Yesterday, she was artificially paralyzed and placed into a medicinal coma. I watched as the surgeon removed her diseased organ with sophisticated chopsticks. She left my care early this morning.
Just now, he rose from the dead thanks to a highly skilled, calm and cooperative code team. I watched as his heart began to beat again. I witnessed the color of his skin change as the oxygen molecules once again perfused into his tissues.
I haven’t had this much fun since my first autopsy.
The adrenaline rush was comparable to earning my marks(wo)man medal in the military with a 9mm.
I felt challenged and alive for the first time since starting nursing school.
My calling is found.
I have spent my morning with intermittent streams of tears running down my face, considering the ethics of euthanasia. There is no owners manual for a geriatric dog whose larynx is slowly paralyzing.
Her eyes showed weakness today for the first time, like she was telling me she can’t suffer through a fit too many more times. “Help me, best friend.”
Nobody warns you what life is like when you hoard syringes full of sedatives in case her tongue turns blue and she won’t calm down.
Or the thoughts of finding her flattened on the hardwood floor with white foamy vomit seeping from her mouth.