I never really expect that my patient will die, no matter how bad it seems when I take my assignment. I have been at this long enough to know that even with all the technical support in the world, the best doctors and nurse, the outcome is still out of my hands. I have seen patients who were made DNR's by the family members, and who I never expected to see again when my shift ended, sitting up in bed eating a meal and talking to visitors when I come back to work a week later. I have seen patients lying in bed, with no purposeful movement or sign of life beyond what critical drips and ventilators were accomplishing, somehow recover and leave the hospital....and come back to thank me for my care. I know it is out of my hands, ultimately, but my patient died the other night, and I grieve. Perhaps in those few hours that I cared for her, I became too attached to the family that silently watched her....I wanted her to recover for them. I wanted her to somehow beat the odds of her physical problems, and even when she was put on an external pacer, I wanted to believe that she would last the night at the very least. When I looked at the monitor there was electrical activity, but she was dying at that very moment. The family knew her condition was critical, and I think they half expected the worst, but I didn't. I expected God to somehow intervene for her, and restore what was lost. We coded her. She did not survive. I was lost somehow during this critical period. As though she was my own. I told the family what was happening during all of it....and afterward. I never shed a tear, until now. I held on so tightly to myself that my own body has felt sick and sore since then. I grieve.