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Here’s the thing about moments: You only know its significance after it has passed.
I walked into my patient’s room; she was on the phone with her daughter. She had just returned from a minor procedure and needed recovery. I had a few routine tasks to complete. She said goodbye and told her daughter she loved her.
That was the last time she ever spoke to her.
"An excerpt: 'Thank you for honoring my mom by coming forward and ‘standing up for her’. I felt a tidal wave of emotions and still do. A sense of closure, but also immense sadness.
As nurses these moments matter."
The patient coded within minutes of that phone call ending. I took her husband into the hall and tried to explain what was happening in the room: “she is having compressions…something is happening that we are trying to fix…the best people in the hospital are helping her”. She passed in less than 24 hours.
I completed my shift but felt amiss. Something was not right about this. I submitted an incident report based on some rumblings I heard about the outcome. I wanted it to be investigated.
The feelings lingered. Several months passed.
Her daughter sent a letter to the hospital, which was passed on to me. She never knew to whom she was writing. An excerpt: “Thank you for honoring my mom by coming forward and ‘standing up for her’.” I felt a tidal wave of emotions and still do. A sense of closure, but also immense sadness.
As nurses these moments matter. These experiences have a profound effect on us, too. So never think that what you do isn’t important. You never know the significance of a moment until it’s passed.
Submitted June 2024
