All the Things We Carry

A nurse looks at what nursing means. Some of the things we see are heartbreaking, and some is beautiful. Much of it affects us, and some of it we carry forever. I've carried a lot with me over thirteen years of nursing. Here's a glimpse... Nurses Announcements Archive Article

All the Things We Carry

Every so often, a thread pops up around here: "What's in your pockets?" In other words, what do you carry that you know you'll need before your shift is up? Most of us carry alcohol swabs (never enough of those), penlights, probably a syringe or two, some 2x2s, tape, and it's a running joke on my unit that real nurses carry hemostats.

And heaven help the soul who arrives at the end of shift and can't find her brain sheet. That's painful in a way only a nurse can understand.

Not too long ago I stopped to help at the scene of a vehicular accident as I was driving into work. Looking at the single car involved, it was a miracle anyone survived, much less had a patent airway. One of the other first responders had gloves for us but PPE can be a bit limited when you're standing in the middle of a highway. Back to the point, I got back in my car and got to work a little late; as I was driving in, I noticed a smear of blood up my arm that wasn't mine. Not ideal, but it happens.

I got to work, gave everything a good scrub, and got thinking.

All these things I've mentioned are visible things we nurses carry with us, sometimes permanently and others not. But we carry so much with us that no one will ever see or know about. It's usually a mix of (to quote a classic movie) the good, the bad, and the ugly.

What do I carry?

I carry with me the tears of a father that he cried over his baby who never had a chance to take his first breath. The baby they'd tried for four years to have.

I carry with me the woman who had lived with domestic violence for over two decades, her arms covered in scars from shielding herself as he attempted to stab her to death. "No matter where I go, he will find me and kill me," she said.

I carry the gratitude of a twenty-something man who had what was then called 'full-blown AIDS' and still being written off by too many as a 'gay plague' and other nonsense. He was dying and he knew it, suffering from horrible neuropathy and on amounts of morphine that would knock everyone I know into the next world. It barely touched his pain. No one ever came to see him. I'm not sure which hurt him worse. We bonded over the course of several days and he mentioned in passing that he was really craving a Butterfinger. Hospital policy dictated that we weren't supposed to bring food to patients, but I pretended not to know that when I got a couple of Butterfingers from the gift shop (yes, he was still on a regular diet). The look on his face when I snuck them into him.....I can still see it. He died a couple of weeks later.

There are the twin daughters of a patient who was with us for months before she died. I remember their names and faces. They were never anything but kind and grateful for the care their mother received, even when they had their grief over her impending death to smack them in the face every day.

I carry the exhilaration and happy tears shed when men and women become fathers and mothers. The delight that overtakes a new mom when her baby looks at her like he's known her forever, or a daddy when a contented baby falls asleep on his chest, is something that can't be bought.

What about you? What do you carry?

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Elvish

About Elvish, BSN, DNP, RN, NP

Wife, nurse, mom, bookworm, FNP, Elvis fanatic, Brokeaholic, and LOTR junkie.

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Specializes in LTC, assisted living, med-surg, psych.

Beautifully written, Elvish. Thank you for sharing these thoughts with us. :)

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Even though I'm not a nurse, I carry the hopes and dreams of what is and what will be. :saint:

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I carry the smile of a lovely lady who walks the halls of the nursing home wandering about looking for the memory of what was home ..

I carry her sad heart because she is missing the love and feel of loved ones.

I carry her heavy heart when she relives the death of her son..

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Specializes in Critical Care; Cardiac; Professional Development.

I carry the patient who had published multiple scientific findings, educated, refined, having raised educated and refined children now with it just enough to know he is confused, combative yet still somehow charming, restrained to his bed due to multiple, unfailing, passionate attempts to rid himself of all medical devices and interventions and go home to die.

I carry the memory of my first death, a 44 year old woman, nonsmoker, healthy, fit....drawn low by end stage lung cancer. I carry how she cried out mere moments before her death, staring at the ceiling in wonder "Amen! Amen! Amen!". I carry her husband's relieved and loving acceptance as he bid her farewell for the last time. I carry also the memory of her mother telling me my conscience was between me and God, her anger at the loss of her child unable to land on anything but the baby nurse who could not save her daughter.

I carry the memory of the dying man whose family finally succumbed to acceptance and placed him on comfort care. All he wanted from me was water, having been NPO and tube fed for weeks. I will never forget the blissful relief on his face, his gurgling proclamation of "Wonderful!", barely audible as he swallowed the water I brought him. He died mere hours later.

I will never forget the man who had been thrown from his vehicle, had a brain bleed, was recovering nicely and who decided the day before he left the hospital was a good time to verbalize not his thanks but his fury at his favorite jeans being cut off his body at the scene of the accident.

So many more.

But primarily, I carry the memory of my 13 year old son, body decimated by pneumonia post bone marrow transplant. I will never forget his solemn, adult-like instructions not to keep his body artificially alive if he could not truly live. I will never forget asking him, as he struggled to breathe, if he were afraid and he quietly told me "no". I'll never forget the awful decision to allow the ventilator and never forget the horror of the decision that had to be made three weeks later. I will never forget my inability to continuing singing to him as the machines were turned off, my weak inability to keep my hand on his chest and feel his erratic, fluttering heartbeat fade and then stop. I will never forget how his courage changed me and propelled me into the reality I now live, keeping his experience close to me, anonymously and with inner hope fueling my ability to help others in their dark hours of fear and illness until my life is done. His cancer journey was the most difficult thing I have ever done. When being a nurse gets hard, I remember him. It is good to have a personal reason to push through the foibles and nonsense our medical system can be.

