A Week of Anniversaries
May 25th - 2 years since my last day of work
May 26th - 2 years of being on disability
and, by far the most important…
May 29th - 7 years married to the most perfect man in the universe. 
Not that we got to do much for it. Didn’t have a babysitter, so we spent the day entertaining the kids, spreading weed and feed, and taking naps. Hopefully, when and if Dad comes next week, we’ll get a night out, just us and the X-Men. 
It’s funny, though - we seem to make more hooplah over the day that we met than the day that we were married. We even call it our metaversary. I know; sickeningly cute. Deal with it. We’re cute. And I love it.
Now, about those other two anniversaries. They suck. Such a hard realization that it is occurring. I miss my job. I’m terrified that I won’t remember a thing when I get back to it. I know I’m progressing, but gosh, some days it sure doesn’t feel like it. This evening, I had to meet with Gabe’s teacher about next year, and she showed me a prayer that he dictated to her today…something along the lines of, “Dear God, My mommy is hurt because she had a baby. Please take care of her…” I sobbed like a baby after reading it. I hate that he knows. Hate being like this. But I just have to keep reminding myself that it won’t be this way forever.
Funny, all I could think about on Thursday was how I spent my last day of work. I had a patient who was dying. He had alot of post-surgical complications, and we were keeping him alive for his family to get there. He and his wife were one of those cute old couples that still held hands. They were just like Chris and I - totally in love, no matter how many years are behind them. And I just wanted her to get there. I knew we were going to withdraw support on him sometime during that day, but I just didn’t want him to die before she got there. He almost did. I vividly remember it. He had been taken off of dialysis, and his electrolytes were at dangerous levels. His heart started to slow to a rate of about 30. He was dying.
I frantically called the resident, and started the medications that he needed to stay alive a little while longer. Thankfully, he started to stabilize. His wife walked in about 20 minutes later while I was giving him more medicine - glucose, I believe. She asked what I was doing. I explained what had just happened, and that I had wanted to give him the medicine so that she could make it there.
She cried.
She hugged me, whispered ‘Thank You’ in my ear, then asked me to stop. We would just let things take their course. So be it. But then, I was even more determined. You see, he was not in a private room, and, gosh darn it, he should have been. So I fought and argued, and I made them allow me to move him to a private room. A family should be able to grieve in peace. And moreso, the 3 other patients in those rooms, and their families, should not have to watch someone die. Within an hour or so, we moved him. I hobbled with my pregnant belly, pushing his heavy bed down the hall, having contractions. Probably part of the reason my doctor wrote me out the next day. But I didn’t care. I was going to be there for this man and his wife if it was the last thing I did as a nurse. Little did I know it would be.
His immediate family slowly trickled in, both sad and relieved. Asking me about my pregnancy to get their mind off of things. Then, finally, around 2:00pm, they were ready. I explained what would happen. We would turn his medications off. He was on several medications supporting his heart function at the time. I was fairly certain that within 10 minutes, he would pass, but there would be no guarantees. I turned off the monitor, choosing to watch it from my station across the room. I turned off the IV pumps. His family chose not to disconnect the ventilator. So, I sat back down and waited. His children started to say their goodbyes. And within about 5 minutes, he was gone.
I remember walking over to them, and telling them. I still remember their cries. I remember almost every little detail about that room. They stayed with him for a few minutes, then I gave them the option to go to a private room while I cleaned him. Sometimes it is easier for families to see them without all of the tubes. So they did. I removed everything. Washed him. Put fresh linens on, and drew up his bed. He looked so peaceful. I went to get his family. His wife thought he looked wonderful. Some of his children just couldn’t look. But every last one of them came up to me and gave me a hug, thanking me.
That is why I am a nurse.
Because sometimes, it is about taking immaculate care of a family rather than a patient.
And that is why I miss it so much.
