(This post contains tear-jerker subjects. Consider yourself warned.)
So I buried the dog the other day. She died of old age.
Misconception #1: It shouldn’t take that large of a hole to bury a 35-pound dog. I was mistaken. Needless to say, I hacked away at the ground for an hour and had blisters before the hole was large and deep enough.
Misconception #2: I thought burying her would be no big deal, as there was no love lost between us.
My spouse had this dog before we were married, and I suspect, from the dog’s viewpoint, I was always the woman who “replaced” her at his side. We’ve spent the last 13 years giving each other the evil eye, so to speak. Since I was the only one home when I discovered her in the back yard, the chore of taking care of her body fell to me.
It WAS a big deal…that had nothing to do with the dog, and everything to do with black plastic bags.
It’s been at least 5 years since I’ve had to deal with death in an up-close-and-personal manner in the clinical setting. But before that time, I handled my fair share of dead bodies. Working high-acuity trauma/ER and NICU provide more of those opportunities than most other areas.
And body bags are black. And plastic.
It’s strange what will trigger latent memories out of nowhere. I wrapped the dog up in a couple plastic bags in order to get her across the yard, and as I was doing so, I suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated, and started choking on sobs as snippets of various memories having to do with dead human bodies and black plastic bags came flashing back through my mind.
In the healthcare arena, we’re in the business of fighting death, holding it off until the last possible second. Perhaps those who work in hospice have a different perspective, I don’t know. But the specialties in which I’ve worked have usually involved going to the most extreme measures to keep death at bay. I’ve participated in countless code situations, and run VADs and ECMO machines until the scales of life decide to tip one way or the other.
Many times I’ve wanted to shout out against death, like Hawkeye did in one M.A.S.H. episode, “Don’t let the bastard win!”
I won’t go into gory details about what flashed through my mind the other day. Suffice to say, I now understand something about myself that I did not know previously.
I HATE death.
My stoic demeanor in the past regarding death has belied the post-traumatic imprints made on my mind by the repeated exposure to death’s victories. I apparently have PTSD in some form, and I plan on dealing with the issues that have been brought to my attention with these events.
So, don’t let the sleeping dogs lie. Don’t push the emotions down, and pretend they don’t exist, while latent memories continue to entrench grief or fear into the mind. I plan on following up this post with statistics, definitions of PTSD, and links to helpful websites and information, but for now, I hope the story of my recent experience will encourage other nurses and healthcare providers to be willing to address their own personal repercussions of the difficult, and often discouraging, profession in which we labor.
Memory is a tricky thing – we have stuff in their we don’t even know about, and other really obvious stuff that at a given moment we just can’t find… until suddenly we can. Personally, I’m no expert on PTSD, but I’d say you simply found some unpleasant memories: visual and other associations often do that. I’d describe your experience as completely normal and not indicative of any mental illness. Normal life includes some pain, which nothing to discount the importance of your experience.
You have, on the other hand, interested me in learning or relearning more about PTSD. Certainly many Nurses suffer from it, and all Nurses could use some familiarity with this very common disease that affects relationships and trust in ways that often complicate health care.
Hey Greg,
Thanks for stopping by. Your input is valued, and I look forward to seeing your comments on a more regular basis over here!
I would be careful about determining my state of mental health based on one blog post, considering you don’t really know that much about me or my career…lol.
As far as PTSD is concerned, stay tuned…at least two more to follow this one over the next couple weeks!
I think PTSD does occur in Nurses. I worked in military hospitals for 30 years as a civilian. My last five years was spent taking care of burn patients. The last three years were taking care of soldiers from Iraq etc. By the time I retired I was in tears every day. I loved the patients and I love nursing but I reached a point where I could not see young men and women come in who were just babes having to look foward to a life that is filled with pain and endless days of rehab, surgery, and for some loss of love. I teach now and have fiund that I can give back to a new generation. Instead of developing a cold heart I retired and started a new life. Sometimes it is good to move into a new environment. My patients were and still are the best epople in the world. It is society that has to change and accept these men and women as human beings and not as freaks.
Thank you for this post. The majority of healthcare professionals have no idea as to how much they stuff down into their subconscious on a regular basis. No doubt, what we choose not to face will come back to haunt us and have an effect on how we relate to patients, co-workers, and loved ones. If anything, facing our “unknown” will allow us to develop more self-awareness and lead to a greater ability to empathize with those around us.