Friday was my first day experiencing post mortem care.
I was on the medical floor during clinicals when the instructor called and said that there was a code coming in and that we were probably going to have a chance to do post mortem care if we wanted to. Well, it's one of the check offs so I decided I would go down to the ER to help out.
When I walked in, I didn't quite know what to think. Here he was. A 21 year old boy that had 2 liver transplants and lost the battle. I didn't know how to feel. I was afraid. I was afraid to touch him, afraid to talk because I was still worried that I could hurt him or he could hear me.
Some of the students started cleaning him up and removing stuff. I removed his PICC line. The whole time we were moving him, I was so careful. I made sure to move him carefully and slowly because I wanted him to know I cared. I wanted him to know that even though he was gone, I still cared.
I never cried, almost, but I didn't. I still see his face. I wanted to be as gentle as I could be during everything because I wanted him to know that I was going to be there to make sure everything was ok and that I would take care of him the best I could even though he was no longer in that body. Who knows, maybe he was still around watching everything. I silently prayed for him while we were binding his hands and feet and while we were wrapping him. Over and over I prayed for him. That he got wherever he was going safely and that he wasn't alone and not to be afraid. I had this strong feeling of just wanting to take care of him and for him to know that there were people that cared about him even after he was gone.
I hope he knows that even though I didn't ever meet him or know him while he was still on this earth, I cared for him and felt like I had to protect him as best I could.
I can only hope that when it's my time or my family's time to be on that table, that someone will take the time to be gentle, caring, and loving the way I was trying to be.
