The heart, soul, and brains of a nurse

by Andrea Lavallee, RN, MSN

It has been over six years since septic shock nearly claimed his life. No one thought he would survive that; most people don’t. It has been almost six years since the brain tumor did what septic shock did not – and yet I will not forget those times, ever. Beyond that, I will never forget the nurses, the wonderful, wonderful nurses, who enveloped me and my family and made us feel like we were the only ones. The only ones whose husband, father, grandfather was dying; the only ones in the intensive care unit; the only ones with hope among sadness; the only ones living in fear.

It doesn’t matter that I used to work at that hospital and pretty much knew them all. They weren’t being so special because of me. Nurses are that way with anyone; anyone in crisis and sorrow. They have the brains to be the best and the heart and soul to be what you will remember about them six years later.

It started in the emergency department (ED) when he had a fever, and his glioblastoma was waging a good fight – against us, too. Even as he was laughing and joking, his vital signs were changing ever so slightly. “Something is amiss,” I said. They didn’t dismiss me. They assessed, discussed, and then acted, just in time, I thought. Septic shock was setting in. “Does anyone win over that?” we asked. “Call your sisters, call your brothers. Get them here,” they said. I thanked them for their honesty. And yes, we needed to be together. Would they get there in time?

Nurses seemed to come from everywhere, rushing into room 1 in the ED. How many bags of fluid, how many antibiotics would it take? My father was unconscious but fighting still. Would my sisters get there in time? My mother was praying and wondering, “Is this it? Is this the end of our 49-year marriage?”

“Time will tell; we just don’t know yet,” and so he made it to intensive care. We liked it in the ED. The nurses were swift; they got it done; they got us past the first hurdle, and in the middle of that, they took care of us. What would happen upstairs? Would we be one of many?

And then we saw the true heart and soul of nurses again. When he was unconscious, and we prayed, they let us know they were praying, too – day and night; night and day. No grumbling about staffing, no complaining about the weekend shifts, no thoughts about what they needed, ever. When he awoke, we all cried, and we all celebrated.

When he said he thought an old friend who was no longer alive was there “using the bathroom,” and when others “appeared” to him, no one laughed. When we took over the place, siblings everywhere, no one complained. The medical care continued.

The journey got better, but the work didn’t get any easier. The road to recovery is paved with mobility challenges, uncertain behavior, new experiences, persistent fear, and a sense of “now what?”

Through it all, they were the same: nurturing, kind, helpful, smart, persistent, and ever present. Despite their own challenges of the day, they were fully engaged and focused. And it hit me, more than any other time in my almost 30 years of nursing, that there is nothing better than to be invited into the life of another and to have the honor of sharing your nursing heart, soul, and brains. What a gift to give and to receive.