I feel so proud–I did almost 100% total patient care for a gentleman with an infected sacral wound (minus dropping his Dulcolax on the floor.) Granted, this floor that I am on is not as high acuity as a “normal” med surg floor, but I think it will be a perfect way to get my feet wet and prepare for more chaos that will inevitably not be far ahead. The gentleman I cared for was just that-a gentleman. Absolutely wonderful to work with. He was AOx4 and able to tell me all about his health (as detailed as the exact lumbar vertebrae that hurt,) pain, diet, and everything else. His wife was wonderful; we talked for about half an hour about reality TV. She likes “Dancing With the Stars” and “The Amazing Race.” I am enjoying my long interactions with these patients now, because I know it won’t be so easy once I am employed and responsible for the full care of more patients. The patients have been incredibly understanding towards the students, and I hope they know how appreciative I am for that. They are making this experience a great one.

But the most interesting experience described below.

Right after morning report, a gentleman on the floor passed away. Expired. Died. Whatever phrase you want to use…I still haven’t decided on mine, but I’m leaning towards “passed away.” I got to help with his post-mortem care, and it was quite a first experience for a clinical-virgin such as myself.It was the first time I had ever been so close to a dead body; I generally go as far as to avoid open casket funerals. I knew I had to do it, but my feet were lead. It was so recent (within minutes) that there was a part of me that wanted to cry, and a part of me that thought he’d wake up again. I purposely stubbed my own toe so that I could have something else to focus on. Why is a person’s first reaction to death so sad? I never knew him in life, yet I wanted to cry. He had finally been freed and I wanted to cry.

He was so limp, he could have been sleeping. His eyes wouldn’t stay shut and he continued to open them while we cleaned him. His mouth hung open in total relaxation. No more pain. He was yellow, wrinkled, hair falling out, and when we turned him on his side, brown liquid poured out of his mouth. The CNA muttered “fucking cancer.” I forced myself to shut his eyes and focused again on my toe. It was my first experience with death, and I think I will never forget the face of this man I never knew in life.

It was a good day.

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