I did CPR for the first time last month.
He was in his 40's.
He died.
Then I had to go on working for the next 12 hours. It was hard.
It was harder emotionally than I expected.
Then I beat myself up about being sad about it, and that only makes me sadder.
I'm not even sure if sad is the right word for it. Anxious? Sure. Mad? I guess. Stressed? Yeah.
I know nothing could have been done differently. I know we the nurses and the doctors did everything we were supposed to. I know it was a "good code with a bad outcome."
But sometimes when I close my eyes, I see him gasping for air. I see his eyes close for the last time. I smell his body odor on my hands. I can feel that last pulse in my fingers. I see asystole in that last second before I fall asleep.
Then I wonder why I do what I do.
Nursing is 85% boring repetitive work, 12% politics, and 3% absolute terror.
To those people who ask me if I like being a nurse, I do most times. As I said to someone once, "It's not what I expected. But it's better."
"And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." Genesis 2:7
