young, idealist

If the world was thrown into chaos-
fire falling from the sky, ground crumbling away,
the dollar declared worthless,
I would still want to be a nurse.

cup of ethics

• please, I'm here to help
• you must be thirsty- drink this
• this will lessen your pain
• you had surgery yesterday, and now you are running a fever- you need to stay hydrated
• please try to drink
• the sooner you drink this, the sooner you'll feel better
• the nurse prepared this especially for you- will you try some?
• this is what the doctor recommended to speed your recovery

I murmur these lines, bring the cup to her lips, but each time she violently pushes my hand away, unwilling to take her medication or any water.

In her delirium she may not hear my words, or her dementia may not allow her to comprehend them. Does she recall how to drink from a cup? Is she completely disoriented and believes that I mean to harm her?

She has lived WWII and a communist revolution. She knows pain and suffering better than I. What right do I have to force her to drink?


The nurse took one look at the patient's poor skin turgor and dry mucous membranes, tipped the patient's head back and forced her to drink. In response, the patient promptly leaned over the bedrail and spat the fluid onto the floor.

birth

c-section
peel back the slit layers of flesh,
cauterize capillaries like so many cigarette burns,
lift out the bloody fruit of the uterus
needles bite into the thick muscle
this part ends in a neat row of staples


I returned to the nicu, met a nurse who had been there 23 years ago, thanked her for taking care of me when I was a tiny, intubated doll in a plastic box

to hold a newborn is to know that your life is no longer your own

For You

frank blood spurts over your cupped hand
Get the doctor, run

clots fall from your lips
Hold onto me, don't look down into the basin

some water to rinse your mouth, a fresh gown
The taste forgotten, the stains unread

more platelets, oxygen, salem sump on way to OR
Reach beneath my ribs and break off half my liver, take it still warm into your outstretched hand

Intro to Peds

• one cannot assume that any tube taped/stitched in place will remain so secured (NGT vomited out, CT "fell out" 2x, IV slipped, GT leaked)
• anticipate that meds may be hidden, coughed up, refused, thrown in face
• screaming child = vocal cords adducted = block route to lungs?
• super sick kids make the world seem a terribly unjust place
  

end of med-surg rotation

The elevator doors close tightly,
the metal box cuts through the hospital floors,
passengers, like potent medication, are released
to wade through hallways of blood choked with microbes,
to circulate into rooms/cells
all this an effort to stave off organ dysfunction, paralysis, coma, death

...

I strip away my uniform,
this thin cloth that weighs so heavily on me
with the responsibility of sustaining life-
but grief has already penetrated my skin

RED

At code RED the staff ran the halls, offering reassurance to patients and closing doors. I asked a nurse what further actions we should take should we see actual smoke. Her ready answer was, “If I see flames, I’m running out and saving myself.” I at first rejected her advice- confident that I would stay behind and help patients to escape incineration. Then I imagined myself struggling to help my patient (on his one good leg) down the 10 flights of stairs. At this point any altruistic impulse was replaced by an instinct for self-preservation. I was surprised at how quickly my supposedly “kind" heart turned to lead...