#Theonesthathelpyousurvive

[lamentations44]

Resilience

Here's to my future Here's to my yesterday Here's to change Oh, here's to my yesterday No tomorrow without a yesterday Here's to my future Goodbye to yesterday - Imagine Dragons

My goal was to make you smile today.

When I left you last night you were frustrated.

I was frustrated.  The night nurse was frustrated.

When I got report in the morning the shiny new ICU nurse looked at me with a shake of her head and jabbed her finger at your room.

“This guy... He made my night awful.”

I stopped listening at the point.  I knew report would just make me dread this 3rd shift even more.  

“12 hours...” I muttered to her as I scrolled through your labs.  

You were angry and it showed as I walked in.  I spent 10 minutes just talking you down.  You didn’t smile though.  You glared at me like I was out to hurt you.

I couldn't blame you.  You were too young to have the sorta bad luck that you had.

4 years with an LVAD.

8 Months with  new heart.

1 Day with a devastating new stroke.

It was supposed to be a quick left heart cath to check out the new heart.  Instead it ended with an acute STEMI on the cath lab table and then an acute stroke that stole half of your body.

You were angry.  You were frustrated.  You were completely appropriate.

We did this to you somehow.  I didn’t have an answer for you when you asked me why.

You kept your eyes closed until 10am when we had to go to get a line placed.  I woke you up and explained where we were going...I’ll admit I stuttered when I explained you needed long term IV access because you would be here awhile.  I swallowed a lump when a tear slid down your cheek.  I touched your arm and looked you in the eye.

“I am so sorry you have to go through this...”  I said softly and squeezed your hand as a second tear traced its way down your cheek.  

You shook your head and looked at me.

“Don’t be sorry... You didn’t do this.”  You said blankly.

You clammed up after that.  Barely a word was spoken until we were stuck in the holding area awaiting the test.  It started as an off handed comment from me to let you know that I was there and hadn’t abandoned you.  Your cool demeanor thawed slightly as I told you a story of getting a speeding ticket.  We started talking about driving and where we lived before this area. Before long we had a quiet banter going and a small smile crept unto your lips.  

We moved from holding to the sterile procedure room and you shut down again.  Your face slipped into a mask of indifference. 

We finished and as we left the tech in the room said with good intentions.

“Happy Thanksgiving” No malice, just a hope that you would enjoy it.

I cringed.  You visibly tensed.

Tears built in your eyes. 

“I had hoped to be home with my family.” You said quietly around a lump in your throat and the new facial droop. 

I started pushing the bed back and after a few turns I joked that after hearing about my driving skills you were risking your life letting me drive.  You grinned despite yourself and by the time we made it back to your room we were both laughing.  You told the nurses who helped us move you that you wouldn’t ever ride in a car with me but you said it with a smile sliding across your face.

Later as I moved your to your new room I told your new nurse something just to get a rise out of you.  You laughed out loud and told me to quit telling stories.  

“Gonna keep my eye on you.” You said with a smirk and laugh.  

Then more quietly you added,  “You’ll visit right?” 

I nodded and smiled.  

Your life was completely altered.  You would never be the same.  But, as silly as it seems, I felt hope for you.  And, I know you felt the same.  You were YOU.  You were still able to enjoy humor and jokes.  This sucked...really sucked.  You were going to have a horrible battle ahead of you.  But, you would be ok. 

My goal was to make you smile today. I hope instead you felt hope that you would go back to your life.  You had survived more than most people had ever imagined.  And, you were still able to smile.  

To me, as a nurse, it doesn’t get more resilient than that.