Earlier this week, I witnessed a man dying on an operating table. I had co-workers ask me about it later, and I haven't been very successful in trying to put it into words. Really, all I did was stand out in the hall, watch the madness of nurses coming in and out of the OR, and pray for the man on the table whose heart was failing him. I could hear them charging the crash cart over and over, trying to get his heart beating correctly again. And then I heard the words, "Call it." It's one thing to watch ER or Grey's on TV and hear those words, and a whole other experience to be standing outside of a room and know that a person just died in there. I kept thinking about this man's family who was anxiously waiting outside to hear that the organ transplant was successful and how he'll heal and get to spend at least a few more years with his loved ones. The patients I see who go in for these transplants are so happy before they go into that OR. They've found an organ. They've possibly found more time.
The other thing that amazed me during this situation was how the doctors and nurses handled everything. There was a strange balance of urgency and caring, but at the same time emotionally distancing themselves from the situation. This would have to be necessary to survive those types of jobs, and I really don't believe it is a trait that is easily acquired in school. My view of doctors and nurses who have to sort through those types of feelings has been forever changed.