Night Shift

It comes with the job, even seems exciting at first.
"I'll just sleep until everyone gets home from work then get up and have a normal life like the rest of the world."
"Switching back and forth isn't so bad, I don't need that much sleep to function."
"It will be fun!"
I said it, plenty of new nurses say it. 5 years later I am not so sure I feel the same way. Actually, I know I don't.
A small few of my kind enjoy night shifts. They adjust well, sleep great during the day, and find the energy to be "normal" when they are not working.

Then theres me.

I'm on my fourth night shift, I can't pull off more than 5 consecutive hours of sleep (that's with benadryl) and by Monday, when its time to switch back to living in the real world, I liken the feeling I will have to a nasty hangover, times 2 days. I don't mind the shifts themselves, I really don't. After all, I signed up for it when I became a nurse and we all have to do it from time to time. Now that I'm here, I must say I have a special place in my heart for the dreaded shift.

The other night (another side effect of nights, I'm not sure which day is which) I got called over to help with a patient who was steadily declining. Following a move to our ICU, the patient took a turn and I found myself alongside 2 doctors, an anesthetist, an ER nurse, our nurse manager, and an ICU nurse (who we called in her cabin at 1am to wake up and come help). Despite our efforts for over 2 hours the patient continued to decline. On the ship, our 'blood bank' is the crew. At home you call the lab, fill out a slip, and the tube system delivers a nice bag of chilled blood 10 minutes later.

Here, you call the lab tech in his cabin at 2am who then finds the matches on the ship and begins waking them up, at times going door to door. The first one was our Captain. As he lay next to us and commented on how 'this is the best part of being on the ship', we continued to fight for our patients life. Within a half hour I was hanging a warm bag of B+ blood, and we were looking for the next donor, our patient was losing blood faster than we could replace it. The only other perfect match on the ship was one of the doctors running the emergency with us. He handed over the task of pushing the medication he was in the middle of and lay down to give his blood. When he was finished he came over, still holding the gauze to his arm, and continued to direct us all. In a situation like this, I find you remember small bits and pieces days later, some very vivid, some that will stay with you for the rest of your life. The first one I have was on one of the runs to the lab to retrieve the second unit of blood. My mind was focused, but my heart cried out to God.

Please, save this mans life. He is in your hands. Help us save him.

At one point after that we started seeing the worst case scenario unfold. The surgeon, calmly and gently, after checking for pulses and not finding them said, "come on guys, we're losing him, we're going to lose him"

Please God

"I need staple removers and scissors. The only chance this guy has is if this is compartment syndrome" (basically his organs, mainly his heart, was shutting down secondary to a major internal bleed, causing pressure to build)
Now I've heard of bedside surgeries but I can't say I have ever been a part of one, until the other night. In a split second decision, our surgeon saved a mans life. Once the cause was found, we watched a blood pressure register on the screen, found pulses, and collectively smiled with relief.

With the patient in surgery (finally made it to the actual operating room) a few of us set off with the task of cleaning up our mess. Standing in the ICU, I said "Thank you God" to which everyone replied "Amen"
Sweet and simple, yet all of us said it with absolute, heart felt conviction.

I've never been in this type of circumstance. I have never not had a button to press which sounds the alarms and calls all the surrounding experts to come running in. In this case when the question was raised to call a 'medical emergency', the equivalent to a code blue, the surgeon looked around and said "no point, we're it".

None of us knew exactly where every supply was, there were at least between 3 and 5 nationalities in the room, all with varying accents, (not to mention different names for all of the supplies). The patient was in a rare crisis which almost none in the room had ever seen, the surgeon himself commenting after that he had never seen it develop so quickly.

The odds, scientifically speaking, were slanted against us.

And that's the best part.

Call it what you will, but I promise you ever person that was in that room gives credit where credit is due.
God is real, He is present, and He comes when you call on Him. I said a while back in a newsletter that I feel blessed to have a front row seat to all God is doing here. That night was one of those instances (however, if I stay within the metaphor it would be most certainly be called an all-inclusive, backstage pass. but that's a bit over the top, wouldn't you say?)

The past few nights have been really good. I've had time to sit and hold little Abe on my lap, watching him try to bite my stethoscope in half, drooling buckets onto my sweatshirt . I shared popcorn with two VVF (fistula repair) ladies, one whose electric blue toenail polish I complimented. I quietly watched as my patients slept, my mind at ease seeing them with a comfortable mattress, a soft blanket, and clean water next to their bed. I almost had a heart attack when a caregiver grabbed my ankle (they sleep under the patients beds here) managing not to scream. The other night I walked onto the ward to see our patient, the one who nearly died, already out of the ICU. He is awake and stable. Not perfect, but my goodness, he looks good to me.

So here I am on my last night shift. I'm tired, my head feels like it might roll off any second, stuffed and heavy with a cold I am certain I am coming down with. Tomorrow will bring little sleep and overall lack of motivation to do anything. Yet, despite any of this, I have never felt more alive, more fulfilled, more satisfied, in my entire life. I soak in each moment, every hand held, every life that comes through these doors, and count myself ridiculously blessed. God doesn't need any of us, but He calls us by name, picks us to be a part of His plan. He has been very real and present these last few nights, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

"You could feed the whole world with the crumbs of old bread.
Spread the good news through dreams and stones.
With a breath of the wind You could raise up the dead, But You ask us to go.
Help us love mercy, help us do justly, Help us walk humbly with You God"
-Micah 6:8, Charlie Hall