A first for everything

Last night on call, I was called for the first time to pronounce a patient dead. I've seen patients die before, and I've been involved in torturously heroic codes where 99% of the time the patient doesn't make it. For some reason in that circumstance death isn't quite as moving. I suppose it's because in my mind the patient as in the person might have been gone long before any of one us says it's so. This patient last night was a DNR patient, which means none of the chest thumping, etc. There were no calls overhead that sent 20 people running to the patient's room. Instead the patient was surrounded by family, and ironically an outside hospice nurse who was evaluating the patient for hospice. Someone noticed, "I think he stopped breathing." And with that he gently and quietly and peacefully entered eternity. I found him curled up and padded up and covered up in bed, as if he had been sleeping. It is so unfortunate that not more people spend their last moments in this way. Although I only spent a short time with the family, it was obvious how strong, bonded, united, and loving they are. Something in my experience that is not seen enough so that you really notice when you do see it. As strange as it sounds, I would have rather stayed with them than do anything else that night.

Is this a downer post? I'm sorry. I wish that I could write great things about how proud I am and how much i love my children, about puppies and cake decorating and house decorating and vacations, but that's not my life yet. Firsts for another day.