Return to Main Menu

Flashback by Maureen Virtue Decker, R.N. Clinical Services  It was a cold Tuesday in February, I was working as the hospital services coordinator, and the evening shift was crazy as usual.    Maureen Decker I was running from unit to unit finishing rounds, not knowing if the next page would be a Mayday, a trauma, or a unit calling because a staff member had not shown up for a shift. I was standing on 7 West waiting for the charge nurse to give me a brief report. The unit was hectic, the telephone was ringing off the hook, the call bell was alarming continuously, patients were getting ready for the operating room and PACU was calling to give a report on a post-op patient.    As I stood there, looking at all the names on the patient board, one name in particular caught my eye. The world around me faded away and I was transported back in time to 1989.   I was a young, single nurse just out of school three years, working in the burn unit.    I was in charge, and the unit was filled with very sick patients. After having just completed a lengthy dressing change, I was finally sitting down charting on a patient when the call came in.    We were getting an “85 percenter.” This single phone call changed the whole atmosphere of the burn unit in a heartbeat.    The patient’s name was Johnny D. He was involved in an industrial accident and he would be arriving at our doorstep in less than an hour.    We furiously went into action, first transferring a stable patient out to the floor to accommodate the new burn victim. There was much to do, from gathering all the necessary dressing supplies to alerting the key people on the burn team like the residents, fellow nurses, respiratory therapy, unit manager, and burn technicians.    I would never wish a burn accident on anyone, but when you get the call that a victim is coming to you because you are specially trained to care for him or her, there is an adrenaline rush.   When Johnny D. arrived on the unit, he was one of the most severely burned patients I had seen in my year and a half as a burn nurse.    He had a severe inhalation injury so he was already intubated by the time he arrived to us. He was on every drip under the sun and many of us gave him little hope of survival.    Shortly after Johnny D.’s arrival, his wife came with his 12-year-old daughter. They had driven two hours to be there with their husband and father.    One of the most difficult things you do, as a burn nurse, is to try and prepare the family for what they are about to see.    I told them he had a breathing tube coming out of his mouth attached to a ventilator, he was bandaged from head to toe, and there would be machines continuously monitoring his vital signs. But the hardest of all was telling them he could not communicate with them because of the tube and the necessity to sedate and paralyze him.    The wife was beside herself with grief.    The last time she had seen Johnny D. he was headed to work just as he had hundreds of times before. But today was different; the accident had occurred and had changed this family forever.   Much to our surprise and amazement, Johnny D. beat the odds and survived this horrendous injury.    He experienced numerous surgeries over the long months including partial amputations of his hands. He had to learn to walk again, feed himself, and adapt to his new physical challenges.    When you care for a patient for six long months, you get to know him and his family as if they are your own, and in a sense, we were a family.    We spent lots of time together, including holidays. We learned to read each other’s moods. We cried together when the struggle seemed insurmountable and we took pride in all the accomplishments no matter how small they seemed, for each day held new challenges for Johnny.    He was grossly disfigured, but he had a strong will to live.    With the support and love of his family and the intense care of the burn team, Johnny walked out of the burn unit six months later.    He was a changed man with many challenges to face, but I just knew he would make it.   “Maureen, we’re short a nurse tonight and Mr. D. is being transferred to the unit.” Poof! Back to here and now.    The 7 West charge nurse was standing in front of me, updating me on the activities of the unit.    After receiving the update, I found Johnny’s room. He was surprised to see me standing at his door. It had been many years since we last saw each other.    This is a man who, at one point, laid lifeless in a hospital bed, on a ventilator, bandaged from head to toe, with amputated fingers, severe deformities and little hope of survival.    Ironically, he was now in the hospital after being diagnosed with melanoma on his arm. His wife was doing great and his daughter was now 25 and engaged to be married in the spring.    He admitted that he still had some tough days, but for the most part, his injury doesn’t slow him down. He was also determined not to let the diagnosis of a melanoma dishearten him.    He just wanted to get better so he could go back to spending time doing what he loves most, fishing.    Seeing Johnny D. again after all these years made me realize that I had a true impact on this man’s life. He was truly at death’s door and now he was living proof that God was not finished with him yet. He has adapted to the challenges of his injury and has continued to live a happy and productive life.    As we said good-bye, Johnny reached out his arms, disfigured as they were, and gave me one of the strongest, most genuine and meaningful hugs that I have ever experienced. As we parted ways, I realized that this was what nursing was all about.    Catalyst Online is published weekly, updated as needed and improved from time to time by the MUSC Office of Public Relations for the faculty, employees and students of the Medical University of South Carolina. Catalyst Online editor, Kim Draughn, can be reached at 792-4107 or by email, catalyst@musc.edu. Editorial copy can be submitted to Catalyst Online and to The Catalyst in print by fax, 792-6723, or by email to petersnd@musc.edu or catalyst@musc.edu. To place an ad in The Catalyst hardcopy, call Community Press at 849-1778.