45 eggs

Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve.
Dr. Napoleon Hill

My patient was a 50 something year old man. A completely normal person. He is a hard working and devoted individual. He has a beautiful wife and a tremendous family. He is gleefully ordinary. Atypically ordinary. His family mirrors my own. He is just like my dad in more ways than I'd care to admit. In fact, his name was Paul too, just like my dad. Perhaps that is why I decided to take him as my patient. Perhaps it was because I felt like crying every time I hugged his wife, as I would if I were hugging my own mother. For the first time in a long time, I had an emotional response to a patients situation. I truly felt a connection with Paul and his family. He made me feel good to be a nurse. His family made me want to make a difference. I felt like I could really help him and his family. I felt like what I know, what I do, who I am could and would change their lives. I felt like me being a nurse actually would matter to this patient and his family.

He was a very sick man when he came in. He was on three pressors (medications to keep his blood pressure high enough to pump enough blood into his vital organs). He was on a lot of fluid. He was on a ventilator. His arm and leg were infected with bacteria we could not name at first. His family didn't understand what was happening. He had felt ill, like he had the flu. Two weeks later he was in our ICU fighting for his life. As the days turned into weeks, Paul lost his left arm and almost lost his right leg. The infection had seeded in his muscles. For some reason fate had picked him to host a deadly bacteria called hemolytic strep A. Its the same bug that you fight off when you have strep throat. However, for some reason this strain sometimes mutates and attacks the body in varied and unforeseen places, patterns, reasons. We can not predict who will get it, who will fight it off, or who will not. For Paul, it was a pair of aces he could not trump.

Eventually Paul fought his way back from the brink of death. He came off the pressors and fluid. He went to the OR several times over. We did painful wound care three times a day on his leg and arm. His wife never left his side. His children visited him and lifted his spirits. Finally he came off the ventilator and regained a sense of time, realizing he'd missed a month by being sedated and ventilated in the ICU. He had no idea of what he'd been through. As he woke up, he discovered his loss. As he began to recover lost details of his courageous fight, he learned how truly lucky he was.

When I think about Paul and all he'd been through, I cant help but think of what it meant to me as a nurse. I don't mean medically or professionally. From Paul and his family, I learned what it means to provide emotional and spiritual health. Usually this is often overlooked in the medical setting. Especially when you are talking about the intensity of the ICU setting. I will be the first to admit that I hardly ever consider this aspect of health and healing when I am taking care of a critically ill person. When I started taking care of Paul and his family, it was much the same. I knew their faith was strong and their support system was nothing short of amazing. I remember talking at length with his wife about his beliefs and trust in God. I recall accepting what she said and thinking that he'd need a lot more than God to get out of this. I remember telling her what to expect and what would happen next medically. I thought that if I could take the focus to the reality of how sick Paul was then she wouldn't keep talking about God. To switch off the uncomfortable subject, I remember asking her about their kids and how they were dealing with all of this. She said the older ones where a little afraid but that they understood what was going on. The youngest was more concerned with waiting for the Easter Bunny. As she talked of their children, I remember thinking that if ever there were faith to be had, here it was.

I remember the first weekend they came to visit. I knew how afraid and intimidated they would be, seeing their dad in a place like this. My focus switched from Paul's illness to his children's comfort. I had to do something to take their minds and focus off of the horror and fear of the ICU setting. At the ages of 15, 11, and 5, I knew they would be overwhelmed. I asked his wife what he would miss the most about not being at home with his family. She told me he would miss having an Easter egg hunt with the kids the most. It was a tradition in their family for Paul to hide all the eggs and the kids to find them all. She said it gave him such great joy to see his kids looking for all those eggs.

An idea struck me like a bolt of lightening. I spent a couple of hours that night cutting out Easter eggs for Paul's kids. I asked all the nurses stop for a few minutes and help me decorate them. The therapy of decorating a paper egg is completely underestimated. I haven't ever laughed so hard with my co workers as I did that night, huddled over a pile of technicolored paper Easter eggs.

I spent an hour "hiding" 45 eggs in Paul's room. I made a card with the "rules" and put it on the door. When Paul's wife came to visit Easter Sunday Morning, she smiled for the first time since he'd been admitted. She simply said, "The kids will love this". I hugged her goodbye that morning and left for a 6 day vacation.

When I came back, Paul was doing great. He was out of the ICU the following day and as he left, his wife thanked me for the Easter egg hunt. She said the kids were bummed not to have met "the nurse who made all the eggs". I told her it wasn't me, but the Easter Bunny himself. She smiled again and we hugged as Paul was taken to the floor. I asked her to bring Paul and the kids up for a visit when he was well enough to get out of bed. She assured me that they would indeed.

Looking back, I know I found a strength in Paul and his family. I found a faith I tried very hard to deny and an emotion I wanted to ignore. By embracing Paul and his family, I feel like I gave him the best care I could, simply by hiding 45 eggs...