Most Memorable Moment

I often get asked what my most memorable moment was/is. There are numerous memorable moments. Lots of firsts. Lots of bests. Lots of worsts. But there is always one that stands out. One that makes you realize how much of a gift life really is. Being a burn and pediatric nurse makes you understand, in a rapid fashion, how fragile the thread of life can be. All it takes is an instant, and the thread snaps. My most memorable moment was neither a burn or a kid. When I started on this unit, the prospect of taking care of a burned baby scared me beyond the worst traumas, the sickest adults, or even the biggest wounds. I guess its the innocence factor. What I consider my most memorable moment took me by surprise. I remember it distinctly. It was a calm and quiet April night. I was up for the next admit and excited to get something other than the standard 80 something old lady who fell off her step and smacked her head. Although I had secretly hoped for something interesting, something exciting, something I could learn from and gain another notch in my belt...I had no idea of what was in store.

Report from ER-- 20 yo F. Spontaneous bleed. Neg drug tox. No family here yet. Boyfriend at bedside. Devi stating. Unstable. Organ Donor.

Oh my God I thought. She is younger than I am. She was a good girl. A college girl working her way through life. Happy. Healthy. She was just like me. When I went to the ER to get her, I immediately found myself personally involved with her story. She was at home with her boyfriend. She had a bad headache. She was sitting on the couch in his arms. Then, he said, "She just went limp." He was there. Her boyfriend. Distraught and devastated. Her brother had just arrived. 18 years old, the first family member in house. He became the decision maker. Mom was away on a business trip on the east coast. Dad was in route from rural where ever. We brought her up. It was clear she was brain dead. Neurosurgery had already completed the first of two brain death tests. Her pupils where fixed and dilated. No cough, corneal, or gag. No painful stimuli response. Unstable vitals. The organ donation team was there. The brother being asked what she would want. The boyfriend crying and shaking. The nurse crying and titrating drips. We could save her organs. We could save other lives, if not hers. A good heart. A good pair of lungs, a good liver, kidneys, pancreas, intestines, corneas... I began to fight to save people I would never meet. People I would never know or take care of. I became the advocate for what good she had done and all she had left to do. I became her voice. I hugged her brother, held her boyfriend's hand. Prayed. Hoped. Cried.

Her dad made it in just before the second brain death test. I finally had her stabilized and ready for OR. We had most of her organs placed. She was ready to complete her role. I had become her mode, she became my muse. I helped her family say goodbye. I helped her friends let go. I helped her boyfriend brush her hair. I left the end of my shift as she was taken to OR. I know she saved the lives of 6 strangers. I know her family and friends are closer to each other because of her death. I know I am a better nurse, better woman, better person for what she taught me, for what she gave me. I remember her the most, because with her death I realized that life is but a single thread in a endless blanket. She taught me that when one thread breaks, others will bind.