āTraumaā - I donāt write much anymore, so sit down and read up
You may have heard that this yearās worst mass shooting thus far occurred today in the small town of Benton, KY. In total, there were two deaths and 17 others injured. Five of the victims were transported to the Trauma ICU at Vanderbilt University Medical Center, where I happen to work as a nurse.Ā
In fact, I happened to be at work today, and one of the two beds assigned to me at the beginning of the shift was empty and ready for admission. I received the first victim from the emergency room, and this patient died mere moments after arrival. Over the next couple of hours we admitted the four other patients to other beds, and their family members were soon to join them at bedside. In their faces were concern and hope, and in many an unexpected happiness. Yes, perhaps their child had been shot, but they still lived. In the hall I saw middle-aged men hugging each other in tears:Ā āMineās alive, is your boy okay?ā
Not so with the family of my patient. In the years Iāve been a nurse, Iāve seen death and grief on a regular basis, but never like today. There are many kinds of crying: angry, anxious, scared, sad... But today I heard the quiet, quivering wail of a grandmotherās complete helplessness and despair. I watched a grandfather fall to his knees as he rounded a corner and caught sight of his lifeless grandkid, whom we had done our best to clean up and make presentable. I watched them lay themselves over his body, as if trying to protect him even in death.Ā
And I saw more staff members crying throughout the day than Iāve ever seen - our security officer, a couple of nurse practitioner students, a new hire, several seasoned nurses... even me. In four years of ER and ICU nursing Iāve only cried three times because of my job. We often carry the heartache of our patientsā troubles as secret burdens that are never spoken of outside work. Nurses have thick skins by necessity, but today was incomprehensible.Ā
I often think about a famous quote from Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogersā Neighborhood:Ā āMy mother would say to me, āLook for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.ā To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my motherās words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers ā so many caring people in this world.ā
But today I was one of the helpers, and as I looked around and saw the hurt on the faces of the other helpers I wondered,Ā āBut to whom do we look to now? When our own emotional levees overflow, where is our comfort?āĀ
After things settled down a bit, our Trauma team had a formalĀ ādebriefingā session consisting of one of our doctors saying some supportive words, as well some remarks by a random man Iād never seen from an HR-ish counseling-ish department. I didnāt know this man, and I wanted him to leave. I left the group instead at this point and went back to a newly-arrived victimās bedside to help that nurse get things in order. Strangers couldnāt get us through this.
As we later gathered in the break room to clock out for the day, we got into a discussion about the past few hours. We talked about the inadequacy of current political policy to address mental health and gun control. Some speculated about the shooterās motives. We denouncedĀ āthoughts and prayersā as the excuses they are. We wondered about the community in which this violence occurred, and what it was like. Were signs missed? Were there signs at all? We admitted to each other that we ultimately had no way of understanding this atrocity. We helpers tried our best to help each other, and then we went home.Ā
Which is when I started crying, becauseĀ I still canāt make sense of it.Ā
Less than six months ago, I was working another shift when we received several victims from a mass shooting at a local church. So Iāve now worked with victims of two mass shootings in a mere six months?! What current are the helpers trying desperately to swim against, and will we make it?
Iām so tired in my spirit.Ā
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