I spent a great deal of time with three families. For two of them, Christmas will never be the same.
Patricia had fallen at home. Her health hadn't been good for a while, and after a busy Christmas day, late in the afternoon she went upstairs to take a nap before dinner. She didn't make it to the bed and when the family heard the crash, it was probably already too late. 911 came and worked on her, brought her in the ambulance and the ER staff continued to try to bring her back. I sat with the daughter who had followed the ambulance to the hospital. Before long, the resident came in, bringing sad news. When Patricia's husband and other daughter arrived, they were, of course, shocked to learn of her passing. Her husband told me that they had been married for more than sixty years. "How can I go back into that house?" he kept asking. How, indeed?
Edward's enormous family was gathered in the conference room when I joined them, and more and more continued to come until they were spilling out into the hall. The patient had had a longstanding relationship with alcohol, and his consumption on Christmas night had apparently been considerable. Edward was a great-grandfather and his mother was still alive, though not among the four generations present. When the resident came to tell Anita that Edward was gone, she collapsed on the floor. "I tried so hard, I tried so hard," was her refrain. She seemed to think that if she had tried harder, she could have cured Edward's alcoholism.
Arthur had been driving home from a Christmas dinner, his wife at his side and his two adult children in the back of the car. Another motorist ran a red light, and Arthur's entire family came to the hospital as Trauma patients. Arthur was not injured, and he moved from cubicle to cubicle as his family members were assessed and treated. They will all recover from their physical injuries.
My shift came to an end. I handed the beeper over to my replacement. I wished her a quiet night.
