Tear Stained Cheeks

The drive home was quiet. My phone had died and I couldn't call for help, even if I wanted to. There was no need for the radio- my thoughts said too much and I craved silence. I didn't bother emptying out my pockets before leaving work, and my equipment jammed into my leg. My badge was positioned funny and jammed itself into my breast. I didn't care about either of them.

My mind went to the long talks with my buddy Travis, about how stupid patients are. "If you are going to cut, go down the river, never across the street!" He would always exclaim, shaking his head and laughing. As I pulled my car up to a red light, I looked to my wrist and studied the sting from the wound by the glow of the street light.

I felt enlightened as suddenly I realized patients aren't stupid after all- they don't want to die-they are trying to cure the pain.
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Charlotte was the sweetest woman I have ever known. She had long grey hair and big blue eyes, and even at 94 she loved to whistle- or at least, try to. While I worked a long-term care facility I was always assigned to be her aide- and I was just fine with it. Her son came to visit her every night- he was a big, strong, teddy bear. Before too long we became friends, and I became family.

I quit the care center not long after I turned 18, but I still went to visit Charlotte often. One night after about two months I got a phone call from her son. He was crying. He asked why I hadn't been at his mothers funeral.

Words couldn't fix what had happened and tears formed in my eyes. I sniffed softly and we stayed on the phone with each other. We didn't say a thing, we just sat until the other hung up. I haven't seen nor heard from him since, but I think of him every day.
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I've had roughly 700 patients in my care alone this year. That does not count the patients that I shared with other aides or the ones that didn't require much care. Out of those people, 22 of them have lost their lives. In my opinion, that is far too many.

Susan died alone, her family nowhere to be found or contacted, at the age of 73.

Frank died while getting Dialysis. He told me he was going to die three minutes before he did. The doctors were too late and he couldn't be revived. He was 56 and top of the list for a transplant.

Johnathan died of Leukemia after two long years of treatment. He was 8.

Maya died of heart problems after staying in the hospital for 6 months. It was sudden and unexpected. She was 32 with two young children.

Do people seriously wonder why we struggle with depression? Why we crack twisted jokes? Our jobs are amazing, but don't kid yourself, it's the hardest job in the world to do.
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I wish I was lucky enough to say these last 20 years were easy on me. More than anything I wish I could admit how high school was a breeze full of only good times and that the cops were only involved when it was funny.

I wish I could say that things were always amazing and wonderful- that I'm not a 19-year-old divorcee, or a girl who had to re-invent herself three times just to keep her head above water. I wish that I was lucky enough to say that I made it through all that hell with a smile on my face.
But I've been beaten bloody over all of it.
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Hot tears stained my cheeks, goosebumps covered my body. I sat on the floor in an empty patient room, hiding. I stared at my wrist in shock, in disbelief. I couldn't believe I had done it, but there they were, two cuts. My mouth fell open and I stared helplessly at it; what had I just done? That wasn't me, I was the professional, not the patient. Scared, and shaking I placed a gauze pad to my wrist and dabbed away the blood.

As I sat there I felt it-the realization of it. Just moments before my world was crashing, my pain was out of control and I could hardly breathe. Nothing could help the pain and all I could think about was wanting real pain. Suddenly the emotional pain had disappeared and the physical pain was all I could feel. I sniffed softly and touched the cuts, suddenly I felt like I could make it. The physical pain was nothing in comparison.
Finally, I understood.
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Two days after the first incident and I still hadn't taken off my leather wristband. My cut was covered in neosporin and topped with gauze and a tegederm, then nicely hidden for the world to never see. After a long shift at the medical unit I collapsed into my car and sat there numbly. After thirty minutes of debating I turned on my car and called Travis.

It took everything I had to even tell him the truth- that I was calling for help, for advice. And once I said it, I regretted it. Surprisingly, he shocked me. "Let's talk about it." He said. "And lets start off with why you're calling me about it."

I waited for the typical 'cutting is a cry for help, or attention' line, but it never came. Instead comments like 'your not stupid, nor incapable, your human' came up. By the time I got home I felt better and a plan was in place. From that point forward I was no longer allowed to keep my feelings bottled in. I was to carry tissues everywhere and try to let my emotions out (where appropriate). I was to call either him or my fiancee and get it out there- to avoid that unbelievable emotional pain at all costs.

