Last night was emotionally exhausting...I think because it started out that way and if you are emotionally beat by 10pm you are in for a looooooong night. At change of shift a new patient was put in my room, a 4 year-old little girl who had been complaining of tummy pain for about a week. I went in to do my assessment and fell in love. She was so talkative and cute, she introduced me to her friend Oscar, her stuffed frog, told me her favorite color was orange, and her mother (8 months pregnant) was having a baby soon, but she was going to feel better by the time the baby was born. She also told me she was very brave and she had beautiful eyelashes (she did). Any nurse lucky enough to have a patient that adorable should feel so grateful, compassion regenerates quickly (at least in me) when I have little pediatric patients like her. She put a smile on my face and I was glad I was her nurse. About an hour after she came in, we got her lab results. She had cancer. Her mother had no idea. We had to break the news to her. When the doctor told me the news, it was like being punched in the stomach. I cannot imagine if it were my baby. The doctor called the mom into his office and as gently as he could explained the findings and recommended that her daughter be transferred to a bigger hospital with pediatric oncologists.
Of course the mom was devastated and started crying and crying and I just stood in the hallway and hugged her until she was ready to go back into the room with a smile on her face. I am not sure what or if she mentioned anything to her daughter, all her daughter knew was that tonight, she was so excited because she was going to get to ride in an ambulance. I was in and out of the room before the ambulance arrived to pick her up, and I'll be darned if that little girl didn't have us all laughing before she left. Her poor mother was just sitting next to the hospital bed crying and crying and after awhile, the little girl looked at her mom and said "Mama, you have got to stop all this wah-wah ing and just be a big girl, ok?". When a child gets a diagnosis like that, as a nurse and as a human you become very aware of speaking in the future-tense. After the little girl invited me to her birthday party, all I could think of was, 'Will she make it to this birthday? Will this be her last birthday party?' It was a socially sickening feeling. What made it worse, the ER physician pointed out to me, was all the horrible regular patients that we have that do not take care of themselves, abuse their bodies, are ungrateful for the care we give, and just live their lives oblivious to others and the gift that is life itself. This little girl was next door to a drug-addict, and it made me just want to shake the addict and say "Look at yourself! You are throwing your life away! Not everyone is as lucky to be living and you are throwing this gift away!!". It was emotionally exhausting and a few times I had to step in to the break room and compose myself and wipe my tears and blow my nose.
Why? A perfectly beautiful, happy, loved little girl and after tonight her life and her family's life may never be the same. It kind of put things in perspective for me. Lately my biggest worry has been the cellulite on my thighs. Last night made me realize how lucky I am and how much I love my family and how life is very, very precious. In the ER people come in and out, live and die, and most of the time death does not consciously effect me one way or another. I have no problem putting bodies in bags and toe tags on, it means nothing to me, it is just a part of the job. I am so greatful to be reminded how very special life is, and I have my little patient to thank for that.
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