“Trauma” - I don’t write much anymore, so sit down and read up
You may have heard that this year’s 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.
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: “Mine’s alive, is your boy okay?”
Not so with the family of my patient. In the years I’ve been a nurse, I’ve 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 grandmother’s 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.
And I saw more staff members crying throughout the day than I’ve 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 I’ve only cried three times because of my job. We often carry the heartache of our patients’ troubles as secret burdens that are never spoken of outside work. Nurses have thick skins by necessity, but today was incomprehensible.
I often think about a famous quote from Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood: “My mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.”
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, “But to whom do we look to now? When our own emotional levees overflow, where is our comfort?”
After things settled down a bit, our Trauma team had a formal “debriefing” session consisting of one of our doctors saying some supportive words, as well some remarks by a random man I’d never seen from an HR-ish counseling-ish department. I didn’t know this man, and I wanted him to leave. I left the group instead at this point and went back to a newly-arrived victim’s bedside to help that nurse get things in order. Strangers couldn’t 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 shooter’s motives. We denounced “thoughts and prayers” 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.
Which is when I started crying, because I still can’t make sense of it.
Less than six months ago, I was working another shift when we received several victims from a mass shooting at a local church. So I’ve 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?
I’m so tired in my spirit.
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