Two people were on my side. And for me, that was enough.
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By no means am I to say that my depression is cured.
It is on hiatus while I am here at home recovering. The cold weather, the snow, the trips up to work remind me of what may be waiting for me once I do return. It scares me shitless.

But I have to talk about it, I have to face the facts. I need to tackle this son of a bitch and figure out what causes it to think it can control me. And then I need to take control all over again. It's a long, hard, miserable battle that will drive me to insanity, if it hasn't already.

No one would've known if I hadn't told them how bad it was. Sure, my fiancee knows I have crappy shifts. He knows there are nights I come home and cry myself to sleep. There are days that breathing the next breath seems impossible by all odds, but I seemingly pulled through. If I wouldnt've said anything it would've been my secret, and all they would've seen was tear stained cheeks.

One of my Last Shifts

He whimpered softly, being a man of only few words as he reached out and grabbed my hand. I took his hand and held it, letting his mind focus on that instead of the pain. We sat there quietly and after a moment I took the side rail down and sat on the edge of the bed.

The nurse came in and gave him his meds, as I let go to leave he whimpered again. Words didn't need to be said as I turned on my heel and returned to that exact same spot. He sighed in relief as he reached out his hand again, and I took it. The sound of the television drown out all the noise from the plexi-pulse boots, the IV pump and the pulse ox. His eyes stared at the television until they got incredibly heavy, and finally he dosed off to sleep.

"You're an old school kind of aide." My replacement tells me. I had been training her all night to do my job, however she had been an aide for almost as long as I have. I nodded my head, knowing full well I was not the norm nowadays when it comes to aides.

Her patient was on the call light every three minutes, with complaints like 'my pillow hurts', 'fix my ipod', 'talk to me, i cant sleep' and even inappropriate questions like, 'what does an orgasm feel like?' We both sighed at it. It felt as if we were working peds instead of an adult unit. However, she was incredibly patient with her and finally gotten her settled, so we hope.

The night flew by so incredibly fast. I watched it sadly. This wasn't my last shift at the hospital, but it was the last one at my favorite unit. Bitterly I sighed as it hit 6 a.m. One hour left to go.

The call light from my replacements patient continued to go off roughly every three minutes. I sighed and shook my head and tried to help her answer the call, but she wouldn't allow me in there, promising me that if I was seen, I wouldn't get out of there before 10 a.m.

The day shift came in and waited to get report. The night had been spent talking, exchanging funny medical stories and our thoughts on everything from kids to Obama. I let the replacement give report on our three patients, and then waited quietly. Everyone else was doing their own thing, and in this small family everyone was always so sweet and knew what was going on in every ones lives. I waited for my nurse to return so I could say goodbye- I wouldn't see them until Feburary 10th at least- but she never did.


I said my goodbyes, but no one said anything in return. I left quietly, the weight of the world on my shoulders, worried about my patients, my replacements and my surgery.


Two nights have passed and I don't sleep anymore. I sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and watch the snow fall quietly outside. I bundle up in my pajama pants and my blankets, turning on medical shows and movies, trying to drown out the worry. All of it is unsuccessful.

I'll be doing everything so much slower, but I'll have time to do it slower. I'm ordered to a immobilizing sling for 6 weeks. I'm not allowed to lift over 2 lbs for 12 weeks. I return to work and can only lift things under 10 lbs. Impossible for an aide. I worry about work- will they fire me when I can't keep up? Will they work with me? I worry about my mental health- 12 weeks not doing anything is a long time. 6 weeks in a sling- not being able to do anything will drive me insane! Yet I just keep trying to calm myself down. I listen to bagpipes and world tunes, singing loudly to German melodies and relaxing to Hawaiian songs. We go for car rides every day, letting the road run over my stress.

This is for a reason - this is so that I can qualify the fitness portion of Paramedic school. This is so that I can keep going on with my life. Without it I won't be able to lift babies out of a crib, let alone patients into an ambulance. Without it I would be disabled in less than three years. With it, and alot of P.T. I will be in the best shape of my life, because for the first time in five years, I won't be babying a large injury.

