The man I took care of today walked into triage and was wheeled out to a funeral home. I talked to him. We started IVs, central lines, arterial lines, every vasopressor under the sun, a Heparin drip, we intubated, I titrated, inserted tubes wherever I had to and it was all for naught. He still died. I had to watch his wife stand next to him and hold his hand and sob. And I still came home with the feeling that if I had just done something a little different or a little earlier that he would have lived, despite what anyone says to me. I'm still sitting here in my apartment crying in my beer. It's days like this that I think maybe I'm not the kind of person who's supposed to be a career ER nurse. Time to get my transcripts in order.
Friday, October 15, 2010
I can't do this forever.
I've been entertaining the thought of going back to NP school next fall. I was talking to my husband about all this the other day after a rather exciting ER night with running around the unit giving emergent meds and saving lives and other such adrenaline charged activities. My goal ever since I started nursing school was to ultimately become an FNP- although I also thought I wanted to run a pedi clinic and now I'm pretty sure that's actually the worst job ever. After that particular shift, I told him I still wanted to go back to school but I was a little bit ambivalent because I thought I would miss critical care. And I will. But when I was saying that, I wasn't thinking about days like today.