Week 1 Day 6

Elle Woods-“Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don’t shoot their husbands”…or burn themselves. I remember 2 years ago when I burned myself for the first time. I started my first nursing job about a month before, and was moving into a new apartment the next day. The night started like any other during that time: beer, weed, percs. I remember sitting on my porch just enjoying the high while drinking a beer and smoking a cig. I remember how numb I felt. Free without a care in the world

Not analyzing everything I had done on my previous shift or worrying that I missed something that could cause a patient their life. I remember lighting up another cig and staring at the flame. I was mesmerized by the orange glow, and wondered how hot the cig might be. I remember continuously lighting it up, and just watching it burn out only to light it again. I remember putting the cig close to my wrist only to pull it back when I felt the heat. I was playing a game of cat and mouse holding it there longer each time, and lighting up new cigs whenever they burned down to the filter.

I remember lighting up a new cig. Instead of just holding it there this time I slammed it onto my wrist. I remember my wrist pulling back only to be chased down again by my cig. The pain only lasted a moment before the endorphins rushed into my system and euphoria hit. All of a sudden it was like everything made sense. I was no longer worrying about work nor was I numb from my vices. For a quick moment everything was clear and felt right. Then just as quickly the feeling vanished. I burned myself two more times that night.

As I sat there staring at the 3 little circles slowing bubbling up, fear suddenly washed over me. How was I going to hide this at work? There they were for everyone to see. Suddenly I needed to see my dealer. I was out of weed, and wanted this fear to disappear just as quickly as it came. I was in no shape to drive, but that never stopped me before. I remember calling my friend on the way over to my dealer’s place. Telling her about another friend with a cutting problem, and how we needed to help her. She had no idea that I was the one that really needed the help. Hell I didn’t even know. I became paranoid at work that someone would see, and would hide in patients’ rooms until my shift was over. It would be a while before I burned again, and kept brushing it off as something stupid I did when I was beyond wasted.

A few months later I would get a promotion to CVICU. I quickly fell in love with the fast pace ICU life. There was so much to learn, and I soaked up as much as I could each shift. Then one day I received a patient suffering from COPD exacerbation that was being transferred to us, because she needed to be intubated due to hypoxia. Grandma would be with us for a few weeks, and I quickly became friends with her daughter. It was the first and last time I let myself get so close to a family.

I remember walking in a few days later and being so happy to see that grandma had been extubated that night. Her daughter was there and we both were smiling, talking about how this was a small step in the right direction. In between the few moments when grandma was able to take the BiPap off, she would talk with her family about how she didn’t know if she wanted to be intubated again. That was the last thing her and her family talked about before all hell broke loose.

You see as the shift progressed grandma was slowly decompensating. Her respiratory rate would continue to increase throughout the shift while her breath sounds slowly disappeared. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to believe it. I found myself for the first time sneaking off to the stairwell to cry not once, but twice during that shift. Was it only 11 hours ago that I was smiling, and talking with her daughter? Right after her family stepped out to grab real food for once instead of one of the hospital mystery meals, Dr. K came on the floor. He took one look at grandma, and said the word I feared the most. Re-intubate.

I remember when her daughter arrived. I had just clocked out after a 13 hr shift by the time she got there, but I didn’t care. I sat there on the floor crying with her in the waiting room. Trying to talk with her about the choice she faced. Do I re-intubate my mom and let her have a second chance, or do I let her go? I knew it would be one of the hardest decisions she ever made, and I felt ashamed. I let my feelings prevent me from accepting what was right in front of my face. I knew what was coming, but had no idea how to prepare grandma’s family, and felt like I failed them.

I never had a patient affect me like that, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I started questioning everything, and doubting every decision I made throughout the shift. It didn’t matter that everyone told me I did all I could. All my co-workers said it’s just what happens. It’s ICU. It’s a whole different world. Things can change in an instant. Go home, grab a beer, and just leave work at work. I quickly grabbed a beer and fired up a bowl when I got home hoping to forget everything. Nine beers and two bowls later I found myself on the porch again playing the same game of cat and mouse with my cig. I ended up burning myself 3 times that night, and would continue off and on until today.

Every time I burned before rehab I did it to make sure I could still feel even while I was making myself numb with alcohol, weed, and opiates. Now while in rehab, I continue to feel numb and ashamed even though I’ve been clean the last 6 days. I mean I’m a nurse WTF am I doing here. I’m supposed to be the one helping these people, not sitting here with them. I started to burn again just to feel something. I welcomed the pain and euphoria, because anything was better than the numbness and shame I felt constantly.

I’ve always dreaded going to AA/NA meetings. Today was no different, but damn am I glad I did. After the readings at the beginning of the meeting, they always start off with, “if anyone has a strong urge to use right now the floor is yours.” However, this time they added “or hurt yourself.” I froze. WTF. That’s not how it’s supposed to go. Then a man collecting his 3 year chip told his story of self-injury and drug abuse. He got my attention from the beginning. I felt like he was telling a little of my story, and some of my shame of being a self injuring, drug addict nurse in rehab disappeared. I finally felt like this is where I need to be right now, and have to stop focusing on all the reasons I shouldn’t be in rehab.

Sending good vibes,

Addict RN

*I just want to say thank you to whoever put this in the book at B&N. I definitely needed it that day*