Slow Down Sundays Episode 1: The Patient That Changed My Life

In the chaos of the ER, it's easy to get caught up in the daily whirlwind- the beeping monitors, the rush of trauma, the relentless pace. But every so often, a patient walks in and leaves more than just a diagnosis behind - they leave a mark on your soul.

I WILL NEVER FORGET HER.

In 2017, I had recently returned to work after undergoing breast cancer treatment - my hair was just starting to grow back- I looked like I just buzzed my head for the summer. I was triaging a new patient and getting them settled into their room. Chief Complaint: 28yoF, Fall Down Stairs. I remember thinking this was odd for a seemingly healthy individual. As ER nurses, when we triage, we ask about safety - "Do you feel safe at home, is anyone hurting you, do you ever have thoughts of wanting to harm yourself or others". This patient was quiet by firm and said, "No I don't feel safe at home and I think about death all the time". She was 28yo. I was completely taken aback and asked her what she meant by her responses.

The patient told me, she was recently diagnosed with stage 4 aggressive breast cancer. This was her 2nd breast cancer diagnosis (the first one was at age 22yo). She told me she lived alone and she was afraid she was going to die alone at home and no one would find her (family lived in California). She decided against treatment and she was waiting to see if she was a candidate for hospice. In the mean time, the patient was weak and falling more at home, often times unable to climb the steps in her townhome. I didn't know what to say. I held her hand and apologized to her for having to go through all of this alone.

I asked her if I could give her hug- she said yes. We hugged for a long time and cried together. I remember excusing myself from her room and I told her I'd be right back. Her room was next to the ambulance bay and I walked out. I walked out to the ambulance garage, slid down the wall, and started crying on the ground. This woman was my age with the same diagnosis. All of my own cancer fears came flooding back into my body. I don't know how long I was out there but I remember the garage being eerily quiet that morning. The buzzing of the garage door acted like white noise and I was able to calm my mind before I had to pick myself up and walk back into work.

After I pulled myself together and splashing some cold water on my face- I grabbed the ER social worker and explained the situation. We created a plan for safety and set the patient up with home care services and an urgent hospice referral so she had more support at home. We were also able to contact her family and have a candid discussion about hospice and the patient's needs/desires for end of life. The patient was unbelievably grateful for the time we spent with her (I'm fairly confident my other patients didn't even know I existed during that time). This 1 situation tested every fiber of my being. The rest of my shift was a blur- I don't know how I even made it home that day, my 75min drive home was almost non-existent.

A few months later, I got a card in my mailbox at work - the family had sent notice that the patient had passed away. I felt sad, mad, angry, relief, frustrated - once again, cancer had managed to creep into my life and take something from me.

I will NEVER forget her. Not because of her condition or diagnosis but because of her unbelievable strength. She trusted me during the most vulnerable time in her life - she made me remember the importance of advocating for patients and it made me think about my own cancer journey. She reminded me of why I wanted to become a nurse in the first place. We are trained to heal- to fix, treat, stabilize. But that day, I learned that healing goes both ways. In that moment, she just didn't need me. I needed her. She reminded me that compassion is just as important as competence and that being present can be more powerful than any prescription. I walked off that unit that day a different nurse and a different person.

Some patients you carry with you forever. This was mine.