I stood with you today.
I stood silently next to your bed and watched you as you tried to process the devastating words, “I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”
I moved you to a room away from the cries of babies being born.
I held you up as you labored and encouraged you when you said you couldn’t do it anymore.
I held your hand as you delivered your beloved child.
I spoke words of support as you did what you never thought you would have to do.
I sat quietly with you as you held your baby for the first and last time.
I ached for you as the tears streamed down your face in heartbreaking grief.
I watched the Father struggle to be a part of this woman’s work and try to be strong for his partner, all the while fighting back his tears and grief.
I captured moments some never wanted to remember, and some never wanted to forget.
I carefully chose the tiny gown, hat and crocheted blanket lovingly knitted just for your baby - pieces that represented your heart, bruised and broken.
I gently imprinted your love’s handprints and footprints into the soft clay plaque so you would have something tangible to remember them by.
I did all of this with a reverence for the journey I was on with you.
I sat on the edge of your bed as I handed you the pictures of your baby which brought on a fresh wave of tears.
I gently handed you the death certificate for you to sign and gave you time to do the unthinkable.
I carefully observed your face as you stared at the pen because to see it in black and white was a brutal reminder of all you lost.
I slowly helped you into the wheelchair and took you to the entrance of the hospital - the same door you came in through with hopes and dreams.
I saw the hesitation cross your face as you climbed into the car. Terrified to leave for all you would have to face at home, yet too painful to stay in the place where you lost something so precious.
I hugged you and reminded you to take care of yourself; to seek the support you would need.
After you left, I turned to make my way back into the hospital.
You didn’t see me find the nearest bathroom and lock myself inside.
You didn’t hear my muffled crying.
You see, I was your Nurse.
I see you, sweet Mama.
I see you.
Grief and loss is something that all people will experience in their lifetime. The loss may be actual or perceived and is the absence of something that was valued. Nurses may experience this personally, or they may need to be the support system for patients and their families going through grief and loss. It is the nurse's role to provide compassionate care to their patient and loved ones, and this care will be different from person-to-person. It is also important for the nurse to maintain emotional resiliency, so they are able to provide the best care for those grieving.
It is important for the nurse to assist the patient and loved ones in their coping with their grief to include anticipatory grief. Educating them on what is expected to include the stages of grief and what are some normal feelings as well as what are some resources to help adjust to this loss they are experiencing.
But who is doing this for the nurses themselves?
When you work in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), patient lose is part of the job. Bootsy is a NICU nurse. Part of her job is to focus on the needs of the dying and their families setting aside her own feelings in order to tend to theirs, it comes with the territory. In this, losing patients would become almost normal, the cycle of life and death, and part of her job, but in her heart of hearts she knows that it is all affecting her in ways she may not be able or willing to acknowledge.
Still, Bootsy does her duty as a nurse, comes home to tend to her family, and tries not to think about the toll that so much grief may be taking on her.
To break down is not an option, I would guess, I don't know, I'm not a nurse - a nurse in the NICU. But, on the other hand, you have to allow yourself to be human. When losing a patient gets to my nurse, she will use coworkers to vent and to lean on. I see very little of this at home. Most settings in this modern world don't encourage outward grieving. Not even between a man and his Bootsy, when he could never begin to understand the process.
So for all you do for the community, and for what you bring in making our house a home...
I see you, sweet Bootsy.
I see you.
