reflections of an ER nurse
It is no lack of passion for You or less need for You- every second I breathe, draw up a medication, make coffee, adjust a ventilator, write a list of errands- from the simplest, the mundane, to the complexities of work- You are there. This comforts me because if I am in You and You are always present- it is impossible for me to have lost myself forever- not all of me, but just that one aspect that has gone missing… the softness, the teary eyed little girl who has played hide and go seek so long that I question her existence.
Laughter, rather than tears is the remedy of the emergency room. We don’t stop long enough to examine the lurking paradoxes of our logic there are too many patients to be seen. We hate to see the pain staking care, the wild protective vehemence and “false” hope the parents of so many devastated children live out. We literally laugh at them as they say that one inadvertent finger jerk is some form of communication from their child- and so we laugh at their very existence.
But we also hate the “selfish” parents, the abusers, the molesters, the negligent, those whose 3rd grade educations leave them helpless in caring for the needs of a vented, g-tube dependent and chronically ill child. We forget that it is only gray, not black and white that separates us from them. We don’t understand their ignorance and so we condemn them. And those who are educated, with wealth, and the right skin color- when they abandon their children to the system we laugh because we have the self righteousness to think that a solid resume in life should be enough preparation to care for a disabled child.
As much as we say we are coping, avoiding might be a better word. We call them “gorked” and we know them by their diagnoses, their “accessories”. Mentally retarded cerebral palsy, seizure disorder, ventricular peritoneal shunt, congenital anomaly, metabolic disorder- it is easier to remember a diagnosis than a name. And it hurts a little less. These children are triaged and immediately classified not only with a visible “emergent” label but with an invisible one which too often reads “worthless”.
I watch one of the mom’s in bed C. She doesn’t see me as I observe her through the gap in the curtains. Her gentle hands soothe her toddler’s febrile forehead, replace his ventilator tubing, his life source, every time he rips it out- again and again. The attention to detail which surfaces when she recites his medical history is obvious in the tender, agile movements of her hands.
And then in bed E I peek through the window at another mom who beams at her teenage son who is completely incapacitated by lupus. His every life function consumes her days and when I ask her how she does it her answer is simple, “I would give my life for this kid, my precious boy.” She locks eyes with him. He can no longer talk or move but the spark in his eyes speaks volumes. She believes in him, no one else may, but she does and he knows this. When his dad enters the small room, a new wave of energy fills the room with static. Facial muscles I assumed my patient could not control visibly relax and a radiant smile crosses his lips. The world is cruel but this young boy will always see his worth in their eyes.
When I see innocence crushed everyday it is hard to remember to hope. When it takes sodomy of children to bring tears to my eyes, I have seen much. I cannot resolve such stark observations with any sort of eloquence. There is nothing beautiful here except You.
Laughter, rather than tears is the remedy of the emergency room. We don’t stop long enough to examine the lurking paradoxes of our logic there are too many patients to be seen. We hate to see the pain staking care, the wild protective vehemence and “false” hope the parents of so many devastated children live out. We literally laugh at them as they say that one inadvertent finger jerk is some form of communication from their child- and so we laugh at their very existence.
But we also hate the “selfish” parents, the abusers, the molesters, the negligent, those whose 3rd grade educations leave them helpless in caring for the needs of a vented, g-tube dependent and chronically ill child. We forget that it is only gray, not black and white that separates us from them. We don’t understand their ignorance and so we condemn them. And those who are educated, with wealth, and the right skin color- when they abandon their children to the system we laugh because we have the self righteousness to think that a solid resume in life should be enough preparation to care for a disabled child.
As much as we say we are coping, avoiding might be a better word. We call them “gorked” and we know them by their diagnoses, their “accessories”. Mentally retarded cerebral palsy, seizure disorder, ventricular peritoneal shunt, congenital anomaly, metabolic disorder- it is easier to remember a diagnosis than a name. And it hurts a little less. These children are triaged and immediately classified not only with a visible “emergent” label but with an invisible one which too often reads “worthless”.
I watch one of the mom’s in bed C. She doesn’t see me as I observe her through the gap in the curtains. Her gentle hands soothe her toddler’s febrile forehead, replace his ventilator tubing, his life source, every time he rips it out- again and again. The attention to detail which surfaces when she recites his medical history is obvious in the tender, agile movements of her hands.
And then in bed E I peek through the window at another mom who beams at her teenage son who is completely incapacitated by lupus. His every life function consumes her days and when I ask her how she does it her answer is simple, “I would give my life for this kid, my precious boy.” She locks eyes with him. He can no longer talk or move but the spark in his eyes speaks volumes. She believes in him, no one else may, but she does and he knows this. When his dad enters the small room, a new wave of energy fills the room with static. Facial muscles I assumed my patient could not control visibly relax and a radiant smile crosses his lips. The world is cruel but this young boy will always see his worth in their eyes.
When I see innocence crushed everyday it is hard to remember to hope. When it takes sodomy of children to bring tears to my eyes, I have seen much. I cannot resolve such stark observations with any sort of eloquence. There is nothing beautiful here except You.
posted by Amanda Deardorff at 1:38 AM
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