Heartache

The other night, I received a call from the senior resident doctor, needing an intensive care bed for a patient on the oncology unit.

One of my jobs is coordinating the placement of patients onto the appropriate unit for their needed level of care. The doctor explains what is going on with the patient, and we decide on the best place together.  We have three ICU's and a variety of other units. We care for the occasional child who comes through the ER doors, but mostly take care of adults.

When the R-3 (third year resident doctor) needs a different bed for a patient, it almost always means their health is declining rapidly and they need a spot in the ICU right now.

I've done this job for two years now, and have gotten this call many times.  I take down the name, find the right bed, coordinate the transfer between the two units, and follow-up to make sure the patient gets to where they need to go in the least amount of time.  Often, I help with notifying the patient's family of their status and helping them find the new unit.

This is my job, and I do it almost automatically now.  Sometimes, though, a particular situation stops me in my tracks.

This night, the patient who needed an ICU bed was a 42 year old woman with breast cancer which had spread to her liver and lungs.  She weighs 90 pounds.  She is a wife.  She is a mother to a 2 year old.  A 2 year old who will probably never remember his mom, as her body is not responding to the chemotherapy and she will most likely not live to see the end of this year, and maybe not even the end of this week.

Although she is at the end of her battle, she refuses to stop fighting.  She is still a "full code", meaning we will try everything in our medical arsenal when her body gives in.  As a nurse, this is so hard to do; as a mother, I understand completely why she's not ready to give up.

And these conflicting emotions make my heart ache.