One of the commercials portrays a male nurse sitting at the bedside of a pediatric patient whose name is Emma. As he is preparing to administer her chemo, she is gazing at him with her beautiful eyes, waiting for him to start their poem song as he administers the chemo. Together they sing: “Emma, emma, bo-bemma, banana-fanna, fo-femma, fee-fi-fo-femma…Emma! While the nurse is seen putting skill to practice, he is also seen as utilizing psychosocial skills in putting Emma at ease.
Every time I see these commercials, I take a few moments to recall experiences where I have sat at the patient’s bedside with an attentive and caring heart. In the above two commercials, the nurse is present to only the one patient. I know the chemo nurse has other patients he is caring for also, and the ER nurse probably has several other trauma patients as well.
Throughout our health care experience, we probably all have memories of patients who have touched our hearts in a special way because of unexpected consequences in their plan of care. Sometimes it seems that it is the emergent situations that often bring out the compassionate side of our hearts, although we don’t realize it until after the fact.
We all know that the worst of the unpredictable always crops up during our extremely busy shifts. My first encounter of this realization occurred just three months after I had graduated from St. Vincent’s School of Nursing in 1974 (yes, I’ve been a nurse for a long time). I was working 3-11 on the old 3 East post-surgical unit. As I was making rounds, I was called to the bedside of a woman who was three days post-op for abdominal surgery. She was undergoing a post-op complication I had certainly learned about in nursing school, but I definitely became quite frazzled that this unexpected complication was occurring on my watch. I notified her surgeon, booked a bed for the OR, and proceeded to prepare her for her return to surgery. When I sat at her bedside to inform her she would be returning to surgery, she was actually calmer about it than I was. She looked into my eyes and said “Don’t worry; everything is going to be all right.” She grabbed my hand and we just sat there, waiting for her family to arrive. The OR tech came to take her to surgery around 8:45 pm. I took her by the hand, looked into her eyes and told her God would be with her and that I would see her when she got back. As I got busy finishing up my shift, giving my taped report, and thinking about her every breathing moment, I made up my mind that I would wait for her to return before I went home at 11:15. I clocked out and waited. I was still waiting at 12:15 and then started getting worried. The family was getting worried also, so I sat with them and tried to reassure them that if something went wrong, I knew the surgeon would let them know. I took them to the waiting room and told them I would go try to find out something. Just then, the surgeon walked in, surprised I was still there. I told him I was determined to see her when she got back to the floor. He explained he was going to keep her in ICU overnight and that everything went well. After he spoke with the family, he walked me out to the parking lot. The patient was on my mind as I went to bed and when I awoke the next morning. When I returned to work that evening, I went to see her. She looked wonderful and I felt wonderful. I have thought of her on many occasions throughout my career and have often used this memory for teaching purposes. She will forever be on my heart.
Fast forward to 2011, the week before Christmas, I was assigned to another patient with post-op complications from abdominal surgery. When he was informed he would be going back to surgery, he began crying. All I could do was hold his hand; I couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, God gave me the prayerful words of His love and compassion for this patient’s solace and healing. I stayed with him until OR arrived, and as he left told him I would be praying for him. While I was with him before surgery, it seemed as if time had stopped and that he was my only concern at the time. I was not thinking about my other patients. I believe God must have been taking care of my other patients, since no one seemed to be looking for me while I was being present to this one patient. After he left for surgery, I got very busy again, but none of the patients seemed to have missed me.
The surgeon said the patient would be going to ICU after surgery. That was my last day to work until after New Year’s. I left work knowing that I would not be able to see him. I remember his name and I don’t feel I will ever forget it. I have prayed for him daily during Morning and Evening Prayer, at Christmas Midnight Mass, and I put his “initials” on the Monastery prayer list. When I returned to work on January 5, I did not see his name on the unit’s census list, I did not search for his location, and I did not hear anyone mention his name. I still remember his name and I still pray for him and his wife every morning and evening. Wherever he is, he will be Forever On My Heart.
“Very often I feel like a little pencil in God’s hand. He does the writing; he does the thinking; he does the movement- I have only to be a pencil and nothing else.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Total Surrender  | <> <>
