Gone Too Soon

Paz was one of my best-mannered patients. She was unquestioning, unobtrusive, peaceful and serene. She rarely makes noises. She never complains every time I visit her in the room. Performing any invasive procedures on her is a breeze. There are no struggles, no resistance, no fighting back. She takes her medications without queries or qualms. She was just plain perfect --- in fact the best patient assignment any nurse could ever get --- except for one single thing:

She was in a coma for the past 7 months already.

Bioethical principles dictate that we should value human life at all cost. Medical ethics, however, makes it a little complicated. Technology is even blamed for its often useless and unnecessary means of prolonging life. Heart-lung-machines, artificial feeding, respirators, aggressive antibiotics --- they have been used indiscriminately that instead of helping the person die in peace, they just prolong the patient’s agony. And sometimes the thin line differentiating murder/euthanasia or a peaceful death is now gone.

Would you remove your dying mother’s ventilator if in case she gets comatose?

Would you stop giving artificial feedings if in case your mom could not eat by ordinary means anymore?

Would you be very much willing to allow her to die? Withhold fluids and not give CPR?

As an ICU Nurse, I have seen patients die. I have seen how their relatives weep outside of their dying loved ones’ room, waiting and praying eagerly that the chest compressions and non-stop pushing of medications would bring their loved ones back to life. I have seen how their eyes and their faces mourn with sorrow. So piercing they need not say any word at all.

But like any other job, for a nurse like me, after every death, and each post-mortem care, the show must definitely go on. Repress the image of death at the back of your head and wear a jolly smile before entering another patient’s den.

And one could only hope that the rest of the day would be a better one.

How do nurses cope with loss, with pain, with death?

My colleagues do it in the shopping malls. They sing karaoke till they finally kill somebody with their horrendous voices. They buy white and light blue rubber shoes to match their cerulean scrubs. They eat like there’s no tomorrow. They take care of their babies, hubbies and sweeties. They do the unmentionables.

I, for one, do it in the arcade shoppes. I race cars while imagining the Reaper chasing after me. I hold fake guns while visualizing Death as just another character in The Night of the Living Dead game. I play those Marvel games and picture my opponent as the Grim Reaper as I pierce him using Wolverine’s claws. I catch toys in magic cranes hoping that the loosened hinges would grasp the weighty bear. I watch young lads play Dance Revolution because I’m too shy to play in one. I surround myself with noise, fun, and company of good friends. I stargaze. I celebrate.

Dare people might say it is discourteous, disrespectful, foul even. But if nurses, and doctors, who experience death day in and day out would wallow in grief and sadness, I bet there’ll be no more medical staff in hospitals anymore.

We try to do the best in life, for life is always mean, cruel, and unfair. And for that reason we cope. We cope and we hope. We hope that the things to come will be better. The load will be easier. The days will be brighter.

I do not seek approval for the way I lead my life. I am proud to live life the way I intended it to be lived. For always in the end, the only person answerable for my life, my behavior, my decisions, my choices, is no one but myself.

Paz died in peace a week ago.

Her grandson who used to have my cell phone number informed me that she has succumbed to the overwhelming infection as her organs gradually fail one by one.

It looks like I’m heading for the arcade in a little while.

Wanna play?

*

Related Posts:
Littlest Things. A triumvirate of strange medical stories.
Dust In The Wind. Another triumvirate of hazing-related medical stories.
Tell Me Where It Hurts. A tragic medical story of a patient's broken childhood.

Listening to Vertical Horizon's Best I Ever Had. Images from flickr.com.