Daniel, Dan, Danny. "He likes 'Danny,'" his nurse said, stroking Danny's brown hair.
Two weeks ago, Danny was in a sledding accident. Now he is a quadriplegic. He is 16 years old.
Before the accident, Danny played as a center on his high school football team. His team finished in the Top 8 in the state. "Do you have a girlfriend?" my instructor Diane asked. Danny shook his head, no. A typical 16-year-old boy.
Today, during clinical, I was taking care of his tracheotomy--a tube that goes into the trachea, allowing Danny to breathe but preventing him from being able to speak. He could only shake his head yes, no and mouth silent words.
Two weeks ago, Danny was a normal teenager. Today I had to stick a suctioning tube down into his lungs to suck out excessive secretions, helping clear his airway. As you can imagine, having a tube jammed down your windpipe is not a pleasant experience. Danny had tears in his eyes from the force of coughing. "It's almost over, Danny," I consoled him, "You're doing awesome."
Later that day, one of the other nursing students in my clinical group "cath-ed" Danny, meaning she inserted a tube into his bladder that will allow him to urinate.
He can't move his limbs, can't communicate, and he has to pee in a bag. And he's just a 16-year-old boy.
I wish Danny the very best. And I truly appreciate him allowing students to practice and learn vital nursing skills on him--turning his tragedy into at least something very small.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
V-Day vs. Wolfman
When given the choice between seeing a midnight showing of Valentine's Day or Wolfman...I picked Wolfman.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Concerts!
Trevor bought us tickets to John Mayer on March 12...
And tickets to Vampire Weekend on March 29 (although I'm forcing him to except my half of the ticket/shipping expenses for this one).
I can't wait!
And tickets to Vampire Weekend on March 29 (although I'm forcing him to except my half of the ticket/shipping expenses for this one).
I can't wait!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
"They've never given an organ transplant to an inmate."
In the hospital today during clinical, my patient was a 52-year-old white male with extensive liver damage caused by years and years of alcoholism (he told me he drank a case of beer a day for 20 years.)
He was also a prisoner convicted of murder and mutilation of a body.
But you'd never guess. He could be your grandfather; gray-haired, balding, standing only 5'7" tall. Look down, however, and you'd see his shackled feet. And beside him stood a towering prison guard who never let him out of sight.
Before meeting my patient, I pictured a cold, hardened, uncooperative criminal.
But then I spent two hours talking to this criminal/person/man/human being about his life...
He was born in West Virginia--"a hick," he called himself--and moved to Ohio when he was ten years old. He began working at a young age to support himself and eventually he became a skilled tradesman; a welder, a mechanic, a construction worker, etc. He made good money that way, traveling to different places for contracted work. There was no mention of a wife or a girlfriend but he spoke fondly of his two daughters, one 29 and the other 30, and of his two grandchildren, a boy and a girl.
He then began to tell me about the alleged events leading up to his arrest and sentencing to life in prison...
He had been passed out drunk one night and when he awoke, there was a dead body in his house. "A murder I didn't commit...and I know that's hard to believe, even for me," he told me. He described an immense "spirit of fear" that overcame him upon discovering the body and how it drove him to "get rid of" the body rather than calling the police. He feared that he would be blamed for the murder. I asked him if he knew the dead person and he said yes, he had. I could see his remorse. I knew he believed his story.
That was ten years ago and he's been behind bars ever since. He devoted the past four years to "Bible College" where he took classes to learn about the Bible and biblical theology, earning himself a Bachelor's Degree. "If The Lord took me today, I'm ready," he said, "but I want to spend time with my daughters." I'm not sure whether he had been a religious man before prison but he was very spiritual when I sat with him. I could see the comfort religion gave him. He understood the likely outcome of his progressive liver failure, "They've never given an organ transplant to an inmate. It's never been done."
Our conversation took place as we waited for his esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD) procedure. An EGD is when they weave a fiber optic endoscope with a camera through the esophagus and into the stomach and intestines so you can see the entire gastrointestinal tract. It was really cool because the doctor and nurses performing the procedure explained to me everything we saw. I saw inside my patient's stomach!
After my patient had returned to his room from the endoscopy and I had finished my tasks for the day, I went to his room to thank him and to say goodbye.
"You're not going to be back?" he asked, breaking my heart a little bit when I told him no, I wouldn't.
And then he told me something I'll remember forever: "Emily, what you are doing is commendable. Thank you."
He was also a prisoner convicted of murder and mutilation of a body.
But you'd never guess. He could be your grandfather; gray-haired, balding, standing only 5'7" tall. Look down, however, and you'd see his shackled feet. And beside him stood a towering prison guard who never let him out of sight.
Before meeting my patient, I pictured a cold, hardened, uncooperative criminal.
But then I spent two hours talking to this criminal/person/man/human being about his life...
He was born in West Virginia--"a hick," he called himself--and moved to Ohio when he was ten years old. He began working at a young age to support himself and eventually he became a skilled tradesman; a welder, a mechanic, a construction worker, etc. He made good money that way, traveling to different places for contracted work. There was no mention of a wife or a girlfriend but he spoke fondly of his two daughters, one 29 and the other 30, and of his two grandchildren, a boy and a girl.
He then began to tell me about the alleged events leading up to his arrest and sentencing to life in prison...
He had been passed out drunk one night and when he awoke, there was a dead body in his house. "A murder I didn't commit...and I know that's hard to believe, even for me," he told me. He described an immense "spirit of fear" that overcame him upon discovering the body and how it drove him to "get rid of" the body rather than calling the police. He feared that he would be blamed for the murder. I asked him if he knew the dead person and he said yes, he had. I could see his remorse. I knew he believed his story.
That was ten years ago and he's been behind bars ever since. He devoted the past four years to "Bible College" where he took classes to learn about the Bible and biblical theology, earning himself a Bachelor's Degree. "If The Lord took me today, I'm ready," he said, "but I want to spend time with my daughters." I'm not sure whether he had been a religious man before prison but he was very spiritual when I sat with him. I could see the comfort religion gave him. He understood the likely outcome of his progressive liver failure, "They've never given an organ transplant to an inmate. It's never been done."
Our conversation took place as we waited for his esophagogastroduodenoscopy (EGD) procedure. An EGD is when they weave a fiber optic endoscope with a camera through the esophagus and into the stomach and intestines so you can see the entire gastrointestinal tract. It was really cool because the doctor and nurses performing the procedure explained to me everything we saw. I saw inside my patient's stomach!
After my patient had returned to his room from the endoscopy and I had finished my tasks for the day, I went to his room to thank him and to say goodbye.
"You're not going to be back?" he asked, breaking my heart a little bit when I told him no, I wouldn't.
And then he told me something I'll remember forever: "Emily, what you are doing is commendable. Thank you."
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