I just gotta keep reminding myself that.

Depression

This week has been full of this topic, starting with my trip to the ED on Sunday night. A friend called Sunday afternoon asking questions about a visit to the emergency room about crisis evaluations and how she should know when to take her 'sister.' I answered all questions dutifully and left it at that. Knowing her family, including said sister, it was a plausible story. Three hours later she called me in tears asking to be taken in to the ED. As I stated in an earlier post, it was a long night and by law I had to take her in. It's not the same scenario if you call the cops, and I knew calling in the cops wouldn't help her. So, we loaded up the car and took her to whichever hospital she chose.

It ended up being mine.

Because my hospital is the only level 1 Trauma center around, we got the joys of sitting out on a gurney in the hallway until they could find time for a measly crisis evaluation. GSW's to the face, stabbings, heart attacks, MVA's and MCI's rolled past us from the helicopter pad. I tried to be supportive to this person who I sat with, but we weren't that close and I wanted to see these traumas.

Because of what happened Sunday night I think I caught something from a patient in the ED, because I got sick. However, when I am down I have time to think about things. One thing I got to thinking about was depression.

During report today I caught myself rolling my eyes and sighing, making a comment similar to 'everyone has depression and anxiety'. It was wrong of me to say. I shouldnt've said it, i shouldnt've thought it. But when we work in medicine we seem to overlook that diagnosis. We seem to look for anything better when in reality, depression is a serious illness.

Everyone has had a down point in their life. A bad day, week, or month. A time where that damn raincloud follows them everywhere. The thing about depression is that alot of the time people don't realize they have it, and once they find out they do, they are over medicated and treated. Sometimes the treatment s appropriate other times its inappropriate. Either way, depressed people get help. That's a step.

I have sat in many 1:1's. Many suicide precautions and many depressed people. We roll our eyes at the 21 year olds who claim they don't want to live anymore, we sigh at the thirty-one year olds who are loosing their minds in a mid-life crisis. But what we don't realize is that their pain is real.

This post is not just an information post. I want to send out a challenge to everyone to quit overlooking depression. Shame on me for not watching the girl with the crisis evaluation. Shame on me for what I said. Shame on the doctors for not taking time to really look into someones depression and their medications. Shame on us, for not knowing enough about this totally painful and out of control disorder. Let's do better y'all.

Missing Scott

Dear Scott,

It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.

Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.

We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.

It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.

I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.

When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.

I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.

"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.

Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.

If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.

Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.

You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.

You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.

Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.

Address in the Stars

I am a tough cookie, and even though I am a girl- I am not one of the girls that cries during reruns of sappy sitcoms or during romantic movies. Frankly, I hardly ever cry compared to other girls. This is the first song that made me cry.

This song has hit alot of people- proof is in the comments on this link. Reading the links made me want to cry all over again. This song reminded me of everything I take for granted, and everyone I miss. Life's not far-and this song hit me hard enough to want to write about it.

Catilin and Will - Address in the Stars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I35_B_5htnI

I stumbled across your picture today, I could barely breathe.
The moment stopped me cold and grabbed me like a theif.
I dialed your number but you wouldn't be there.
I knew the whole time, but it's still not fair.
I just wanted to hear your voice,
I just needed to hear your voice.
What do I do with all I need to say,
So much I wanna tell you everyday.
Oh, it breaks my heart, I cry these tears in the dark.
I write these letters to you, But they get lost in the blue.
Cause, there's no address in the stars.
Now I'm driving through the pitch black dark.
I'm screaming at the sky, Oh, cause it hurts so bad.
Everybody tells me that all I need is time.
Every morning rolls in, and it hurts me again,
And that ain't nothin but a lie.
Without you here with me, Don't know what to do
I'd give anything just to talk to you

Healing on the Worst Day -

Lately I have been working on what I hope will one day be a book. Since I've got nothin good to report, I figured I would post this for your pleasure and feedback. Enjoy!
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I had found him the car and helped him finance it. My mother and I had helped clean it up and destroyed the smell of cigarettes from the upholstery, my father had taken him to teach him how to drive a stick shift. Now that little red car was sitting in our drive way full of his belongings and he stormed past me multiple times, cramming even more of his stuff in it. Watching, I felt numb, unsure of what to do, how to react. There was no manual for this part, no instructions, no in case of emergency back up plan. There was only me watching what was supposed to be the rest of my life walk away.


