Won't you be my neighbor?

I've learned, in my very short experience, that taking care of my neighbors' patients is often much easier and more educational than taking care of mine.  I think it has something to do with the level of responsibility that I hold over my neighbors' patients versus my own.  For example, were my patient to get peritonitis followed by septic shock and rapid intubation in the middle of the night, I might freak out and forget what to do.  In fact, it's probable.  However, when it's my neighbor's patient, no problems are had.  I know the answers to all of the questions.  Have you told the doctor this?  Have you given her that?  Does she have suction?  Is this tube draining?  How much stuff has come out of here?  Do you know she has no pressure?  Do you want me to start that IV for you?  How about hanging some Dopamine?  Can we get some more IV channels in here?  I could not, for the life of me, figure out what was going on with my patient last night, but I sure did squeeze a bag of fluids into my neighbor's IV when I saw something was wrong.

The fun part about nursing is that sometimes I get to use a rapid infuser to pour 3 liters of fluid and 2 pints of blood into a person in relatively no time.  Sometimes I see a gallon of fluid leave a belly at one time.  And sometimes, the meanest doctor I know is nice enough to let me poke my head over his shoulder during an intubation just so I can see the vocal chords as he passes the tube through.  It's dirty and it's gross (I had to change my top and cavidide my pants), but the feeling of preventing a code, thereby saving a life, is the best feeling in the world.  It sure beats a desk job any day!

Lifepoint Collaborative

Some friends from work and I took it upon ourselves to voluntarily attend a Lifepoint Collaborative conference in Columbia, SC this week.  Lifepoint, formerly know as SCOPA or the SC organ procurement agency, is basically trying to dispel myths about organ donation so that more lives are saved through transplantation.  All in all, the conference was a very good thing, and I'm glad I went, despite the slideshow (which only those who went can possibly ever know the pain of sitting through that.)  

In the end, I was able to contemplate my own life and, well, death.  What do I really want after my spirit leaves this world?  The first thing that comes to mind is a viking burial!  I mean, who wouldn't want their body and sentimental items placed on a boat, set out to sea, and torched in front of a large crowd of wailers?  It sounds perfect to me.  Second thing that comes to mind is donating my body to the Body exhibit.  Do you think they can get a good pose of me spiking a volleyball so my diehard legacy lives on?  Also a good option.  If neither of the first two happen, I guess I'll just have to accept being cremated and having my ashes spread somewhere cool.  The only danger with cremation is the possibility of being shoved in a cupboard for years with other cremated family members, only to be passed down the family line.  Thanks Hilary for letting me know this actually happens in some families.  

Since option number 3 sounds like the most likely option, it only seems appropriate to be an avid advocate for organ donation.  We already know how much an advocate I am for entire body donation.  I just hope if I die tragically, someone can benefit from some part of me.  It would also be a good way for my family to cope with the disaster. 

Perhaps one day I'll decide to work in donor management.  It is probably one of the coolest jobs in critical care because the most difficult thing in the world to do is to keep a dead body alive.  Other perks would include writing my orders, managing a case from start to finish, and performing procedures I could only dream about as a regular staff nurse, such as line insertion, bronchoscopies, etc.  Furthermore, how beautiful it is to turn tragedy into life for so many others who have been patiently waiting for a miracle!