Extraordinary

emergency_room

As I sit and reflect on my life, I find myself humbled. Humbled by the business that takes place all around me, the real fight for life and struggle against death, the palpable emotions of situations I often find myself in, and the incredible strength of those whom I work alongside. It’s the stuff movies are made of and it is truly amazing to watch.

Working in an Emergency Department creates such an interesting outlook on life. One that knows and understands all to well the fragility of every single breath and the vital importance of embracing all aspects of living, even the scary ones. We are the truest definition of realism. Would I like to wrap my kids in bubble wrap and never let them out? Yes. Do I? No. Instead they can be found jumping on the bed, because let’s face it, it’s awesome. Riding their bikes outside, because nothing is better than the wind on your face, and occasionally, get ready for it…eating cupcakes for breakfast (I know, I’m out of control.) Simply because life is often cut way to short, enjoying the little things is what matters, and in the end all of these things are little.

I think about my day, nothing out of the ordinary happened, nothing note worthy, nothing that any of us will probably ever remember. Just a typical shift at work. It was the normalcy of this day that in the end took me by surprise. You know, we all feel accomplished when we give TPA and watch as stroke symptoms improve before our eyes, when we catch sepsis early knowing that a mother will now one day leave the hospital and return home to her children, or we save a precious life after restarting a tiny beating heart. Everyone knows the importance of that work, it can be seen and felt by anyone around. It’s everything else that most often goes unnoticed. The real behind the scenes work that happens every minute. The little old lady with dementia who is fighting like hell, the intoxicated man in the hall who shouts obscenities at anyone who passes, the appendicitis, bowel obstructions, broken arms/legs, screaming babies, the dysfunction and frustration of the psychiatric service system, the list goes on and on. This is the bulk of what we do. These people are scared, sometimes we are too, and they come to us for some sort of relief.

Sometimes I like to just watch , like a fly on the wall, as my co-workers buzz around tirelessly caring for others. Crying, laughing, talking, singing, telling stories, sharing our lives with these people, these people who are in crisis, doing anything to ease their pain or their mind, whichever is in need. I was walking through our department yesterday and noticed a nurse standing at the bedside of a critically ill man. He was alone, intubated and sedated, but yet there she stood, just holding his hand. Reassuring him quietly that we were going to take good care of him and that his family was on the way. No one was there to praise her, the patient most certainly will not remember this gesture, but she was still there in that moment of need. Amazing. These fragile yet resilient people who are all around me.

For those of you who don’t do what we do, who haven’t seen things that can not be unseen, be thankful. Be thankful that you don’t have to know what we know, and that you live in a world where there are people who are able to internalize all of this. People who can go to work and do things that most simply can not fathom; and for those of you who find themselves beside me in the trenches, thank you. Thank you for being selfless, for giving and giving when I know sometimes you feel like there is nothing left to give. Thank you for doing what is right, even when no one is watching. I saw you rock that crying baby to sleep. I saw you walk that little old lady to the bathroom after you clocked out because she seemed unsteady on her feet. I saw you buy that man whose wife was dying a cup of “good” coffee from the cafeteria, out of your own pocket, because after today, he just deserved it. I saw you silently shed a tear as you left the room of a pediatric cardiac arrest, then go call and check on your own little ones at home because the pain was too much to bear. I heard you clapping and cheering with the family of a patient who just found out that there was no brain tumor after all.

I know sometimes you laugh when something is going wrong, and people think you are crazy, but the only other option is crying and if you start you may never stop. I know you’re tired, I know you hurt, and I know you love your job so much that you can’t imagine doing anything else. I am so proud to be a part of this with you, you all amaze me, and even the days that don’t seem extraordinary, are.

~Melina, ED RN

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