I'm kind of at a blank on how to begin writing this post today. It's hump day, and I've spent most of it on the couch reading some horribly offensive young adult novel about categorizing citizens blah blah blah. I guess it made for some interesting dreams last night with crazy people chasing me with guns and sappy love stories that included someone referring to me as "Lucky Charms." I guess it's a play on my Irish name of origin, and as he so boldly put it in the dream, "...Lucky Charms, because you're magically delicious." Yeah, even my subconscious is weird.
I started to write a post a few weeks ago about this really bad night at work. I walked out of that code that night with a red hot face that was bursting with anger, and tears that were so heavy that they just collected in my eyelashes before dropping down my cheek. Completely lost my shit. In response to try and deal with it all, I started writing a new blog entree to relieve the festering anger and allow me to sleep, but all that came out on paper was a bunch of childish comments and sarcasm to cover up how much that night hurt.
I'm glad I didn't post that rant, because I just read it over again and I can honestly say that I sounded like a brat. I was writing to vent (yes pun intended). Now I'm a little more rational but I still need to write about it. With that in mind, the specific details of the code are really miscellaneous. However I will say that I tried to tell the MD three times over that this patient needed x, y, z and to page ENT, oh about 3 hrs ago. The MD did not listen to my suggestions, and the result was a code blue nightmare that left me raging with guilt.
Guilt because I had failed to help keep this patient from harm. Anger because my voice was silenced without consideration. It was only in the desperate moments at the end of everything that they finally listened to me, but at that point it was really too late. All I could do that night was cry behind the ABG lab door for a few minutes, compose myself and then get on with work.
After retrospection and some counseling from my sage adviser I calmed down from the moment. It took a few days for the emotions to subside completely. I don't break down often at work, so it kind of shocked me when I couldn't let this one go. I get irritated at coworkers all the time, and use those moments to remind me that I am not a prisoner of my job; it motivates me to get my ass in gear and go back to school. But this code was different. I couldn't use a patient's death to spark my inspiration to take Chemistry in the fall. It felt like a cheap way to deal with it.
I don't want to fall into the trap of going to PA school just so I can be the decider and write all of the orders. It has to be so much more than that. I know I make mistakes. I know I am not always right. Disagreeing happens. What I find respectful in a practitioner is one that will listen to my argument, say no, but then give a justifiable answer for the decision as to why they don't agree.
Sometimes it is hard as a RT to remember that we are really there to follow MDs orders. That no matter how much value we have in critical care, all of that, is easily forgotten when up against a practitioner's inexperience/ego/stubbornness. It hurts our esteem as qualified members of critical care when our suggestion is met with a blank stare, and shot down without consideration. Every time I move up to the Esteem rung on the Maslow's hierarchy of needs pyramid, an event like this one threatens to bump me off again. I really think that is why so many of us burn out. Most of the time it is a thankless job, and I know for me it is very hard to gain that self-esteem back when I am not respected in my profession. Over, and over and over again.
I wanted to go talk to that MD after the code so badly, and have the "I told you so" moment. I felt like it would make me feel better or give me a taste of validation. I also thought about writing them up for a litany of reasons in the name of patient safety. But I didn't. I'd like to say it was because I took the high road, but really it was just to avoid confrontation because I was still so upset.
I suppose I'm still hanging on to it a little, still trying to process that night. I guess I'm still human. Thanks for listening.
