I Am Probably Horribly Insensitive...

Working in the intensive care unit can be a strange thing. There are moments that you just sit back and wonder "wow, what in the world would I do in such a situation?" Such a thing can really only be imagined. Empathy is difficult because, even in similar situations, I find it hard to believe that I could truly know what another person is truly feeling.

This week, I have pondered physical maladies. While working in the cardiac care unit, I have seen people physically damaged by massive heart attacks and the like. Most don't survive, but we don't see them here, for they do not even make it to the hospital. We see the ones who are luckier - who are around those that can help them immediately, and get them to a safer place. 

There were two outcomes of very similar patients that I have been contemplating over the last week. One patient I met down in the emergency room when the cardiology team was called down for a Code STEMI. I use the term "met" very loosely, as this patient was unconscious, and was being resuscitated from a massive heart attack, and had only recently regained a pulse. I followed him to the cath lab, where his heart arrested multiple times while he was getting his procedure done. He bounced between ICU units, requiring significant interventions, until eventually, he met an untimely end almost two weeks later. I came to find out that he was a well-known teacher in the community, loved and respected by many that knew him. It was a severe blow to his family, and to his undoubtedly many friends.

I compared this situation to another lady who also went into arrest. She was quickly resuscitated, and, after a relative short amount of time, she recovered... mostly. She was off of invasive interventions, and there was nothing more that we would do for her in the intensive care unit. This woman, though physically alive, was less like herself than she once was. Her brain took a significant hit from the time it spent without oxygen when her heart stopped. She was able to communicate, but she was emotionally labile, unstable, and incredibly forgetful. What hit me the hardest was, though she knew her daughter, she could never get many details - even her age - correctly. 

Now I wonder - which one of these situations would I rather be in? Physical death vs mental death? This question has always plagued me. I do not fear death... eventually. I fear it now, because I have a family that loves and needs me, as much as I love and need them. I cannot leave them yet. Though I know I would see them again if now were my time, I fear death now. 

But moreso, I fear the death of my mind. I have never been the best and the brightest in my class, but I have been so blessed with a mind to comprehend some things better than others do. I have a mind for medicine, and for that I am truly grateful. I love my job, the people I work with, and the opportunities to touch the lives of those that touch my own. But to think of one day not having that comprehension, the clarity with which I feel I have now, is a nightmare. 

I wish I could put this better in words than I am so doing, but hey... it's a blog, and it's mostly personal. So, seems silly to apologize to myself. 

So, while I ponder here in the intensive care unit, whilst my patients are mostly tucked in for the evening, I can, with a clear mind, write these things I know: 

I love my wife. She is my strength, and yet she is my weakness. I would do anything she asked, for I love her now and forever. Her faith in me strengthens my confidence. Her gentle touch soothes me. I will be forever grateful that I rushed her to the altar, and that we will be together forever.

I love my Gracie girl. She has made the job of parenting so gratifying and - dare I say - so easy. The joy in her countenance is all hers, and for it I cannot take credit, though heaven does know I occasionally try. She has a contagious smile, which is caught by all that know her. She is an angel sent to us from on high, and her personality matches her name. She truly is a gift from God. 

I love my sweet boy. Charlie is, in a word, passionate. From a baby, he was not shy in sharing his opinions. But over the years, it is now obvious that he loves as hard as anyone. He wants love, and needs to feel safe. I will forever try to help him grow into a strong man, while nurturing those sweet qualities that he now has. 

I love my Juliette. Her smile melts my heart. Her laugh now is rare, and it brightens my day when I can squeeze one out of her. I can't wait to know her better. I love the smell of her hair, the softness of her cheeks. 

These things I know, and though I feel more than I could ever write, I hope that if anything ever happens to me, I will be remembered for one thing - love. 

www.stevethoughts.gov.www\stevethoughts

If you don't know the reference in the title, it's not even worth explaining...

I think I've started a blog before. It went the way of the world. It was actually a clever little blog, if I may say so myself. The title of it was something like greenwaterfishbowl.blogspot.com. I'm pretty sure the title is still available even though I deleted it a long time ago.

My goal is to try and make this not so much a journal (mostly because the commitment involved in the word 'journal' just scares the pants off of me), but more of a quick collection of daily experiences. For some reason, somewhere in my life I have gotten the idea that a journal must be a rich accounting of all my thoughts, feelings, and actions throughout the day. My problems with that are many: For one, I suck at writing. I have probably already made myriad mistakes thus far (and yes, I just dropped the 'myriad' bomb just to drop the 'myriad' bomb). Two, I can't recount anything. I can have a twenty-minute long conversation on the phone, hang up, and remember very little of it. Just ask Jamie. And three - sometimes my life isn't that interesting. If you have ever been a student in any school anywhere, you understand that a whole day may pass without something exciting enough about which you feel compelled to write.

I am writing this on a bed in a suite in downtown San Antonio. I am alone here, without the company of my wife or two kiddos. There are things about it that are nice (TV on all the time, going to and fro without worrying about the kids, kicking my socks off wherever and not feeling bad about it), but more things about it that suck. In the end, I am just so bored. I went to the Alamo today and walked around, and felt very silly as nobody really ever does touristy things along (except my dad). To get into the Alamo, they don't charge you, but make you take a picture before you go in, and I'm sure charge you TONS for it if you want to buy it. This family of six was ahead of me, and when they were done, I just looked at the lady, and said 'please don't remind me that I'm not with my family by making me take a picture alone.' I must have sounded very pathetic, because she made the most pitiful face ever.

That being said, it's not like I just mope around all day. I'm judging the people here very carefully. I can't decide if Texans are grumpy yet (my first day's experience here was not so hot, but travel days rarely are spectacular). I try to keep a smile on, talk to strangers, take candy from them (j/k), etc.

So, for my list today, I have already done my in-processing, came home, made lunch, worked out, studied, played xbox, watched tv, went swimming, talked to the kids, read them a book... and now here I sit. I did a lot today, I guess, but without my kiddos and Jamie... life is kinda lame. I don't miss being single.

And really, I have never lived without someone. I grew up sharing a room with my older brother, Kevin, who was my best friend. We each inherited one half of a genius' brain. I got the right brain (isn't that the science-y part), my brother the left. Together we will destroy (or save) the universe. Too bad we are in different states.

So, there is today's rambling.

Peace.