On any given night in the ICU, so many lives are at a turning point; so many stories are playing out. One neurosurgery resident, one ICU intensivist, 11 nurses, 20 patients, countless family members all colliding in this cold, busy place. It’s amazing how this place can mean so many different things at the same time, it’s all perspective really.
To the nurse taking care of beds 1 & 2 on her fourth night in a row, this place is the only thing standing between her and her bed. She really wants the families to go home, she’s tired and ready to quit telling them “everything is okay” when a number on the monitor changes. No one told her nursing was also about costumer service.Â
To the patient in bed 3, a young woman, this place is nothing. She was brain dead when she got here- nothing could be done. But, to her husband and her parents and the 85 other family members circulating in and out of her room, this place is hell. This is the last place they ever pictured being on a Sunday night, yet, here we all are.
To the two nurse taking care of beds 7-10, this place is home; they are best friends and together they pass these long shifts together.
To the wife of the patient in bed 13, this place is new, and overwhelming. Well, the whole situation is new and overwhelming. She cannot understand how her husband went from fine this morning, to here in an ICU, on a ventilator, with 3 nurses and a doctor, running around the room trying to get him “stabilized.” She’s not sure what they mean by stabilized because nothing in her world feels like it will every be stable again.
To the nurse taking care of beds 15 and 16, this place is misery. She’s a brand new nurse and feels so far in over head, she cannot even see the surface of the water she’s drowning in. All of the other nurses are close, they have inside jokes, and routines. She worries she’ll never be a part of the group here.
To the patient in bed 18, this place is salvation. He would have been dead, should have died. But, the doctors and nurses here knew what to do; they acted fast and he’s alive because of them; he knows that. He’s a precious, grateful man and he’s made his nurse’s night with his sweet, resilient spirit.
To the nurse taking care of beds 19 and 20, this place is monotonous. He’s done this job for the past 3 years, nothing surprises him anymore, nothing touches him anymore. He felt himself quit caring about 7 months ago and has not been able to snap out of this compassion fatigue.
To the ICU intensivist, this place is his kingdom. He has a wife and new baby at home and he loves them, but he cannot always stop the baby from crying. But here, knows he can run an ICU. He has saved 3 lives this week, and he thinks that’s a pretty good week.
To the resident, this place is his dream and his nightmare all at once. He spent 7 years in school and $250,000 to get yelled at by attendings every day, but he’s becoming a real surgeon. He wants to get through this night on his own, without having to call one of the senior residents.
On any given night in the ICU, one family is hearing the best news, while others are hearing the worst. There is joy, pain, fear, and hope, each in their rawest state. Each person’s perspective is different. One nurse bored, while another is busy and overwhelmed; one family overjoyed, one devastated- all of this on an ordinary night.
