My First Death

I had only worked in the ER for around a week, when I was sitting at my desk, and the triage nurse came over and told me that a "post-arrest" was on its way in, and that we had no info on them.
I felt a surge of excitement run through me, this was to be my first major "trauma" that I would deal with all on my own. About ten minutes later I heard the "CTAS 1 to A2" go out over the loud speaker, and saw the blur of the EHS gurney zoom past.

The unknown patient popped up on my computer screen and I ran all the paperwork off as a "stat reg"; meaning, I ran it through with no personal demographic details, and gave a new medical record number to the patient. As soon as I had finished running it off, the social worker came by with a wallet. It was the patients, she told me to go through it to see if I could find any relevant information, and to now change the "unknown" patients name, to the name on his drivers license.

It is always strange going through a strangers wallet. He was an 82-year-old, English gentleman. In his wallet he had pictures of his family, and a very dashing picture of himself as a young servicemen during World War Two. I proceeded to update all of his demographic details, and re- ran off all the paperwork.

I dropped off all the forms with the unit clerk, and hustled into the trauma bay, with the patients wallet. Right when I walked in the doors is when they shocked him. I had seen it done on TV shows before, but nothing really prepares you for watching it in person. The patients arms and upper body flew up and crashed back down, violently. The nurse then went up and suctioned out his mouth, while they gave another shot of Epi. This happened 2 more times as I stood in the crowd of residents, EHS crew, and firemen; with my mouth agape. This was my first realization that death is neither romantic nor beautiful,no matter how it happens, it is never pretty.

Five minutes afterwards they decided to call it. I don't remember the exact time of death, but I do remember the trauma nurses taking a white sheet and covering him, while the whole trauma bay went silent. The silence was deafening, compared the the hustle and bustle that going on only moments before trying to save a life.

I walked back to my desk in a daze. I had applied to work in emerg, to get to participate in saving lives, dealing with death, feeling that rush of adrenaline, and now I had truly experienced what it means to work here.

A half hour later, I walked past the trauma bay, and saw the man's son holding his hand and saying goodbye.

I will never forget that day.

The Deluge.

Tonight was completely nuts!

I came on to a shift, where half the computers were not functioning at full capacity, we were down two clerks; and to top it all off I had the fact that I was training a new girl thrown at me, right when I walked in the front door.

As a clerk in Emerg, you either sink or you swim. You are either the kind of person who can deal with a fast-paced, multi-tasking, sanity-depleting enviroment or can't. I usualy can tell within the first 20 minutes of training someone whether they are up for the task,. Luckily she was. Thank goodness.

It was all quiet on the homefront until around 8:30 pm. As I said we were down two clerks; a preferred acommodation clerk ( who goes around to the patient's bedsides to see if they want private or semi private rooms )...this clerk also will come out front if the regular clerking staff needs a helping hand; and we were short a treament clerk, who does all the non acute patients. So basically it was up to my collegue and I do admit all the patient's in the largest hospital in the city. Good times.

So, like I mentioned it was fairly laid back, until the floodgates opened at 8:30pm. All of a sudden we had 6 EHS crews pull up. One with a CTAS 1, intubated, 19-year-0ld overdose, the rest with abdo pains, and general weakness; along with 7 more treamtent patients.

Manuevering around the triage area when there are so many crews and people clogging it up can be a real health hazard. I have been endowed with a few lovely violet bruises on my leg from running into EHS gurneys in my hunt to find patients needing wrist bands.

Needless to say we were running around trying to get everyone registered and in to the proper wait rooms, on top of that I had to talk to the overdose victims family.

I walked into the trauma bay to find the victims father standing by her bedside. He was a wreck. I will never get use to the terrified look in victims families eyes, looking so lost and helpless; and you know that there is nothing you can say that can help. He kept telling me how she had enrolled in school to finish her highschool degree, and how she was doing "so much better". The worse part is when she start waking up and thrasing against her restraints in the bed. That is never a pretty sight.

Anyways, now I am at home in bed, and can't sleep...still trying to decompress from my shift; listening to the Bloc Party and watching time tick on by.

Metamorphosis.

The Emergency Room has a way of insidiously weaseling itself into your life; until one day you look at yourself in the mirror and suddenly realize that you have become a callous, iron-stomached bastard; and you can't even be bothered to care.

Don't get me wrong I love my job, I love the adrenalin rush, the people I work with,and the fact that you never truly know what is going to come bursting through the door; but I have to admit, it has changed me:

-I can now finish eating my sandwich I brought for lunch as you puke into your little red bag in front of me.

- Play "rock paper scissors" to see who gets to deal with the psychotic patient strapped down to her gurney, yelling " I DEMAND JUSTICE AND LAW" at the top of her lungs.

- Ask to see the care card of a man who has been beaten with a lead pipe, and whose eye in dangling out of his socket..without, pardon the pun: batting an eye.

-Have come to the conclusion that you are not truly sick unless you are vomiting blood, missing limbs, or have damaged vital organs.

-Believe all people coming in to the ER with the chief complaint of: "I feel unwell", should be thrown into a dark cellar, and fed only bread & water, and made to think about their response until they can come up with a real complaint..( I'll show you the meaning of unwell %^&^$...)

- Believe that "shallow end of the gene pool" should be a recognized diagnosis.

-Watch maggots crawl out of a necrotic gangrenous foot while deciding what I want to eat for dinner.

- Believe that we should be able to tell patients ( in the immortal words of Chopper Reid) to "Harden the Fuck up".

This the person I have now become.