A glimpse into the inner dialogue and emotions of an RN processing personal grief while also performing as the triage nurse in a busy emergency department.
NursesStress 101Article
On Monday, July 8, 2018, the staff members of the emergency department in which I work were given devastating news.
Our beloved coworker, a well-respected RN, adored by all who knew her, was involved in a major motor vehicle accident the night prior. She, together with two of her children, did not survive. I wrote this piece just two days after I heard the news, which was also my first day back at work since hearing the news.
On this particular day, I was assigned to triage. As the first face the patients and visitors would see coming into the E.D., I felt especially vulnerable and on display. I was barely holding it together and wanted to write a piece that captured and explained my feelings, not only to help with my own process of healing from grief but hopefully help others too.
As nurses, we often build up an inner fortress.
In order to function in our roles, there is implicit and explicit pressure to remain strong for everyone else. Sometimes, inevitably, the fortress is breached and starts to crumble. We are then reminded in the harshest way possible that we are only human.
I call this piece "I am not a robot!" It was written straight from my heart, the heart of a grieving E.D. nurse and is dedicated to the memory of Rebecca Bachman, BSN, RN.
I lost it yesterday. Not once, but three times. I am an ugly crier. "There's no crying in triage!" I hear Tom Hanks's voice say in my head. I try to be kind to myself and utter again and again the phrase that appears before you submit an online form by ReCAPTCHA,® "I am not a robot!" "What a stupid mantra." Is it? I try and fail to keep myself from doing the inventory of loss but it's no use, here it goes again, the recap, no....! My aunt (mom's sister) in October, my dog two days after Thanksgiving, my grandfather (dad's father) on Christmas day, my cousin on Super Bowl Sunday. Each time the scab barely bubbles and hardens before it's ripped open again. Now Becky, God no, not Becky...and her two oldest children.
I did not know Becky well outside of work but what I did know about her I found absolutely remarkable. As the youngins say, she was "Hashtag Goals." She was always polished in appearance, her hair was fabulous, she knew how to put an outfit together, she was doing the same job as me plus raising three kids and going to nurse practitioner school at the same time. I used to imitate Wayne and Garth and do the "[i'm] not worthy, [i'm]not worthy" thing when we worked together and she would laugh in that infectious Michigan accent. We were never worthy of her.
I clutch the triage radio in my pocket and think that her angelic voice broadcast through it barely over a week ago. I grit my teeth and force my shoulders down and back for the millionth time. It works, thank God. I've managed to slam the floodgate just in time and hold back what I know will barrel through as soon as I'm home, the body-shaking sobs. I am not a robot.
When I've been at work dealing with loss in my own family, there have been times when I've been tearful but thankfully away from most prying eyes. The med room, the staff bathroom, my boss's office. I've been able to have the non-robot moment and come back to my reality. The dry eyes of my coworkers pulling me back to the task at hand. This time it's different. All of us have lost the same family member, there are no dry eyes to look into right now.
Yesterday as my coworkers came in at various hours for their shifts or meetings they were attending, they would stop at triage and we'd share a silent hug. "Lord, make us a suspension bridge!" "What!?" My inner dialogue chides me. "Why are you so weird?" Let me explain. Though we sway, eventually the tensile force finds its way up and through us, dissipating our collective sadness back into the Earth allowing us to stand with our strength. The strength to support our own massiveness as well as the weight of everyone else too. We are not there yet. It's going to take a very long time. We are not robots but we are a bridge in progress.