As he slammed the trunk shut he snarled at me, apparently disgusted at the mere sight of me. I looked to the ground and had only one thought enter my head. ‘Give him one last hug, you know you are the better person, do it so that you have no regrets later in life.’ I followed my gut and approached him, giving him one, quick last hug. He stepped into the car and quickly took off, barely missing one of the neighbors kids on their tricycle as he sped down the road.

I don't know how long I stood there before I realized that my brother had appeared next to me and had put a hand on my back. I kept standing there, not sure what to do, not sure how to feel. I waited for the rush of emotions that I knew were coming, but they never did. The cold October wind sent a gust through our little neighborhood and I sighed, feeling goose bumps cover my body.


“Dani, you need to come inside,” My brother said, grabbing at my arm. “It is freezing out here.” I looked to him and tried not to cry as I studied his face. Nodding I started inside and headed back downstairs to what once was my basement apartment.

Sitting cautiously on the stairs I looked at the mess that was once my life. Clothes were scattered from the bedroom to the living room, movies and CD’s had been thrown across the room. Blankets that were folded an hour before now covered even more damage and more misplaced items that had been strewn around during his rage. All I could do was stare as the numb feeling blanketed me, protecting me from my own emotions.


After thirty minutes I stood and picked up the first item, it was my stethoscope. I hugged it to my chest as I walked over all the other items and then found my way to my bed. I dug into a pile that was once my neat closet and found an old pair of scrubs and put them on. Once warm enough and emotionally strong enough I turned on my radio and began to pick up the pieces of my now broken life.

As the afternoon progressed my parents came home from work. My brother having told them what had happened they sat on the stairs, watching me. We didn’t speak. I could smell dinner cooking on the stove, but I had no interest in it. My dad put on one of my favorite movies and turned the volume up loud, hoping to entice me to watch it with them. Instead I began to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom, pushing the dresser around.


The sound of a siren that was my ring tone cried out and I uneasily grabbed my phone and answered it. “Hello?” I asked, feeling quite apprehensive.

“Is this Dani?” I heard a friendly voice say from the other end.

“This is.” I replied.

“Hi Dani, my name is a Manager from the Hospital.”

“Hi…” I said, feeling my voice start to shake as I began my dig for a pen.

“I interviewed with you last week.” She said, wasting no time. “And I understand you cannot work the job I interviewed you for, but would you come in again tomorrow for a interview as a CNA?” She asked. “The job just literally opened up and I think you would be great at it!”

I stopped. “Of course!” I said, trying to sound as excited as I felt. I was ecstatic, thrilled, in shock. The conversation flowed well, I got the address and information I needed and we hung up the phone. I laid on my bed and sighed, looking up to the ceiling.


When I finally had the strength to sit up I jumped as my little brother walked into the room and flopped down on the bed next to me, a risky move on his part. At any moment I could burst into flame, animal form or even simply acting as a bitch, yet he looked danger in the eye and entered anyways, a move I was glad he made. “Who was that?” He asked.

“A gal from the Hospital .” I said, smiling a little bit. He smiled and put up a hand, I high-fived him. “I have a job interview tomorrow.” I said.

“Cool!” He said sitting up. I then sighed and nodded. “What?”


“I can’t move my dresser.” I said sheepishly. He stood and threw a shoulder into it and it began to slide easily across the carpet. I admired my little brother because he helped me, not only with the dresser, but the bed and with putting the clothing in high places.

At seventeen my brother stood almost five inches taller than me, the 5’1 nineteen year old. He had the same sandy blond hair and I did and same blue eyes, but had taken after our dad when it came to his nose and jaw line. He smiled at me as I finished putting the fresh sheets on my bed. Without saying a word, and without complaining about my taste in music he helped me put everything away and got my room re-organized. When it was done I smiled, taking in a small breath of the fresh smell.

“Thank you.” I said, throwing my arms around him.


“Your welcome,” He whispered, embracing me, “Now will you please come eat dinner already so mom can quit griping about it?” I chuckled and nodded, then sat down and forced myself to eat something.

