Something Truly of Myself

Being a labor and delivery nurse brings with it some amazing and powerful experiences. I truly could and would like to write a book filled with stories and often wished I had written some things down as I’ve experienced them during the last 13 years. A song came on my ipod the other morning that reminded me of one of the most emotionally raw experiences of my career and, possibly, my life. As many of you know, a few years ago my family experienced a string of deaths that took five of us away forever. The most difficult of those experiences for me was the loss of my 17 year-old cousin in a car accident. Just weeks after this experience, we were called at work to schedule the labor induction of a patient who had just lost her husband in a car accident. I immediately knew I should not be her nurse but circumstances dictated otherwise. As I admitted her to her room and went over the process with her, she began to tell me her story. I sat and listened as she described the events of the previous two days. In her 39th week of pregnancy this woman was faced with a brain-dead husband and the agonizing decision attached to that. With his and her family by her side, she made that decision. His organs were harvested and he was gone. The very next day here she was, with me, telling her story calmly as her mother-in-law stood by sobbing. She told me that she asked her doctor for an induction of labor to ensure that she would not miss her husband’s funeral. The thing that struck me about this woman was the amazing calm and peace that seemed to encompass her. She held a picture of them on their wedding day and expressed the knowledge that her husband would be with her through the birth of their daughter. Through every invasive thing I did to her, she stayed calm and focused on that end. This was still the birth of their daughter. She would not forget that. As the contractions began to strengthen, she became more emotional, as many women do but continued with her focus. When I checked her and found her to be entering transition, everything changed. She began talking to her husband. She held his picture and began to cry. She decided she wanted an epidural and I called for the anesthesiologist. Another nurse came to set up for the delivery and her doctor was called as we all knew this would progress rapidly. During epidural placement, I stood in front of her with my arms around her shoulders and her arms around me. The pain and emotions hit a crescendo as she began to cry out for him, telling him that she could feel him in the room and hear him talking to her. The anesthesiologist, CRNA, nurse, OB and I, all aware of the situation, stood in complete silence as this happened. We all knew she could see him and hear him. As this happened, my own emotions began to surface and I was grateful that the end of my twelve hours was upon me because I knew that I was beginning to feel my own grief as well as hers. I was crying on her shoulder as she was crying on mine. When my replacement arrived, I had to leave. She was about to deliver her baby and I needed to go home to mine. I got into my car and turned on the radio for distraction. I couldn’t believe the song that played. I had never heard it before.

I could not believe what I was hearing. The floodgates opened. I was driving and sobbing. I could feel every emotion from my own loss completely come to the surface. I was physically and emotionally exhausted from my life in the previous ten months and from my shift during the previous twelve hours. I had given birth and attended four funerals. I watched my infant son reach for our cousin in her casket with obvious recognition on his face from having had her babysit on my workdays as I had once done for her. All of this flashed in front of me in one completely cathartic emotional moment in time as Evanescence sang my thoughts and feelings that night.

The next morning, I went to see my patient from the previous day and her baby girl. I sat on the edge of her bed and listened as she told me about her birth and the knowledge that her husband was there to experience it with her. She thanked me for being there. I thanked her for the priviledge of allowing me to share that moment with her. I hugged her and wished her well. I told her to take her time in grieving and to take care of herself.

I don’t know why I felt the need to share this. I heard this song on the way to work the other day and it struck me how raw the emotions still are when I hear this song. How I can recall every moment of that day with her. How we are never the same after something like that. How we must embrace those that are before us and give them our complete attention and love when they are there. How love and life are momentary and precious.