It will be lonely this Christmas….

Work is horrific. Everyone is so poorly and it just seems so much more unfair and heart wrenching at Christmas time.

i’m looking after a young lady, 34, who walked into hospital on the 6th December and is now dying. she has alcoholic liver disease, and had oesophageal varisces, which she came in for treatment on. she had her operation, and was up and about. the next day, she had a cardiac arrest, and was sent to itu. the following day, she had a second cardiac arrest, and since then, all scans have shown catastrophic brain injury. she was ventilated via a tracheotomy, and the difficult decision was made to withdraw treatment and allow her to die peacefully without invasion.

her life support was withdrawn on Tuesday night, the family had requested her organs to be donated in line with her wishes, they had made their peace and said their goodbyes, and sat at her bedside waiting for her final breath. only she never took a final breath – she’s managing to breath for herself.

obviously a catastrophic brain injury is one from which there is no meaningful chance of recovery, and inevitably this young woman will die imminently. what a thing for a family to have to come to terms with. she’s 34. she has four children, ranging from 15 to just 7 years old, a mum and dad, two brothers, two sisters, an ex partner, friends, work colleagues.

there was a bit of a hooey last night, the family weren’t especially happy with the nurse who was looking after her, and it was a bit of a situation that I had to sort this morning. I basically said that I understood that things hadn’t gone as they expected, that it’s obviously distressing for them to watch, and whatever has gone on, she’s still their baby, whatever her age, and nothing anyone can do will be enough to make that better.

I was the first person to look after her when she arrived on the ward on Wednesday night, and I’ve looked after her all day Friday, today, and i’m in all day sunday too. I feel I’ve built a rapport with the family, and they said today that they think i’m nice, I always have time for them, and they’re incredibly happy that i’m looking after her.

it’s funny, job satisfaction. it’s strange in a way to get satisfaction from looking after someone who is so sick, and in a situation that is so difficult. i’m not going to lie, it’s been an incredibly intense few days, and I’ve almost cried with the family on several occasions. they’re just a normal family, going through a terribly tragic, unfair time, and it should be wrong that I enjoy looking after someone under those circumstances. however, I love looking after patients who need intensive care, I love looking after their whole families, because that is what nursing is about for me.

it’s about empathy, it’s about genuinely caring, and having compassion. it’s about juggling eight patients with varying degrees of need, and making each and every one feel like they’re the only one. it’s a kind word, it’s a hand on an arm. sure, I’ve spent god knows how many hours this week hanging iv’s, and mixing antibiotics, and priming syringe drivers, and suctioning tracheotomy tubes, but all of that means nothing if you can’t realise that all that’s doing is treating an illness. you absolutely have to keep sight of the fact that there is a person in each and every bed who is anxious about what is going to happen to them, and around each bedside there are scores of relatives who are worried about what is going to happen to their loved one.

it’s little things like endless cups of tea for the family of my young woman. it’s recognising that they’ve not left the hospital for longer than an hour each at a time, that they’re camping out in her room, taking turns to have a doze in the one recliner chair we’ve been able to provide them with. it’s bringing them clean sheets and blankets and pillow cases. it’s knowing that they need more looking after than the patient in the bed.

days like today, and indeed all the shifts I’ve worked this week, completely reconfirm for me why I chose to be a nurse. I have so much passion for what I do, and the people I look after. I believe this is evident in the care I give. it’s such a privilege to be able to be a part of people’s lives at their most vulnerable time, and hopefully make a difference to them and their families.

these people, these families, they’re why I do my job, and why it’ll never just be a job to me. these people are why I get up early, or put on my uniform when i’d rather be putting on my pjs to go and do a night shift, why this Christmas week I’ve put my sparkly reindeer hair clip in and put a smile on my face when my heart is breaking for this poor family. it’s why I’ve gone to work today knowing I can empathise just a little more, what with today being nine years since my own nan died. and it’s why i’ll do exactly the same tomorrow, then Monday night, then Christmas eve night. it’s why i’ll have worked 75 hours this week without giving a second thought.

I know I can come home on Christmas morning to tea and toast and presents with my family. I know I can go to bed to snooze and when I wake up my grandma and granddad will be downstairs, and the Christmas dinner will be cooking, and i’ll wake to sounds of laughter and merriment. I know I can sit round the table eating my Christmas lunch, having a glass of champagne, with my loved ones. I have plans with john, I have plans with the girls, and my little goddaughter and her new baby brother. how incredibly lucky am I.

Xx