My "ah ha" moment

[Ebourne1]

My Ah, ha” Moment

I've had several ah, ha” moments since I became a nurse. The one that is the most memorable to me is the first time I recognized that the patient is more than just a procedure.

I had been an OR nurse for about a month. I had looked the patient up in the electronic record, written down all their pertinent information and read the anesthesia report. I knew the patient's weight, allergies and the procedure being performed. I was very excited to be seeing a new procedure. But, in all reality, I had no idea who the patient was or what she was going through at that moment. I was so excited that I was learning new things, that I didn't think about the reason she was there.

My preceptor and I entered the patient's room and introduced ourselves. She had a large family and the room was a little crazy. We talked to all the family and questioned the patient. When it was time to leave, the family asked if we would like to join them in prayer. We agreed and I listened as the patient's daughter led the prayer. It was incredibly uplifting and I smiled as we wheeled the patient into the OR.

We positioned her and made sure she was safe for the procedure. Cords and tubes were waiting to be plugged in. The patient was incredibly cheerful the entire time and even had us laughing a few times. I thought, She's so funny and upbeat.” Then the surgeon came in. The surgeon nodded hello to us, then went straight to the patient. He must have said something funny because the patient laughed again. A big belly laugh that resonated throughout the room.

As the CRNA was putting the patient under, the surgeon leaned over and spoke to her softly. The surgeon stroked her cheek and assured her that she was in good hands. Eventually, the patient drifted off and we prepped and connected and everything that we do normally.

And then, something happened. I again looked at the patient's chart do the time out. I read the patient's consent and it finally hit me. This loud, funny woman who seemed so full of life was having a double mastectomy. She had stage 3 breast cancer. The whole time she had been laughing, she had to have been so terrified about what would happen next. She showed no fear to us, but I realized that it was for our benefit.

At that moment, I stepped back. I reviewed the events that led to this moment. I thought of holding hands with the patient's family as they prayed. I thought about the fact that this woman, scared and alone on that table, is actually a person. She was not a name on the chart or a diagnosis or a procedure. She was a real life person coming in to our facility at probably one of the scariest moment of her life. And she was smiling.

From that moment on, I looked at the charts differently. When I check the patient's history, I look a little closer. I wonder, what led this person to us? Are we trying to fix something that ails them? Or are we caring for a person who is desperate to live. Someone that will opt to undergo surgery, even though it might not work, simply for the chance to live a little more. To spend time with their families. To pray. To do the things that they thought they would have time for, but may never be able to do.

So, looking back, I see that my error was not a technical one. I didn't open something only to have it bounce off the table. I didn't try to start a foley, only to contaminate my sterile gloves before I even started insertion. I didn't mess up a prep. I have done all those things, but none of them were as bad as this. My mistake was that I didn't see the patient as human. I saw them as a scheduled procedure, as a tool to further my education, and as a chance to see something new.

Now I see something different. I see the person who's gruff with the staff who may be having a biopsy to see if that lump is cancerous. I see the person who's demanding more pain medication not as someone seeking drugs, but as a person who can barely walk on their arthritic knees. They come to us in their weakest moments. It is up to us to see them as they should be seen. As a person. As a human being.

[Susie2310]

Good post. Very good insight. I hope you will keep this understanding with you throughout your career.

Best wishes to you.

[TeddyBer]

Very powerful, thank you for sharing this story.

[anon456, BSN, RN]

Very good story!

You will also get extremely demanding patients or family members who want everything just so. They want their kleenex box on the right side of the tray and their phone on the left, and they want the blanket pulled up so high. It's about retaining what little control they still have left in their life when most of the control has been taken away by the disease. It's annoying and can be taxing to deal with, but I would never want to switch places with the patient.

[Dany102]

Welcome, Ebourne1, to human, and compassionate care. I hope this epiphany (I hope you will not begrudge me the use of the word) will lead you to more empathy. Patients are not illness or condition.

Your post certainly resonated with me. I am glad you shared this experience.

Dany

[FurBabyMom, MSN, RN]

It's very true we often care for patients on the very worst days of their lives (or of their families lives). Remembering that makes it easier to "deal" with patients and their families compassionately and see them as whole beings. I may help with XYZ procedure 5 days a week, but this patient - this is the only one that matters to them/their family. Our "routine" is their "horror" or worst nightmare.

I hadn't had an issue with remembering each patient was a person (I'm in the OR too). My second OR death hit me really hard. It was an MVC rollover, during the commute home. We really truly had no idea who that person was, no family to contact. Thinking that this person's family was probably still going about their day - probably getting dinner ready, complaining about traffic, etc, believing nothing horrible had happened - that shook me.