I can remember a few of these, and thought we'd all get a laugh from sharing. My most, most, MOST horrible one was this:
Working in a 60-bed nursing home, I was caring for a gentleman with terminal cancer. He was having the two-hourly S/C morphine, two hourly pressure care, the whole bit. He had been Cheynne-Stoking off and on for the last 24 hours, and the family was with him as he began to depart this life.
This morning I just knew that today was the day he would die. You just get that when you look at these people sometimes. There were four children, his wife, and several siblings around the bed, and I did my best to care for Stephen and his family, while not intruding too much on this painful moment. Came the time when he was due for he next dose of morphine and pressure care, my colleague and I had an intense discussion. Stephen was so far gone that I was concerned that he would die if we moved him, and I knew his family wanted to be with him for the moment of death. I delayed the pressure care for another hour, waiting for the inevitable. When Stephen was still going slowly, I decided that the need to move his emaciated body could not be put off much longer.
I went to the bed, and explained to the family that Stephen really did need to be rolled onto his other side, and that we would be very quick. They all trooped out, and my colleague and I set to work. First we gave the morphine, then gently placed our arms under Stephen to roll him. He have a loud "Aaa....hhhhhhh.......a." and stopped breathing. Cursing under my breath at the timing, I waited for several minutes to be sure that this wasn't just another episode of Cheynne-Stoking. I even got my stethescope and checked for a heartbeat. Nothing.
Feeling guilty and sad for the family, we settle Stephen onto his back, tidied him, and I went to break the news to the relatives. There was an understandable outpouring of cries and wails as they realized Stephen would never be with them again. They were not angry, just sad that he had finally gone. I stayed with them, and then offered to escort them into the room to say their last goodbyes.
All 8 relatives, weeping, followed me into the room to see Stephen peacefully relaxed on his back. They crowded around, touching him, and I stepped back to give them room, tears in my own eyes as I shared their grief.
To my shock and absolute horror, Stephen took one huge shuddering breath,...then another,...............and another! I stood there in utter shock, as this man 'came back from the dead'. The effect on his relatives was not pretty to watch. They were excited, happy, grieved, shocked, and confused. Again, they were not angry at me (must have been saints!), as I stood there watching. The only thing I could think of to say was "But he WAS dead!" :imbar (I'd verified it myself.)
I waited until the family had settled somewhat, then backed out of the room. I felt about two inches tall, and utterly confused!
I never wanted to look these people in the eye again. First I'd killed their dad, then told them he was dead and upset them all, then he came back to life!!
I cried in the toilet for a while, as you do, then went back to the nurses desk. Several minutes later, all the family silently trooped out of the room and towards the front door. They were calm and collected, one detached from the group and came towards me.
"He's gone now. He died about ten minutes after we went into the room. He just wanted to wait until we were all there before he went. That's why he came back for us all.":redpinkhe
I have NEVER experienced embarrassment at that level in my life, before or sice!
diane227, LPN, RN
1,941 Posts
When I was the 3-11 charge nurse in a very large ED in Houston (Ben Taub, back in the 80's, very old building) I went into the restroom that was in the charge nurse office. I was not able to unlock the door when I tried to get out. Fortunately someone was outside the door and they called the maintenance guy to come down and try to get me out. Well, it was John. John was the most gorgeous man you ever saw in your life. He came down with all his tools. He tried to fix the lock. No luck. Then he tried to take the door off...no luck. He handed me the tools over the ceiling and I tried getting the door open from my side, no luck. Then he climbed through the ceiling into the bathroom with me and we tried to get the door open or off that way... no luck. So now, the only way out is through the ceiling. So there I am, the day I happen to have worn a scrub DRESS, with John lifting me over his head while trying not to look up my skirt to get me into the ceiling so I can crawl into the office. Bless him, he was so professional. We were great friends after this event.