Chicken Soup For The Nurse's Soul - Plot & Excerpts
I cannot do everything; but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do. E. E. Hale He’d come for minor surgery, a simple patch-up job. A piece of cake, really, unless you have a history of hemophilia and HIV, a legacy of contaminated blood. What started as “routine” spiraled into complications—needles, tubes, a ventilator—trying to sustain a body that would no longer sustain itself. He came to us for end-of-life care—pale, hunched over, breathing hard, a feeding tube hanging uselessly from his nose. Fifty years of life condensed into a slim chart of medical relevance: an admitting sheet, history and physical, progress notes. Bare facts: prognosis poor. Running out of options. Running out of time. His family came to him and knelt at the bedside, their faces wet with knowing. Touching. Talking. They wrapped their arms and voices around him in a passionate effort to keep him connected to this world. “I want to go home,”
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