Monday, May 12, 2008

Pills And Thrills And Daffodils

Normal service, it would seem, has been resumed.

I had some bad news tonight - a friend, a very good friend has ended up in intensive care, after seemingly routine surgery. As best as I can gather, he is going to recover fully, but it's still a hairy time. Information is scarce - the Unit won't tell me much, as I'm only a friend, and everything else is second or third hand. I was keen to visit tomorrow, but his ma doesn't think he'd want us to see him like this.

Probably true.

At work, I've gone back to breaking people's heart's for them. A few days ago, a young lad was brought in from a 'low velocity' RTC. Everyone else involved walked away with out a scratch. Our patient sustained a major head injury, his CT showing the ugly white bloom of intra-cerebral blood, stark against the dull grey of his cerebral cortices. Ugly choices made in the cold dark hours before dawn, and now he wears a craniotomy. This raw hole in his head the only way to stop his swelling brain forcing its way out of his skull. His parents sat opposite me, holding each other, tighter and tighter, as if they could somehow squeeze the grief out from their souls, crush it and watch it run between their fingers.

All his mates were alright; why shouldn't he be?

No seatbelt, I guess. Whatever the reason, try as they might, they can't tap the grief, can't lance the pain. It is my gift to them, and as I tell them, the grief finds the only outlet left, and they weep.

I feel hopeless and useless.

Later, I have a long, unproductive chat with one of our regular attenders. His problems are psychological, psychiatric, and he continually threatens suicide. I wonder how serious he is, because, if he really wants to do it, why doesn't he just do it, instead of sitting telling me he's going to. I fail to get the Crisis team to come and see him. They know him of old, and tell me he is manipulative. He probably is, but I hate myself for thinking these things. His face, too, crumples into tears as we talk, but I can see him watching me, gauging my reaction from behind his hands.

I can't help him, and he too leaves me. I catch him at the door, ask him not to jump tonight. His smile is rueful, but he offers me no promise. I watch the skies for him the rest of the night, but he does not land back in our ED.

1 comment:

Chrysalis Angel said...

I hope your friend will have a fully recovery. Such a sad post, so many hurting.