DNR

It's taken me a while to post about this, but I witnessed my first death. The woman was in her 80's, DNR. She came in with AMS. Her family had been by her side all morning. She started complaining of chest pain, so an EKG was ordered. As we opened her gown to place the leads, the family said they'd go downstairs to get a cup of coffee.

Within minutes of them leaving, she started having trouble breathing. The EKG nurse looked up at woman's nurse (I was in my student role) and said she was in V-tach. I found myself staring at the EKG machine. The woman was still breathing, but then she went into V-fib. At this point the MD was in the room. She started agonal breathing. The nurse kept asking if we were to do anything. The doctor shook his head, "She's DNR" he kept saying. I found myself praying silently for her, that the angels take her soul to heaven. Within in less than a minute, she was gone.

"May the souls of the faithfully departed, in the mercy of God, rest in peace" kept running through my head, over and over and over.

I'm somewhat ashamed of myself. I couldn't stop gawking at the entire process of death. I found it fascinating. It was strange though, to not do anything. I mean, if we had walked into her room and she was gone, I understand that at that point we were not to do anything. But she was still alive, trying to breathe. Her heart was trying to beat, poorly I admit, but trying. But if it had been me, and I was 80, actively dying, I wouldn't want anyone to do anything. Hold my hand and just let me go.

After the family returned from their coffee break, the doctor told them what had happened. They all stood their, shocked. That was hard to witness. That was more difficult that watching the woman pass away.

After several hours, the family left and the nurse and I prepared the body for transport by the funeral home. I was OK for a while, but at one point, all of a sudden, I started feeling strange and I felt the overwhelming need to run. I left the room for a few minutes, composed myself and was able to go back in and finish helping the nurse. I'm not sure what happened. I didn't feel scared, I didn't feel woozy, just not right.

And last night, I couldn't get the images of the woman's body out of my mind. Her hands especially. So again, I prayed for her. A warm feeling of comfort overcame me and I was able to finially drift off to sleep.

I suppose each time it gets easier. But I hope I never get to the point where I feel nothing.