So this week has been a pretty horrible work week. Not only was it the first week without the help of my wonderful student, but I have been banished to the second floor twice. Normally, I don't mind the second floor, but the ratio of my patients in ICU has been extreme. The ICU is a sad and depressing place. It is sometimes reserved for severely ill people who didn't have insurance who have no real hope of getting better, but can't be sent to a long term care facility because they have no means to pay for it.
Its is really sad to work with a young, non-responsive individual doing passive range of motion (PROM) that you know is doing nothing but maintaining their body's joints while their insides and minds turn to bacteria infected mush secondary to infections that get spread throughout long hospital stays. In the case you think I am being over dramatic, I would tell you definitely not. Two people died in ICU on Monday. Not my patients, but still, two people left the world in one morning which is horribly sad.
And the sad realization is that everyone dies eventually. The fact that our department check the obituaries daily, and knows at least one person a day. I have had the honor of knowing about 10 people who have died, and I have only worked at this job for 5 months. I guess everyone comes to a point in their life when they realize their mortality, but working where I do, I see every possibility for what will become of me if I make it past 50. What my skin and body parts will look like. Different variations of how I may act. Will I be the sharp as a tack, cranky person who yells at everyone, the pleasantly confused one who can't find my nose, or some combination personalities on the spectrum. I can only hope to continue to have a healthy relationship/ partnership with Brian where we care for each other emotionally and physically so that when we are in out 80/90s we can take care of each other. And I can only hope that my children are kind souls who are willing to help their parents with things like grocery shopping and cleaning, because old people have such a hard time with those things.
And also, the amount of good I feel I am doing for some of these people is limited. I know it is my job, and I am overall preventing pneumonia, constipation, pressure ulcers and deconditioning (things I tell my patients and myself minutely). But what good does that really do when the person is dying of 3 different kinds of cancer and has 4 weeks to live. Who am I to say they are unsafe to go home with their husband of 63 years just because they might fall and fracture a hip? I know it is my professional obligation to say they need to go to rehab or have 24 hour help (the last of which most people cannot afford) because it is my fault of they go home and fall, but sometimes you feel like this horrible monster in doing what is "best" for them. Some days, when I am told a person is put on comfort care (hospice) and no longer needs PT, I am so relieved, because I can stop torturing these poor souls. Sometimes I wish I could just take these people home with me for a while, especially when they have no spouse, family or friends and are alone in the world.
Most days I love my job and can see the good I do. Especially getting post-op surgeries moving or helping really good strokes get sent to the proper rehab they need. It is the frequent fliers of the trade, with their sad stories and constant trips back to the hospital that male me so sad, because in the end you are doing nothing but taking them out of their comfy bed and sticking them in a chair, where they are likely to be left by the nursing staff until bedtime.
On happy notes: I am getting married to my love in 58 days. My face looks somewhat better. My dentist office did my teeth cleaning early. My bridal shower is this weekend. And my family and friends are healthy and happy.
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