I drew blood from her tiny, fragile veins on Monday, to check her coags to see how fast her blood was clotting because she needed a stat paracentesis to get rid of some fluid on her belly.
She died 2 days later.
Another lady, I accessed her mediport to draw some labs and we chatted about her house on the Gulf of Mexico that she spends 6 months out of the year with her husband. We laughed at her husbands tan, wrinkled face with her saying, "He tans so well, he could tan in a closet!"
Today she came in with severe pain and vomiting. Not good. We had to admit her. She looked pale, weak, and totally not herself.
Four weeks. It took four weeks for the cycle to start.
The cycle of seeing a patient one way, then watching them decline.
Every single time, no matter who it is, a piece of my heart just aches and aches and aches.
When people learn that I used to work on a floor that took care of hospice patients, the most common response was "Oh, I could never do that! How do you do something that is SO sad?"
It always makes me feel like I am being portrayed as heartless, but it actually is the EXACT opposite. I don't know if this is a comfort to people, but I can promise you.... when I am the nurse of your mom, dad, sister, brother, grandma, grandpa, etc. They become my family, too. I will stop at nothing to help them. And when things take a turn for the worse, I cry, too. I remember them, I think of them, and I pray for them.
Four weeks. Four weeks is way too fast. I can see how this is going to be, and it makes me a little bit scared.