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Specializes in NICU, PICU, PCVICU and peds oncology.

Eloquently expressed, all of you. It's these things we carry that change and transform our practice from clinical to personal. How can we not get personal when we're thrust into the lives of the people we touch at their most vulnerable moments?

I carry with me the weight of the baby who died in my arms because his mother had never bonded with him, having known from the moment of his birth that he wasn't ever going home with her.

I carry the memory of a headstrong and willful toddler whose last year on this Earth was one of pain, fear and immobility due to her failed heart's need for mechanical support. When I close my eyes I see her face, pouting because she couldn't have any more water.

I carry the strength of a mother whose child should have died, but through a series of miracles has survived against the odds and thrives today. This mother was compelled to give back to the hospital that became her world, the organizations who helped them during their many admissions and crises and who saw a need then filled it by creating a fundraiser to provide support for research into congenital heart disease. This mother has been nominated for a YWCA Women of Distinction Award - an honour she most definitely deserves.

I carry the courage of a father and husband whose wife and newborn son were both battling cardiac issues at the same time. How he kept it together and emerged whole (as did his wife and son!) is a mystery to me, but I salute him each day.

I carry the fear of a young woman newly diagnosed with lupus who had no family supports in her life. She was my patient for just one day as a student, but her experience with renal biopsy will stay with me... glad as I am that I was able to guide her through it by talking softly to her, maintaining eye contact and holding her hands as I talked. My heart hurt for her that she didn't have a mom there with her so I stood in.

And I carry the knowledge that a colleague, a dear friend, is living any mother's worst nightmare... knowing that the baby she shelters within her body will be born with a catastrophically malformed heart. She is doing so with all the grace I knew she holds within her and with the determination to make her son's life the best it can be, for however long it lasts. If I could carry all of her fears and anguish for her I would.

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Specializes in Family Nurse Practitioner.
But primarily, I carry the memory of my 13 year old son, body decimated by pneumonia post bone marrow transplant. I will never forget his solemn, adult-like instructions not to keep his body artificially alive if he could not truly live. I will never forget asking him, as he struggled to breathe, if he were afraid and he quietly told me "no". I'll never forget the awful decision to allow the ventilator and never forget the horror of the decision that had to be made three weeks later. I will never forget my inability to continuing singing to him as the machines were turned off, my weak inability to keep my hand on his chest and feel his erratic, fluttering heartbeat fade and then stop. I will never forget how his courage changed me and propelled me into the reality I now live, keeping his experience close to me, anonymously and with inner hope fueling my ability to help others in their dark hours of fear and illness until my life is done. His cancer journey was the most difficult thing I have ever done. When being a nurse gets hard, I remember him. It is good to have a personal reason to push through the foibles and nonsense our medical system can be.

Wow that took strength.

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Specializes in Pediatrics, Emergency, Trauma.

All the things tag we carry can keep us afloat in this business.

I carry the SMA kiddo that doctors thought wouldn't make it past birth who is thriving as a toddler, that loves Spider-Man and Power Rangers;

I carry the former construction worker who had a crush injury that had a BKA that came back and stood up for us at the nurses' station;

I carry the A student who was in a MVA, that I looked in the eyes one night and told him he will make it to his graduation; which he did in a w/c and was able to get his diploma; I saw him at my local CC when I started going back to school for my BSN and he was doing well and was graduating soon.

I carry many stories of triumph; including my own near death experience; I carry the nurses who were there for me inside the hospital as well as the home care nurse that sat with me when I cried my eyes out and said "I can't do this", and she told me I could; and here I did; I was able to return to work in this business, better than ever. :yes:

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Excellent and thought provoking question.

I am away from the bedside now.. but just today I was pondering (again)on the many times I was there for my patients and families.

The time I had to tell a son his father died.. and lied that he felt no pain.

The time I had to comfort a patient after the callous doctor said.." hey , you got the big 'C".. see you on rounds tomorrow"

The time I cried with my patient before her mastectomy.

The time I unzipped a body bag after a code, because the "deceased" was making respiratory efforts and had to tell the family.. he was not (haha) really dead after all.

We ALL carry more than is humanly possible.

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I carry with me the alzheimers patient wandering up and down the halls at night in search of her husband and children. Going back in time when her husband was still alive and her children were just little ones. I carry the difficulty to re-orient her and seeing the frustration and confusion on her face, trying to understand that her husband was deceased and her children were married and had children of their own. I carry the anxiety she felt of not knowing her surroundings and not accepting this explanation.

I carry with me the family who is not willing to accept that mom is not going to live much longer. They were in denial that there was nothing else that could be done and she doesn't need hospice care. Their mother was in pain and denied her the comfort she needed for fear this would cause her to give up living or die. I carry with me the last moments of their mom's life and knowing that they are still in denial as they are asked to make preparations for her death.

I carry with me the patient in the nursing home who is dying all alone. They lay there not saying anything as you give them their morphine and ativan. As their breaths get shallow and apnea sets in, they reach out for something not seen by your own eyes. You give them the best care you know how and make sure they are comfortable. You have become their family and hold their hand until the end.

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Incredible thread. We are quick to dismiss episodic memories, but they stay in our memories for a reason. There are people who have the strength to do what others cannot, and there are those who will complain that those who saved their lives...ruined their clothes in doing so. Stay strong. I tip my cap always.

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Many, many years ago...

I carry the memory of my first hospice experience as a CNA. The last days of my favorite patient, withered away and suffering. She wiped MY TEARS as I bathed her on her last day. I'll never forget her face twenty years later❤️

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