I have offered by blog to my family to tell their own stories if they would like. Today is the first guest blog by my sister, Melinda.

Today was my first step back into my nurse practitioner role since Dad’s passing. It was hard.  Much harder than I thought it would be. I have worked in this environment for my whole career. Why was it so hard?

I have been surrounded by families in crisis over their loved one’s illness or diagnosis. I feel for the families. I always slow down and explain what is happening to the patient… but also to the families.

The sting of my days in the trauma ICU, as a family member with Dad, have come flooding back. How helpless I felt not to be able to change the course of the events. How shocked I felt with each baby step forward, only to have major setbacks that could not be overcome. The blow of an unexpected diagnosis…internal laceration of the left kidney artery, from a simple stumble. 

Dad, you sounded fine when we spoke…

I have been given the honor of having many discussions, over the years, with both Mom and Dad about their wishes regarding medical care and end of life. It is a privilege, I have carried and taken seriously, as the medical provider of the family. 

I helped walk mom home with dignity that even her dementia could not take away.  Now, in a twist I never expected, I have walked Dad home too. I knew his wishes. I knew he trusted me to know when we’d reached the tipping point from a recoverable injury to unrecoverable. Yet, in that moment of decision, he supported me as his POA by nodding his head aggressively when I asked him if he wanted the mask removed and the focus to shift to comfort care. There was no doubt, it was an unquestionable…YES. That nod was my reassurance to move forward with comfort care.

You see, the goal of the medical machine is keeping patients alive no matter the cost to the individual. That is the norm. The standard. In medicine, we are experts at keeping people alive, no matter what. But, at what cost to the patient and family? Every patient is an individual. Each case is different. No one answer fits all circumstances.

Dad was ready. He was calm. He was comfortable. He was in charge, through the whole 6-day ICU stay, including the timing of when he took his last breath.

But the sting…it remains, for those of us who are still here without him. My grief sandwich; Mom’s-slow decline; Dad’s-unimaginably fast departure. Both leave a massive hole in my heart.

So, if you see me at work in the hospital setting and I step away for a few moments, know that I am ok, but not ok.  I will return and continue to give excellent care to patients and families. I will do the hard work. However, I might just need a moment to process and take some deep breaths amidst my grief.