People died today.
People die everyday, I know. But today, two people died that I once had some form of interaction with.
Soon after feeding one of my patients lunch today (if raspberry sherbet counts as lunch), I went in to clean him up. Two minutes later, we found out his heart rate was dropping rapidly. A minute after that, he was pronounced dead.
I came home from work and Mom told me that Dave Camp died early this morning. I knew him from Camp Shiloh, and even though I didn't know him well, I still feel like I lost a friend.
I've dealt with death before; three of my grandparents died before I was ten. But dealing with death like this is new to me. I cared for this patient that died today. I was one of the last people to interact with him. And even though I know healthcare professionals have to deal with death and dying frequently, I don't think I was quite ready for it.
There's such a fine line between accepting death and moving forward with work while still grieving sufficiently. Today, I had to harden myself a bit, at least while I was still on the floor. I had a somewhat cathartic run today when I got home, though at some points I couldn't tell if I was wiping tears or sweat off my face. Either way, in a strange way it enabled me to grieve.
I don't ever want to become so callous that death of patients doesn't affect me. At the same time, I don't want to cry over every patient I ever lose. More than anything, though, I don't want to stop learning, laughing, loving, and living.