It was 10:30 by the time I got done eating, and my parents had already gone to bed, both not wanting to take on the beast quite yet. I grabbed a blanket and turned on Discovery Health, and without saying a word my night was spent watching reruns of ‘Trauma; Life in the ER’ with my little brother.

As we watched he did imitations of famous actors and how they would react if they were doctors in the show. Before too long I was holding back tears and laughing to an impersonation of Sean Connery dealing with a car accident

I always knew family was important, I had always loved my family, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized that my family 'gets' me better than I think they do. They understand how I tick enough to understand how to let me heal, and that, is honorable.

Bad Nights

Everyone has bad days, everyone has bad nights. Everyone is entitled to these. It's a part of life.
Tonight I was placed in a 1:1. The guy was a generally cool guy, and all of his 'delusions' were proven true by his friends showing up and proving to me that he wasn't lying. I took him out for multiple smoke breaks. We talked alot about his emotions and feelings, I felt like I was making progress.

Until he decided he wanted to end it. He first began with beating himself, punching himself hard in the head, neck and jaw. He screamed out as I tried to pin him down, then with the help of the nurse we calmed him down. We then let him make some phone calls to his family, bad idea.

I dropped my notebook from on my lap and jumped over the side rail, trying to pry my hands from around the telephone cord wrapped tightly around his neck. I kicked the nurse call light on with my elbow and tried to wrestle him free from the cord, but he was too strong. Fists flew into my face, arms hitting my arm and knees into my chin as he tried to regain control. I could feel his carotid under my fingers as I fought to get grip of the cord. "I need some help in here!" I yelled, then got kicked back by a knee to my chest. I started to panic and the adrenaline kicked into high gear as I jumped back into action. No one came. We continued to wrestle for a minnute more, him spitting on me and swearing, dropping all the bombs in the book, he gritted his teeth and began to thrash some more. "I need some frickin help!" I yelled, this time a parade of Nurses, aides and the on-call doctor came running in and we helped get him free from it.

My hands shook as I continued to hold him down to the bed by his wrists. We all had adrenaline pumping and tried to calm him down as he yelled and screamed, trying to break free. I could feel his radial pulse pounding quickly, and then realized it was my own pulse I could feel.
I went numb after that, and thank goodness shift change was ten minutes away. I looked at him, feeling empty and insecure, he lay quietly on his bed, watching Scrubs. I just held down a man who tried to kill himself in front of me.

Now I am home, have had a whole long drive, and even tried to eat a little, but it takes it out of you. I know I did the right thing, I had doctors, nurses and other aides shake my hand and inform me I saved his life and did a good job...but I just watched a man try to take his own life.

I'm not quite sure how to feel about it all.

"Why Bother?"

My Monday shift consisted of a patient dying. Tuesday one friend lost a grandfather, and the other her father. They say that people die in 3's, 7's, and 12's but is this true if you're the bystander?

Because of who they lost it caused me to lay awake last night, thinking about my life. I too lost my grandfather a few years back, and loosing grandparents is a simple fact of life, but it is incredibly difficult. Back then I lost two people in my life at the same time, the same night, 45 minutes away from each other, and I was out of town when it happened.

I found out about my friend first. A kid I went to school with for years, a kid I had worked with, and a kid who was like my brother. He passed away by suicide, something none of us would have predicted he was planning. He was an outgoing kid, a band geek, smarter than anyone else I knew and was going to an Early-College-High-School for Marine Biology. He was the kid I could turn to when my life got hard, and we spent so many cold winter days sitting on the front porch, talking, thinking and wondering about life. I was at an EMT competition when another girl from our high school tearfully told me. My heart sank and my mind turned off. I couldn't focus on anything, let alone our win. The bus ride home one of my classmates sat close to me, my head on his shoulder and slow, hot, tears falling down my face. When I got home, he would be gone.

When I arrived home I realized my grandmother was at our house. This was so weird for our home, we were remodeling, and the house was a mess. After kicking off my shoes and letting out a deep breath I shakily told my dad why I was crying. Sadly, he had me sit on the couch with my grandmother, all she had to do was say my name. I knew what happened. I locked myself in my parents office. Simply staring at the wall. Finally I turned on ITunes, and put it on country, hoping to find some comfort from the crazyness, instead Emerson Drive's song 'A Good Man' came on, and I sobbed even harder.

