Bottom line is this: my job is tough. I love it, I can't imagine doing anything else.... but I'm having a hard time.
Two people had heart attacks, and we saved them both. One was dead when she came in, and we got her back. The other was (barely) alive when he hit the door. Right as we get him on the cardiac cath table, he codes. We get him back too.
And then comes the tragedy. Then a kid comes in and we can't save him. I had to hold his mother's hand while she watched everyone try. I had to explain to her why his chest looked caved in when we did compressions, and why there was blood coming out of his endotracheal tube. I gave her tissues when she cried, and I had to tell her that nothing we were doing was working. The kid was 15. He had asthma. That's it. Just asthma.
I take it personally every time someone isn't saved.... and I shouldn't, because if I do, I won't last long. The strange thing is.... It bothers me more every time. Most say that you get more numb every time. I think it hurts me more with each one.
I don't know why I can save a 95 year old woman, but not a kid. I don't know why the people who are evil get to go on and abuse others, while the nice guys get cancer. People say when I get to heaven, I'll be able to ask God why. I can tell you right now, whatever answer he gives isn't going to be good enough. I know life isn't fair, but Jesus Christ...... it was just asthma.
I have to work my orifice off every day to save people that don't want to be saved. I take care of drug abusers, overdoses, gang violence, domestic abuse.... but I can't save the kid with asthma. Just asthma.
I could have lived my whole life without hearing the sorrow and hopelessness in that mother's cries. It hurts more every time. Then, after all I went through, I had to go to the next room and get the lawyer patient a cup of coffee. And he was pissed because it took me so long. I broke the rules. I told him that one of my pediatric patients had just died an untimely death, and I was in the next room doing everything I could to save his life, and I'm sorry if his coffee was lower on my priority list than a dying child.
