I sent this piece to a nursing magazine in the answer to their question "Who was your most unforgettable patient?" They didn't publish it I think because it is as much about me as it is the patient. So I'll share it here.
My most unforgettable patient was my father.
He looked so frail in that hospital bed. A stroke and a fall resulting in a subdural hematoma took him from ER to brain surgery. Now, in ICU, I was told that my mother and I could only visit ten minutes every hour. The word 'visit' really bothered me. I thought, "I'm not a visitor. I'm his daughter and his nurse.
I obeyed this particular rule while sorting through my conflicting thoughts and emotions. Did I stop being a nurse when I clocked out at work?
I heard people tell me to be a daughter now, not a nurse. Confused, I thought, "How do I do that? Forget what I know? Tell my eyes not to notice his skin color? Tell my fingers not to rest on his pulse? Don't check out his blood pressure and O2 Sat?"
I realized there were a lot of things I had to look at differently. I was truly there to be my father's advocate while he was unable to ask for what he needed, unable to call for help, unable to communicate at all. I knew I had to be with him.
My father was moved out of ICU. I was expecting to be at his bedside now. It was getting late and my mother needed to be home before dark. She doesn't see well at night. She was worried about Dad being alone at night and I told her I would stay with him. I never once thought that I wouldn't be allowed to. After Mom left, I went to my father's room and pulled a chair close to the bed. My father was showing signs of brain trauma: agitation, pulling at every tube, trying to sit up although he wasn't strong enough.
It felt so good to be there holding his hand, telling him I was there. I got lotion and gave him foot rubs and did gentle range of motion. These are basic nursing interventions that I usually don't have time for at work. I knew these nurses probably didn't have time for it either.
When visiting hours were over I was asked to leave. I said I would like to stay with him and I was told that family isn't allowed to spend the night. I asked to speak to the charge nurse. As Dad continued to pull and strain against his restraints, I began to strain against my own. The charge nurse gave her scripted answer. "We feel that family members need their rest. We encourage you to go home."
I left the room but only to find a phone. I called the hospital operator and asked her to please page the administrative person on call for that evening. Someone just had to see how wrong this was. I only wanted to be there for my father.
I don't remember who I talked to that night but I remember how well she listened. I spoke quietly from my heart. "I am a daughter of one of the patients in this hospital and I am also a nurse. I want to do for my father what I get paid to do for strangers. I want to do comfort measures for him, keep him safe and help guard his IV and catheter through the night. My father should benefit from my skills and knowledge and my caring. Please let me stay."
She said, "You're right. I believe you are offering us a service and well as being of service to your father. I'll call the charge nurse and tell her you may stay.
She understood the benefits to everyone. She bent the rules and allowed me to be a daughter who is a nurse. Through my father's illness and healing I learned how much I loved caring for him in that special comforting way that nurses have. I try to remember that every patient I care for is someone's father or mother, son or daughter, and I treat them as I would my own.
