#36. Forgotten Memories
The night was crazy.
Codes. Blood. Drugs. Compressions. Blood. Crash Carts. Maxed vasopressors.
If felt like it would never stop.
The whole thing was sad. It was a situation where we knew we would work all night and the patient would still die. We did. They did.
It was a lot of work.
As the events went on throughout the night, more and more family arrived. They stood and watched. They cried. They held each other.
One of them pulled me aside. I did not know her.
You were with us the night my father died, she said. You were wonderful, she said. She hugged me. She held my hand. She wanted me to really hear her and absorb what she said.
I did not remember her. I did not remember her father. I did not know how long ago that had been. I did not remember his diagnosis or the reason he came to the hospital or the reason he died. I did not remember.
She rejoined the family of the dying patient. I did not see her again.
In time I will forget this crazy night.
In time it will be a forgotten memory.
My dear young self, we have chosen to live a life of service and to work in a service profession. It is beautiful work that we are honored to do. But it is hard work. There are hard shifts. There are crazy shifts.
In the beginning, you will remember every thing and every patient. You will remember all the smells and sights and sounds.
But in time, you will forget. It will all become forgotten memories. The faces will fade, the stories will fade, the scenarios will fade.
A part of you will grieve the loss.
But, in truth, it is the loss that helps you to continue to do what you do. You were never meant to carry all of the faces with you. Holding on to them will prevent you from being able to receive new ones. The forgotten memories are a gift.
No comments:
Post a Comment