I Can Only Imagine

Some seconds are longer than others. The moments slow, the alarms stretched. I breathe it all in, my eyes slowly scanning the tumble of equipment, monitors, tubes, lines, and materials draped around my patient. The ventilator alarms incessantly, screaming that the patient is dying. He’s already proned. His settings are already as high pressure as we can go without blowing out his lungs, with 100% supplemental oxygen. A dialysis machine runs in the background, circulating blood through thick red dialysis catheters but not able to remove the literal gallons of extra fluid that crowd his tissues. An assortment of intravenous drips crowd steel poles: insulin, sodium bicarb, vasopressin, norepinephrine, cisatracurium, fentanyl, propofol, sodium chloride, antibiotics, albumin, tube feeds. And the ventilator screams. Oxygen levels aren’t supposed to be this low, in the 70’s. They’re supposed to come back up. The family called. Just two weeks ago, they were laughing with their loved one. He was living a normal life, not knowing that he only had a matter of days before everything would spiral. The family tells us they believe in miracles, and they ask us to be heroes for him. They request azithromycin and hydroxychloroquine; they want ivermectin. They pray with me on the phone. They want to visit, but they tell me they aren’t vaccinated. The daughter asks me to play Christian music for him. I tell her I will do so, but deep down I am already scrambling to end the call as alarms arise from my other three patients’ rooms. All four of these patients are hypotensive today. All four are critical. All four will likely die. And I can barely move from room to room in time to respond to each moment, no matter how long the moment stretches. I forget the request for music to play in his room. I’m too harried, too occupied, too beat from the turbulent day, this hurricane of sickness drowning both nurses and patients. At three A.M., I wake and remember. Ironically, the patient is coding in the hospital while I’m awake thinking of the Christian music. So today, this song is dedicated to him. I hope someone hears it and remembers to thank the nurse who gives them that tiny injection; they might just be saving your life. I can only imagine, as I scan the room. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_lrrq_opng