Remembering Joseph.....
I began my nursing career believing I had been fully prepared to handle anything that could be tossed in my direction. Oh sure, there were departmental and hospital specific procedures and idiosyncrasies that are naturally a part of the learning curve. But I had just graduated from one of the best nursing schools in the state and very highly ranked nationally. I had been prepped, taught by the best. I was ready. Or so I thought.
You see, in nursing school they teach you how to treat injuries, how to heal wounds and infections, how to administer medicines and administer care that helps people get better. What they didn't tell me my was that sometimes, often times, the patients don't get better, that despite my best efforts and most earnest attempts people sometimes die. I wasn't ready for this. No one is ever ready for this. They didn't teach me about this. Over time you develop ways and means to deal with the harsh realities but nothing ever seems sufficient. A part of your very soul is left with every patient that leaves you. It hurts. The hurt lingers. In some ways, it never leaves. Countless nights I have come home from a difficult shift and hugged Zoë until she said quit. Then I hugged her more.
I'm not sure if it is because I have been there, witness to the shock in a parent's eyes when confronted with horrific news, or if because I am parent myself five times over, but I was moved recently by a post from Dan over at All That Comes With It. You see, Dan has helped to organize a charity walk to take place this summer, 78 miles in six days. It's called the Dales Walk and will cover the length of the Dales Way in Yorkshire, England. Proceeds from the walk are to benefit The Joseph Salmon Trust, a charity set up by Dan's good friends Neil and Rachel in memory of their son, Joseph who was just three years old when he passed away suddenly and totally unexpectedly in his sleep due to complications from a streptococcal pneumonia.
Through their experiences with such a devastating personal experience they have organized The Joseph Salmon Trust which aims to "support parents who have lost a child by providing financial assistance to those who need it most. This may be to help with funeral costs or to allow the self employed a break from work while they come to terms with their loss. Grieving families have enough to deal with without worries about where they will find the money to say goodbye to their child or pay the next electricity bill. Nothing we can do can make their situation better, but we can do something to stop it getting worse."
Neil and Rachel have shown strength unimaginable after enduring what I can only imagine as being the worst experience that anyone would ever have to face. They are extraordinary people, but I suppose I should expect nothing less from anyone whom Dan should call friend. He's a pretty good egg himself. Although he could probably stand to lose a kilogram or two, but then again, who couldn't. The walking will surely help. So what's my point? What can I do to help? you are most assuredly asking yourself by now.
Easy.
Give........That's it.
Just Give.
Support Dan on his Dale's Walk. All sponsorship monies paid through him go directly to The Joseph Salmon Trust. Expenses incurred during the six day trek are completely out of pocket for Dan. I told you he was a good egg. What's in it for you? I think Dan has some buttons and that warm feeling you get inside from knowing you did something good.
Visit All That Comes With It and click on the button to the right to donate. You can also follow the progress of the walk on a page Dan set up called oddly enough, The Dales Walk.
You see, in nursing school they teach you how to treat injuries, how to heal wounds and infections, how to administer medicines and administer care that helps people get better. What they didn't tell me my was that sometimes, often times, the patients don't get better, that despite my best efforts and most earnest attempts people sometimes die. I wasn't ready for this. No one is ever ready for this. They didn't teach me about this. Over time you develop ways and means to deal with the harsh realities but nothing ever seems sufficient. A part of your very soul is left with every patient that leaves you. It hurts. The hurt lingers. In some ways, it never leaves. Countless nights I have come home from a difficult shift and hugged Zoë until she said quit. Then I hugged her more.
I'm not sure if it is because I have been there, witness to the shock in a parent's eyes when confronted with horrific news, or if because I am parent myself five times over, but I was moved recently by a post from Dan over at All That Comes With It. You see, Dan has helped to organize a charity walk to take place this summer, 78 miles in six days. It's called the Dales Walk and will cover the length of the Dales Way in Yorkshire, England. Proceeds from the walk are to benefit The Joseph Salmon Trust, a charity set up by Dan's good friends Neil and Rachel in memory of their son, Joseph who was just three years old when he passed away suddenly and totally unexpectedly in his sleep due to complications from a streptococcal pneumonia.
Through their experiences with such a devastating personal experience they have organized The Joseph Salmon Trust which aims to "support parents who have lost a child by providing financial assistance to those who need it most. This may be to help with funeral costs or to allow the self employed a break from work while they come to terms with their loss. Grieving families have enough to deal with without worries about where they will find the money to say goodbye to their child or pay the next electricity bill. Nothing we can do can make their situation better, but we can do something to stop it getting worse."
Neil and Rachel have shown strength unimaginable after enduring what I can only imagine as being the worst experience that anyone would ever have to face. They are extraordinary people, but I suppose I should expect nothing less from anyone whom Dan should call friend. He's a pretty good egg himself. Although he could probably stand to lose a kilogram or two, but then again, who couldn't. The walking will surely help. So what's my point? What can I do to help? you are most assuredly asking yourself by now.
Easy.
Give........That's it.
Just Give.
Support Dan on his Dale's Walk. All sponsorship monies paid through him go directly to The Joseph Salmon Trust. Expenses incurred during the six day trek are completely out of pocket for Dan. I told you he was a good egg. What's in it for you? I think Dan has some buttons and that warm feeling you get inside from knowing you did something good.
Visit All That Comes With It and click on the button to the right to donate. You can also follow the progress of the walk on a page Dan set up called oddly enough, The Dales Walk.
Thanks Ed, i appreciate it.
Lovely post, I cannot imagine.
BlogHoppin'
I'm a proud supporter of the Dale's Walk myself. Nice posts Ed. I can't imagine having to deal with death on a regular basis. People don't die in the computer programming industry.
What a great, thoughtful post. It's posts like these that affirm my belief that technology isn't tearing people apart, but bringing us together.
He's a good one, that Dan.
Honeybell--Everything I hear about Neil and Rachel is truly extraordinary.
Jeff--I'd like to say it's something you get used to.....you don't.
April--I just hope it can do some good for a good cause.
Whit--Like my buddy in Louisiana used to tell me, "Ed, you're a good man....but the woods are full of them."
So sorry to hear about Joseph and this is the exact reason why I know I could never work in the medical field. I am too prone to empathy.
However, I am surprised that no class was offered to deal with this. Don't you agree there is enough "material" to create a class like this that should be mandatory for doctors and nurses?
Or is the mindset such that those folks who are too empathetic will not seek work in this field, for that reason?
Oh, bits and pieces here in there in different classes but nothing specific. It's, in my opinion a vastly untapped subject for the healthcare profession.
In each hopsital I've worked there were Critical Incident Debriefing Sessions after particularly difficult cases but I've never attended.