury, no hope of recovery.” Since the diagnosis was so clear, I’d like to focus on the frontline healthcare professionals, the nurses, who cared so dearly for our loved one — and all of us.
There was a two-day period between the delivery of this terrible diagnosis and the eventual end. During those two days I witnessed everyday yet monumental acts of courage and caring on the part of the nursing staff. The critical care ward is an open ward. Everyone in there is suffering terribly in one form or another. Just entering the ward requires a level of spiritual strength that common folk can only summon under extreme circumstances. Signs on patients’ beds like “Exposed Bone Flap” and patients hooked in to many machines through a nexus of wires that looks like the back of a 70’s stereo set make for a scene not suited for the faint of heart. Just the same, each bed has a sign giving more human details about who the person is and their family. Each patient is respected as a person, a vibrant individual — much beyond the collection of bones, flesh, and sinews in distress. The nurses’ positive attitudes, steadfastness about their work, and smiles restored a level of humanity to a place otherwise dank with illness, and miraculously made it almost seem normal.
When the doctors caringly and compassionately delivered the news to our family, it was a nurse who had a box of tissues at the ready. When we first went into the ward to see our loved one, we were all afraid of exactly what we would witness. As we walked through timidly, a nurse gently patted another patient’s chest encouraging him to cough, speaking to him gently, even though he was clearly unconscious. I knew at that moment that in the midst of death and illness, life had an immutable force.
As the family gathered around our loved one, we were clearly in their way. Nurses were scurrying about tending to wounds and machines. But we were never made to feel we were in the way; we were made to feel that we were part of the caring that was taking place. The nurses made us feel that our presence was as beneficial as the life-sustaining equipment that was strewn around us. Both the nurses and doctors chorused in unison that our speaking to our loved one, even though the medical evidence suggested she couldn’t hear us, was necessary and helpful to all.
As our legs faltered under the emotional and physical strain, chairs magically appeared. As our stomachs gurgled because we had forgotten to eat, sandwiches were procured from the staff kitchen. Water and juice appeared in our hands without having to ask for them. Intuitively, the nurses seemed plugged into our digestive tracts. They urged us to sleep when it was the last thing we could think of. As we did not want to leave the hospital, they found a room nearby for us to spend the night, and supplied linens, doing their best to make it as comfortable as possible.
As our hands shook holding the hand of our loved one in ours, nurses’ hands steadied them with theirs. As we started to break down, nurses’ hugs steadied us. Hugs with people we had never met until that day seemed completely normal. We were all in a family of people dealing with life’s most challenging situations and questions. Even the one nurse who had a more curt manner, warning us not to enter the ward unannounced, explained that she was only concerned that we may see a procedure on our loved one that we were not prepared for.
The decision to cease administration of the drugs that were keeping our loved one’s body alive was a medical decision; mercifully, we weren’t asked to make that call. That night, a nurse was there every second to watch all the displays and gauges to ensure there wasn’t any sign of distress or discomfort. Decades earlier, a set of disparate heart cells, each beating to their own rhythm, found each other and started to beat together, sustaining my loved one for all the decades since. There is no spiritual vaccination one can administer to confer immunity to watching those vital signs whittle themselves down to zero, to flatness. Each of us in the family were lost in the darkness, beating to a panicked drum. We found the power to uphold ourselves when we connected with the nurses.
When we think of jobs that require courage, police work, fire fighters, and ambulance paramedics come to mind — and rightly so. Just the same, nursing requires a daily measure of spiritual courage that is hard to quantify. Leaving the hospital, I asked myself: “Why would anyone be a nurse?” It couldn’t be for the money. It couldn’t be for the hours, nor could it be for the ease of work. Many people find a sense of purpose in their work and in dedicating themselves to a business or a vocation. It became clear to me that nurses are not simply dedicated to nursing; they are dedicated to all of us.
Martin C. Winer is a freelance writer in Toronto. He enjoys writing articles about social action. More details can be found on his blog: www.martincwiner.com
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The nurses made us feel that our presence was as beneficial as the life-sustaining equipment that was strewn around us
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