Two days later I picked up a friend of mine,(a man who still struggles with this to this day), both of us dressed in black. We were headed to our friends viewing. I would be unable to make it to the funeral, and I promised him I would drive. We both stood in that long line for two hours, just to pause for a moment and finally say goodbye. I closed my eyes and shook my head. You just cannot say a true goodbye to a corpse. Tears filled our eyes and my friend and I left, having no desire or intention to meet up with everyone else later. We stayed up til 3 a.m, talking and laughing about the 'good ole days.' But it still didn't seem real.

When I was 16 my grandfather made me a promise I haven't forgotten. He promised me that he wouldn't leave this world until he saw me get married. When I was 17 the doctors helped us realize how sick he really was, and at various trips to visit him I had to use EMS care to help him til the hospice team came. He was in pain, and now he isn't, but it still doesn't change the fact that I miss him, and I hate that he won't be around to see me get married. Its hard, going to see your grandmother and expecting to see him there, yelling at the soccer game on TV and laughing with that hearty belly laugh.

Last night I finally broke down and cried. I hate crying, I feel like it shows weakness, but I am so frusterated with my job, with the people I take care of, and my personal life. It seems like all anyone does is die.

"Why bother?" I asked my fiance last night with tear-filled-eyes. "All I do is take care of people who die."

"Because your the strong one who CAN take care of them before and while they do, and how many honestly die compared to the ones you have saved?" We talked for about an hour, and finally I was done trying to explain, and done keeping him awake all night. We turned in and fell asleep, but I awoke this morning to the same thoughts.

I'm guessing its something that everyone goes through, something that everyone thinks at one point or another. Today I saw that my friends have posts all over facebook and myspace, they too are wondering the same thing I was; 'why bother?'

2 Panic Attacks, 2 Saves

After a lot of deliberation I decided to be candid and post it all

Thursday we had a weird shift, an extra aide and an extra nurse added to our mix and a lot of stress as we tried to teach them the ways of our unit and take care of our patients appropriately. A certain patient had been on the call light asking for pain meds continuously, and I reminded the nurse to remember his pain meds before too much more time passed. The nurse flipped out and got angry with me, claiming that I was telling her how to care for her patient. The extra aide walked into the patient room (it was her patient) and helped him settle again and stop the screaming and moaning, while the nurse went ahead to ream me a new one...and I wasn't sure why.

" You don't tell me how to take care of my patients. He can't have pain meds for another hour. Can't you read these? Let me tell you what I'm doing, I'm dealing with a little girl that could be dying." She said standing nose-to-nose with me. I'm not allowed to touch the pain meds, access the Omnicell they come in let alone suggest that pain meds are coming. I am not allowed to read the medicaion reports, meds are strictly for nurses. I was amazed that she was assuming all of this.

"Everyone is someone who could be dying." I replied, meaner than what I wanted to be. "I am just asking that a patient be taken care of, if it aint time for meds, it aint time. Thats fine, do what you were doing, I'm just doing MY job." The nurse pulled in closer to me.

"Listen to me you little shit, you're being inappropriate." I looked to our other nurse, who was called in to assist who shook her head and mouthed to me 'no your not, no your not'.

"Me doing MY job is inappropriate?!" I asked. "Well then do tell me what is appropriate." I said leaning back in my chair, just waiting to hear her explaination.

"I'm gonna write your ass up!" She yelled going into the patient room. "I am gonna have your license revoked. You are a worthless aide and I have no honest idea why they hired you!" I shook my head and fought back tears. 'What a bitch.' I thought, then gathered my things. I was off in 1.5 hrs anyways, I figured she was gonna send me home. As she returned from the patient room she glared at me. "What do you think your doing?" She yelled.

"I'm thinking ahead." I said, setting my bag down and organizing a few items.

"Don't think your going anywhere." She snarled and I lost it. I felt a hot tear hit my cheek and I looked up to her. The day had been rough. First my biological mother had gotten mad at me, my future mother in law was not happy with me, and now my co-workers and adult example was pulling this off-the-wall stunt. She heard me sniff and watched me excuse myself from the unit, then grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me outside to yell at me some more.

