We Didn't Mean To Kill Her

Did you see the title? I meant it. Stop reading if you're squeamish, especially if you have issues with dead people.

Last night while the unit was being decorated for the holidays, one of our patients died. While she was still alive and thrashing around, we were debating what to do about her. She was old, dying and was to receive comfort measures only, no heroics. The problem was that she was in respiratory distress. We didn't want her to suffer, but we knew that if we gave her morphine, it would most likely hasten her death because morphine suppresses the respiratory system. There were no family members to talk to, so this was our call. After talking it over, we made the decision to give the morphine. An hour later we found her dead. Maybe she would have died at that moment anyway, we'll never know. We weren't trying to kill her, only make her more comfortable.

So, while our coworkers outside the room were laughing and joking while decorating our unusual trees, we had to prepare the body and get it in a bag. We ended up laughing more than the decorators. I know it's sick that we were laughing, but it's amazing how many gross things a dead body can do.

When I removed her oxygen, she gurgled one last time. We rolled her over and she burped and pooped. We couldn't get her jaw tied shut. Every time we thought we had it, her jaw would flop back open. Fluid was oozing from her skin like a wet sponge. I picked up her foot to take some orthopedic equipment off of it, and while squeezing her foot, juice ran down my arm. Once we got her in the bag and were zipping it up, her eyes popped open. (I warned you to stop reading.)

Then, after laughing nearly hysterically at work, I cried all of the way home. This is what it's like to be a nurse.