Nursing is a healing art, a science, and a profession. We deal with life and death; sometimes, we lose a life no matter how hard we try.
I served as an officer in the US Army for 4 years at Fort Campbell. It was a time of peace, and I was never deployed. I never saw combat. But later, when I became an Army civilian, I did lose a soldier: Sergeant J.D.
Death of a soldier
Sergeant J.D. was a 35-year-old Army medic who worked in the Blanchfield Hospital ED. He was married, had four kids, and lived on a nearby Army base. Sergeant J.D. was a valued member of the ED staff, and everyone liked working with him. He was a picture of health and had a bright future ahead of him.
When he started complaining of intermittent chest pain, his physician sent him to the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base Medical Center, but no one could determine what was wrong with him.
Then one night, Sergeant J.D. went into cardiopulmonary arrest. So they brought him into the ED, where I was the charge nurse.
When a patient enters the ED and is in cardiopulmonary arrest, the team typically focuses on resuscitation, not the patient's name. About 5 minutes into the code, someone realized that the patient was Sergeant J.D.
The nurse running the code started to break down and cry.
"We can't stop right now. We've got to save him," I told her. We tried everything we could to revive him, but nothing worked. He was pronounced dead at approximately 0130.
I had to call his First Sergeant and tell her he died. She broke down too. It was the worst night I have ever experienced as a nurse.
We still had a shift to run, and the ED patients came and went, and somehow we all got through the night. But all of us were thinking about J.D., his family, and how much we loved and missed him. We were grieving and mourning internally, but we had patients to care for and things to do. So we took care of our patients and did what was necessary, and the moments dragged on, and time passed.
Finally, morning came and the day-shift nurses arrived. Before leaving, I saw the physician who had been on duty that evening. We went back to the lounge and talked about what had happened to J.D. She started to weep, and I embraced her and told her she had done everything she could to save him.
When I got home, the nurse manager called and asked me if I would speak at J.D.'s memorial service, and I told her I would.
I spoke at his memorial service, where I met his family and friends. I shared how J.D. was loved by our team like a brother. That love made a difference, and his life made a difference.
Lingering lessons
Sergeant J.D. died many years ago, but I still remember it as though it were yesterday. Such memories have a way of lingering with a person. J.D. taught me that life is infinitely precious, that we are gifts to each other, that time in this world is ephemeral, that we must care and love, that we must be good to one another, and that we must cherish the time that we have.
No one ever expects to witness a colleague fall at work, but it happened to me and others. To those who may face such a terrible event: Your love and care can and will make a difference. Somehow, you will get through a tragedy and learn lessons no one can ever take from you.