Compassion Around the World

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Dear Editor:

I have always considered myself a caring nurse. However, as a trauma nurse, there were times when I was very “task oriented,” shall we say. I did not feel I had time to be as caring as I would have liked to be.

As a trauma nurse at the Air Force's only level I trauma center, I often took telephone calls in the trauma room from the patient's family members. Frequently I would think, “Man, I don't have time for this. Doesn't this person know I am busy trying to save the life of this person?” I would tell the person on the other end of the call whether the patient was stable or critical and pass a message to the patient from them. Normally it was a simple “I love you.” I felt this was the right thing to do and would make the family feel better. After all, it always made me feel better. So, what made me look at the way I talk to family members of trauma patients? I guess it was becoming that family member on the other end of the phone line.

I had been stationed in South Korea for about 3 months when I received a phone call from my cousin, John. He said he needed to tell me something. Suddenly, I knew; the sound of his voice wasn't one of pleasantries. I asked what was wrong. He then painted a picture I never wanted to see. For most people in the military, this is the biggest fear: hearing that something has happened to your family and you are 3500 miles from home.

John told me that my parents had been in an automobile accident. My mother was fine but my father had been airlifted from the scene. They swerved to avoid a wooden pallet. The truck they were in flipped, slid for about 100 yards, and then rolled down a steep embankment.

My mom had her seat belt on. She had been trapped in the vehicle and required extrication by EMS. However, John thought she was going to be all right.

My dad, who was notorious for not wearing a seat belt, was not so lucky. He had been ejected about 100 feet from the truck. John knew his injuries had to be bad because the state trooper had radioed for the airlift.

John informed me where each had been taken. He had already requested that the physicians at the respective hospitals contact the American Red Cross (ARC) so that I could be released from duty to come home.

Once I was off the phone with John, I called his wife, Salley, who was with my mother at the hospital. Salley told me my mom was going to be OK; she had some deep abrasions and road rash to her arm. I spoke with my mom, and she was completely out of it. She kept repeating that she was so sorry, she had killed my father. I tried to reassure her that my father would be fine, hoping to ease her grief. Both my mom and I are trauma nurses and know about the severity of patients air lifted from an accident scene. Salley came back on the line and told me she would stay with my mom until I could get home.

I then called the hospital to which my dad had been taken. Once the trauma nurse was on the phone, I told her my story. This nurse introduced herself as Barbara. She said she understood the whole military situation, and said, “Your father is very ill. He was ejected from the vehicle and he has a concussion. He also has a broken pelvis and a pneumothorax. He has been sedated and intubated and they are placing a chest tube now.” I thanked her and asked if she would tell him that I loved him and would be home as soon as possible. She then showed me what a special nurse she was and what a good trauma nurse should do in this situation. She said, “He can't talk to you because of his tube, but he can still hear. I will put the phone next to his ear and you can tell him yourself.” I told my father I loved him, I was sorry I wasn't there, and to hang on, that I would be home soon. When Barbara came back on the line, I told her I would never have thought to hold the phone to a trauma patient's ear and how much I appreciated it. She said no worries, and she would take good care of him until he went to the ICU. I was wholeheartedly assured she would do just as she said.

It took me 3 days to get out of Korea and 4 days before I made it to my dad's bedside. On the way to the hospital from the airport, my mom told me that when my dad was extubated, he asked for me. She told him I was in Korea and that I would be home soon. He told her that I had spoken to him while he was in the emergency room, but she just waved it off as a “side effect” of the concussion.

When I walked into his hospital room, I gave him a hug and a kiss and told him I loved him. He asked me what took so long to get there. I told him that I had gotten home as soon as I could. He said, “But, I remember you talking to me in the emergency room.” I told him that was on the phone, I wasn't actually there. He said, “It sounded like you were right next to me.”

My heart soared. I was euphoric that my dad remembered my talking to him in his time of need. I knew then exactly what to do if I were in the trauma room when a family member called. I believe I discovered the epitome of what is right for the patient and their family in Barbara on that cold day in January when she provided me and my dad with care and compassion when we needed it most.

I have since worked as a primary care nurse, a flight nurse, and, of course, a trauma nurse. No matter how tired or frustrated, I do my very best to treat every patient and their family just as you would want your family to be treated. I hate to say that it took living the situation to learn from it, but it did. I only hope I can touch my patients and their families lives the way Barbara touched my life.