The bad part of being a nurse.

There's a little girl, about 3 or 4 years old, who has been coming to my floor of the hospital since she was probably around one or so. She has a chronic condition is basically fatal in infancy or early childhood. She is a very sweet, smart, funny girl who loved to dance and take walks through the halls. She has two parents that love her to peices, they are very proud and doting parents.
One of the nurse's aides ran into the Dad this morning on her way to work and told her that their little girl is in the ICU and probably will not make it through the day. That was surprising news to all of us, we didn't even think she was sick, she wasn't in to see us at all.
Well, I made the decision to go see her after work this morning before I went home. I decided I was going to because another patient who was always with us died on the 8th, and I didn't see him before he died and I regret it. It was my last day of work before a mini-vacation and I was in a hurry to get out of there, so I thought I would just see him when I came back to work a week later. He was in the PICU for a kidney and liver transplant, so I was hoping/expecting to see him when he pulled through and was on our floor again. After all, he always pulls through. Even though he was on ECMO, I assumed "oh, he will come out of it". Well unfortunately the next time I had a chance to "visit" him was at his viewing on the 15th.
Anyway, I visited the little girl on my way home and it was HORRIBLE. I forgot how bad it is to see kids in the PICU like that. I worked in a PICU at Children's in Detroit so I know what it's like, but since I don't work on that intensive of a floor anymore I guess I just don't think about it that much. I was only there for a couple minutes, long enough to give them my number (in case they need anything since they live close) and to stand there and awkwardly look for the right thing to say, while in my head paying my respects. I am not a cryer at work, but it took absolutely everything I had to not cry until I was out of the room. As soon as I was down the hall and out of sight I pretty much cried like a little bitch. It's not cool to see that. As I am sure you can imagine.
On my way to my car I couldn't get out quick enough. You know the scene of Grey's Anatomy when Christina gets stood up at her wedding, or the scene in the SATC movie when Carrie gets stood up at her wedding, and they want their dresses off immediately like it's burning their skin? Well that's kinda like how I felt when I was trying to get out of the hospital. The elevator couldn't come quickly enough. I hated feeling like the crying people I see often in the halls at work. I would rather be the nurse, when it's sad but doesn't penetrate into more than the poker face "work me". I hated that the parents of other sick children saw me crying. I am not sure why. I just re-read those last three sentences and wonder what a psychologist would say if I told him/her that... Hmmm... Food for thought...
I also felt mad at God. I do NOT like to feel like that. Even though I don't really go to Church I feel like God has a strong presence in my life, even if I don't talk about it. It's a me-Him thing I suppose. But come on? What God lets that little girl suffer? What God would allow those parents to go through the misery of watching their child be sick and then die? All I could think of was that it was complete bullshit and I was angry. I can't even begin to comprehend the anger and pain her parents must feel. They have to watch her die and then have her funeral, and then go home after it's all done and see their house, with her bedroom and everything she owned. Shoes at the front door, probably toys in the living room... ugh. I am pretty sure that if I had a child die I wouldn't be able to handle it and I would end up being an alcoholic or addicted to drugs. I have panic attacks over my dogs' health problems, if my child died... no. I would be done. So would Aaron.
I have since calmed down and am not angry at God anymore. There must be a reason, even if we don't understand it. All I know is I hope it's a good reason.
I hate blogging about stuff like this because when people read it they probably feel obligated to comment on it. I feel so much better to get this stuff off my chest though. I am not sure why writing it helps, but I am glad it does. Maybe I can get her out of my mind for more than 5 minutes when I am awake now. Here's hoping.
Something kind of interesting... I looked up her condition and there are 60 known cases of it. I have taken care of 2 children with it. Wow.
Next post will be something happy!