10 months later, I experienced my first death. We tried for more than 2 weeks and finally extubated and out of icu. Looks like she is on the road for recovery.
"why I always cough cough". she asked and I remember what she said during that night.
I had no answer nor was I expected to answer it.
"tomorrow my husband can go home, my mother is coming." She said, clearly looking forward to see her parent. It would have been a comfort for her to see someone familar in foreign land. And it would certainly help the overburdened husband to find some rest from the round the clock caring for his foreign wife.
it was a tough 2 weeks prior, treatments ran into the middle of the night, delays with the blood bank, miscommunication over the timing and bearing the uncomfortable stares of an intubated patient. I remembered her glare on our first meeting, her left finger always moving as if beckoning me over.
Curious, I moved close to her and asked, do you need anything? She nodded.
Anything in this room? She shaked her head.
Hmm, do you need me to help you? She nodded.
Oh okay...how do I ask an intubated patient suffering from paralysis (stroke) questions? Well. she needs something, not from this room that means outside, she needs my help to do it. Maybe she wants me to call someone?
Do you need me to call someone for you?
She nodded! Her eyes went wide, pleased to finally get her message across to me.
Okay..do you want me to call the nurse? Shakes her head,
The doctor?
Shakes her head.
Your husband?
Shakes her head.
Your parents?
She Nodded.
Oh...okay. I guess I am the only one that communicated with her until so far - what a busybody I was. I say that because I was the only one that bothered to ask a series of questions. The rest jus asked if she was in pain or not.
Im sorry I didnt manage to contact the parents despite me getting your message. In your hour of greatest need, I failed you and the system failed you. I passed the message to the SN but she brushed it aside. (Not our business). I should have pushed.
Thankfully when you were out of icu, you did not remember me. To you I was just another nameless didi working with a nameless meimei. You screamed, you wailed, you complaint and you were ignored most of the time. I came to realise it is tiring to attend to a sick patient's every need and almost impossible when you multiply that by 30 patients.
I heard the coughs developed into a pulmonary haemorrhage a few hours after I left and that you stopped breathing for 4 minutes. You never regained consciousness after that.
Day after day, I kept wondering if you managed to see your mum before you collapsed. It kept me up at nights, it made me realised how fast life can change. A speaking person communicating to a lifeless body in an instant.
I guess I now understand how people must have felt when they lose someone suddenly. "but I was just speaking to her yesterday".
No comments:
Post a Comment