After it was all said and done, I don't remember the entire conversation, I don't remember what was said or done, but I do remember having my first set of panic attacks. I do remember realizing what was wrong with me and trying to focus on just calming down as she yelled at me some more. I sat on the floor, thinking 'inhale, exhale, breathe Dani, breathe.'

___________

Friday I wore a set of scrubs I never wear. My hair was out of place and my makeup was only half done. I was still in a funk from Thursday night and I had no intention of trying to get out of it alive. After a long pep-talk from the nurse who yelled at me I started to work.

I did everything I needed to do and then more. Glucoses were done, rechecked and noted correctly. Vitals were done for my Q4's and Post-Operatively and the patients had lots of ice packs and snacks to keep them comfortable. Urinals and foleys were emptied and I had even help a few patients walk the halls before going to bed for the night. Things were going well. The nurse and I had nothing more to say to each other about last night and we even joked about wedding dresses (I was browsing at our slow points) and my fiance wearing a kilt to the wedding. Things picked up again at 0200 and I jumped back into action.

The patient we had gotten in the arguement over the night before was yelling in pain, gripping the bed rails with white knuckles and yelling loudly. Either he had bad nerve receptors or the bupivicaine block simply wasn't working, either way we had to take care of him. I decided to pack both of his surgical sites (they were casted) with gel packs, figuring the more ice, the better to help his pain. I never touched his cast, but I touched the blankets and pillows around it gently and he screamed loudly in pain. "STOP!" He yelled. "You're killing me! I am gonna die here!"

I hurried to his head and held his hand, encouraging him that he wasn't going to die on my watch or at my hospital. As he calmed down I heard his pulse ox machine beep loudly and I looked up. The kid was on 2L 02 and had his sats drop to 60 and his pulse was 100 before, was reading 210 now. I yelled to his nurse who didn't help me, so I started to asses him before I dared push the code button.

"Breathe!" I yelled to him pushing his O2 up to 6L. "Hey!" I yelled, shaking him and making him focus on me. "You are gonna need to breathe." In all honesty, he was breathing, and it was an adequate inhale and exhale, which is what scared me. We got him breathing normally and I shouted to the nurse again, his pulse was 164 taken manually. Either way, for a healthy young man, that was bad. As I continued my assessment on him and tried to help him stablilize the nurse busted in and I gave my quick report on him. She told me to go get a face mask and more ice packs and I did so, by this time he was stablilized. She had the ambu bag lying out at the head of his bed and he was breathing normally. I grabbed his hand and rubbed his back, he really wasn't satting....his hands were ice cold and looking pale.

As we left his room and had him settled again the nurse looked at me and nodded. "Thank god your an EMT." She said. I looked at her, confused. "You saved his life, Dani. You may not consider it a save, but it is." I smiled and nodded. "Good work." She said, patting my back.

About an hour later I was taking an early blood glucose, figuring why not take it early, the patient slept all night and was doing well all night, little to no pain, no worries, not even a need for a potty break. As I took it she was talking to me, smiling, laughing at my lame jokes and talking about going home. I looked at the beeping glucometer and sighed. 'RRLO.'

I grabbed an orange juice and gave it to her, then reset my glucometer for a retest. After five minutes I took it again, 'RRLO.' This time I gave her a cranberry juice and reset the glucometer again. Grabbing her chart I remembered she had high blood sugars before she went to bed and I felt bad, she wanted to go home so bad and this may compromise this. I took a third blood sugar. 'RRLO.' I ran to the nurse and notified her of this and made the patient breakfast, complete with MORE sugar and fruit. She ate it and the nurse spoke with her. I gave it ten more minutes and tested a fourth time. '166.' I sighed a breath of relief and as I charted it the relief aide walked in, smiling from a well-rested night. I laughed at this and smiled at the nurse as she walked past.

"Dani made two saves tonight on her own. We need to just have her as an EMT and not a CNA, get her a pay raise and better benefits so that we can get more done, she's done really well tonight."

"She's rocked this shift." The other nurse said as she glanced up from her chart. I smiled.
2 Panic attacks, 2 Saves.