My experience is that humans are programmed against willingly taking responsibility for their failings. The preschooler who says he did not get into the chocolate cake, despite the icing evidence around his lips. The motorist who says, "It was yellow, officer. It wasn't red." "It wasn't my fault; don't blame me." We just do not want things to be our fault. It's how we're made.
And yet, I've seen it time and time again in our emergency room. A sudden death and the family member will say, "She wasn't feeling right all afternoon. I should have brought her here sooner." "I should never have let him go upstairs." "I should have checked on him earlier." This uncharacteristic claim of responsibility on the part of the bereaved, I think, is some mixed-up attempt of the psyche to buy back time, to get a do-over, to change history. A form of bargaining, a way to postpone accepting the unwelcome reality.
When we walked into the conference room, the two neighbors were anxiously waiting for good news. But it wasn't to be. The nurse told them, gently but clearly, that the patient had died. One of the women had done CPR at the scene. Her immediate response to the unhappy news was, "I should have done more! I should have continued the chest compressions! I should have . . . ." Taking the responsibility for this death upon herself. The wise nurse very, very quickly put a stop to it. "There is nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome."
Sandy struggled to accept this. Then her thoughts turned to the practical. She telephoned her husband who was with the children, children who matched her own in ages. A plan was devised that he would take all of the kids inside and put on a movie. And after the movie, the kids would all have a sleep-over. Just like they often did. They'd have one more night of their normal lives, and their mother would somehow find a way to tell them in the morning. Sandy was organized, caring, decisive. She had tried to save the man's life and now she was protecting his children. Could anyone have a better neighbor?
I left the two women in the conference room to return to the wife and mother, to tell them of the plan for the children. The wife was doing the typical cycling from excruciating sorrow to attention to detail. She'd phoned her own mother. Her mother-in-law had called the patient's brother who was on his way to the hospital, coming from about an hour away. The pastor would be arriving in a few minutes. It would be okay for the neighbors to go home; she had enough support.
When I returned to the conference room, the other neighbor was holding Sandy in her arms. The families were so close, the loss so devastating. The organized, efficient Sandy had vanished. "I should have started the CPR sooner! I didn't do the chest compressions right! I could have done more!"
"No," I told her in a voice stronger than I knew I had at that moment. "You did nothing wrong. You did everything right. The outcome wouldn't have changed. Sandy, you gave him a chance."
I wonder if she'll ever believe me.
