Rough final week in the ICU. We have very ill patient with a list of failing organ systems that grows daily. Victories are counted in ccs of urine and minutes on pressure support, while an ever-growing blast count remains an almost unspoken reality. I haven't taken care of many patients so critically ill in our tiny community hospital, let alone one this young.
It makes me angry. I don't want to participate this patient's suffering, or the suffering of his family. I don't want to walk in that room every day and see the terrified look frozen on his wife's face, or look at the pictures of his neices on his father's iPhone. I don't want to be a part of this awful tragedy.
And then I feel guilty, because this is not about me and what I don't want to do or to see. It's about a son and husband and a brother, and a wife and father and mother and a family and a community. And my heart hurts. And I feel sad. But I also feel proud to have the privilege to participate in the care of this patient, and this family.
And it has been a reminder to wake up and show gratitude for the world around me. As one of the ICU nurses pointed out, "if you have your health, you have everything." Even surrounded by illness, I think I still take my health for granted every day.
So today I choose to be grateful for my job and for my health. It may seem shallow, but I think of all the parts of my body that I don't always appreciate: wide hips, chubby arms, small breasts, crooked smile. And I wonder how can I not be grateful everyday for an able body in any shape or form. So today I give thanks for loyal bone marrow pumping out disease fighting leukocytes and oxygen-bearing erythrocytes, for kidneys that faithfully filter blood, removing the toxins of daily life. I am thankful for the automaticity of my diaphragm, such that dutiful lungs will inspire and expire and inspire again effortlessly oxygenating hemoglobin. For short limbs that bear weight, that carry me to bear witness to rocky summits and snowy trails. Arms that reach and hold. A robust heart.
call me sentimental but it's true, at least for today.
It makes me angry. I don't want to participate this patient's suffering, or the suffering of his family. I don't want to walk in that room every day and see the terrified look frozen on his wife's face, or look at the pictures of his neices on his father's iPhone. I don't want to be a part of this awful tragedy.
And then I feel guilty, because this is not about me and what I don't want to do or to see. It's about a son and husband and a brother, and a wife and father and mother and a family and a community. And my heart hurts. And I feel sad. But I also feel proud to have the privilege to participate in the care of this patient, and this family.
And it has been a reminder to wake up and show gratitude for the world around me. As one of the ICU nurses pointed out, "if you have your health, you have everything." Even surrounded by illness, I think I still take my health for granted every day.
So today I choose to be grateful for my job and for my health. It may seem shallow, but I think of all the parts of my body that I don't always appreciate: wide hips, chubby arms, small breasts, crooked smile. And I wonder how can I not be grateful everyday for an able body in any shape or form. So today I give thanks for loyal bone marrow pumping out disease fighting leukocytes and oxygen-bearing erythrocytes, for kidneys that faithfully filter blood, removing the toxins of daily life. I am thankful for the automaticity of my diaphragm, such that dutiful lungs will inspire and expire and inspire again effortlessly oxygenating hemoglobin. For short limbs that bear weight, that carry me to bear witness to rocky summits and snowy trails. Arms that reach and hold. A robust heart.
call me sentimental but it's true, at least for today.
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