This morning as I stood in the shower I cried. Quite suddenly, for seemingly no reason I was overcome with grief and I wept.
I cried for the little girl who died after weeks of discomfort, technical maniputlation and isolation from her family. I cried for her mother who just colapsed when she saw her daughter dying, although she had sat at her bedside for days aware of her illness yet full of hope for a recovery.
I cried for the mother who disclosed a recent pregnacy and a subsequent abortion in order to provide a segment of her liver to her first child who needed a transplant – a transplant that didn’t work, that was defective and then miraculously another liver was available and yet, somehow along the weeks of illness and poor blood flow, brain injury was done. I cried for his father, so angry and hurt.
I cried for the young staff nurse who’s father has died. I cried for the older staff nurse who’s husband has suffered a cardiac colapse and fibrillation and who has been diagnosed as unable to recover neurologically.
I wept for the deaths and the pain and the hurt ….the world of hurt compressing us each day.
Mostly I wept for myself. I miss my dad and for my mum, who misses him as well. For all my coworkers who striken with grief fatigue, forge on and add one more death, one more wail of anguish, one more ultimate intimacy.