a childlike vulnerbility

we lost a patient yesterday. in the OR. on the table. sure, people die everyday.it's a part of life. but, it is a very rare occurance that patient's die on the OR table. very rare. so when it does happen, it is a big deal. everyone in the OR clings together in a kinda stunned quietness. we dont deal with death very often. we get traumas, we stabilize them, and if they are going to die, we whisk them away to the ICU where the family can say goodbye. it may sound bad, but that is the nature of the beast.

things were at a stand still. the surgeons were literally running, i mean running from OR to OR to help. the OR RN's too. it was very surreal. like something out of a t.v. show. i was trying to help where i could. we all were. but too many people in the OR just causes more chaos. finally, they asked me to go back and help. so i did. The look on the surgeon's faces, as they were working furiously, is a look that i will never forget. it made me think back to my first weekend on call, when we lost the 2 young girls to horrible trauma accidents. you see this vulnerable side of them-as they are doing everything in their power to save this human being on the operating room table-because its in their hands, literally. well, to an extent. it really is in God's hands, but you know what i mean...and to see the look of defeat when they finally realize that death has won, taken this small child, or this grown man, as it was yesterday, it hurts.

i so often forget that these doctors i work with, they are human, too. i actually like pretty much all of them. there a couple that i could do without, but for the most part, they are just like us. but i sometimes think of them as super human...they feel loss, too. that sense of arrogence we see- is probably a facade. their front. they see and deal with sooo much more. everyone has their defense mechanisms. and since we all think that doctors are arrogant in the first place, well, what you see is what you get...i have gained sooo much more respect for them-in one day. seeing them yesterday-the childlike vulnerbility, not wanting to quit, or give up, knowing that the reality of it was, that the patient was gone...we tend to think they get paid ridiculous amounts of money, and they probably do, but guess what, that's YOUR mom or dad on the operating room table that they just SAVED. or your son or daughter they are working so desperately on to save. i am beginning to think the $130,000 or whatever it is they get paid may just be worth it.

at the end of the day, i saw dr. a, a 6'3, 250 lb. retired professional nfl football player (seriously) walking down the hallway. he was the anesthesiologist in the OR on this case. he had a tired, drawn look on his face. what does one say in these situations? especially since our usual banter consists of pushing of teasing each other. so, i did what i would do with any other person i would do that i care about. i smiled and i hugged him. and said, you did what you could. and he said, thanks, i needed that.

i needed that. lest we forget? a simple gesture. it does wonders.