Counting breaths

Tonight I will fall asleep counting my breaths. Each time I breath in, I will be thankful for the ease of which the action happens. This is not because I have respiratory problems, but because I watched someone else fight the battle...and lose. Last week I took care of a dear patient who had lived a long life. She had in medical terms empyema and pleural effusion. In lay terms she had very, very sick lungs. A machine was breathing for her, she had two tubes connected to her lungs from between her ribs to help drain the fluid and reinflate them, and a whole host of other tubes, lines, and sensors. I watched her loved ones hold her hand and love her without words. Later I watched as their hopes for recovery were smattered under their feet and the tough decision was made to withdraw care. There was no way she would improve with earthly measures. Her body had already begun to shut down. Tears were shed, prayers were whispered, memories were recalled and shared as the family said their final goodbyes.

Before my shift had ended, she peacefully (yes, it was peaceful) slipped away.

I thought I would be more torn up over losing my first patient, but I was actually at peace. This lady had a family who loved her dearly and from their stories had lived and full and active life. Part of what helped me was talking with the nurse over our lunch break. I knew that the plan was to withdraw care after lunches were over to give the family more time. I asked the nurse if she felt weird knowing that this lady's life depended on her lunch...in a sense, she held this woman's life at her "whim." The nurse said, "no, because she has not been living for several days." I realized this was true. I don't want to get into the whole euthanasia argument as this is not about that...This is about allowing the course of life to take place. Every birth means an eventual death. This woman's life had been extended far beyond natural means. Her lungs had grown weary and failed to sustain life.

Yes, I was sad for the loss of her family and I pray that the good memories carry them through the grieving and releasing process. I know that I will always remember that day as a day of growth and discovery. Of course I hope I don't have to experience very many of these days and if truth be told, I'd love to never have another patient pass on my watch. But I take comfort knowing that I survived my first and that it will serve as a guide for future ones.

"To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under the sun.
A time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal ...
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance ...
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to lose and a time to seek;
a time to rend and a time to sew;
a time to keep silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace."
Eccl 3:1-5