Nurses are accustomed to delivering news to family and friends, but being on the receiving end presents its own unique challenges. December 12, 2015, remains etched in my memory as a day of profound personal impact. As I prepared for my shift as a staff nurse at a nursing home, I didn't know my life was about to change. With kisses to my children and a yell to my husband, Ed, that I loved him, I set off for work.
During the 45-minute drive, my thoughts drifted to our plans for the upcoming holiday season. My husband's plant would be shut for two weeks, and we eagerly anticipated the opportunity to go Christmas shopping together while our children were at school. I clocked in by 9:30 AM, checking in sporadically with my husband and kids throughout the day.
The predictable work routine was shattered when the phone rang while I was preparing for the last meal service for residents on the Alzheimer's/dementia floor. As my coworker summoned me to the phone, I felt a sense of foreboding. On the other end of the line, our neighbors urgently relayed that there had been an emergency involving my husband. They said I didn't need to worry about the children because they were safe in their home. I hastily gathered my belongings, rushing through the seemingly endless hallways of the nursing home. As I sped to the hospital I made a painful call to Ed's family, urging them to get there as well. Intuitively, I knew that something was gravely wrong.
Just as I finished speaking to Ed's sister, an EMT called to tell me to hurry to the local hospital. Being a nurse, I pressed him for details about Ed's condition. "Your husband is in cardiac arrest," he said, confirming my worst fears and filling me with dread. Thoughts raced through my mind during the interminable car ride-questions about what was happening and how I would manage everything, including caring for our children, if Ed did not make it.
Finally, at 5:30 PM, I arrived at the ED and found a familiar face waiting-a friend who was there to offer support. As a nurse it felt surreal to find myself in the ED waiting room, waiting to hear about a loved one's condition rather than delivering news to a waiting family. The medical staff ushered us into another room where we anxiously awaited news. When the ED physician and nurse entered, their words were chilling. Despite their efforts to administer lifesaving medications, Ed had not survived. He had been pronounced dead at 5:15 PM, just minutes before my arrival.
Having delivered this news, they swiftly departed, leaving me alone with my friend's attempts to console me until Ed's family arrived an hour later. I felt overwhelmingly alone and confused about what steps I needed to take next. At last I was allowed into Ed's room to bid him a final goodbye. His family arranged for a friend who happened to be a funeral director to pick up his body. After waiting for some time, each of us departed for our homes, on our own to process the enormity of this event-and for me to deliver the devastating news to my children.
Reflecting on my experience as the nurse in the waiting room, numerous questions surfaced regarding the isolation I felt as the medical professionals quickly came and went, leaving me to process the news alone. I contemplated the ways in which working nurses navigate loss and grief, as well as how they can assist others in addressing these emotional burdens. During my time in the ED, I'd found myself completely unsure of what to do next, with no guidance from the staff regarding funeral arrangements, resources for therapy, spiritual or religious support, medical attention or medications, or even a ride home. Why is it that nurses, physicians, and hospitals often fail to provide support to families or caregivers when they suffer such devastating losses?
Now, having reached a place where I can begin to consider how to support families, nurses, and others in similar situations, I realize the urgent need to advocate for resources and education to address the complexities of grief. It is essential that we not shy away from grief, hoping it will not catch up to us, or from the reality that we may not be able to save all of our patients. Instead, we must educate health care workers on how to support patients, families, and communities as they navigate the disorienting journey of grief. By fostering understanding and providing the necessary tools, we can ensure that health care professionals are equipped to extend compassion and care to those in their time of greatest need.