Holy Moly Motherhood By Alana Smith: Infusing kindness

Tears stream down my face as I stare at a few erratic heartbeats on the tracing of my anesthesia monitor. “Well, that’s it,” I say aloud. 

When someone dies in real life, in an operating room or in an intensive care unit, the heart tracing rarely goes flat, like you see in the movies. There’s usually no dramatic beep, beep … and then nothing. Most times, the heart tracing on the patient’s monitor continues, yet the heart can do no more. Like the heart is willing itself to go on, yet the body is unable to respond to those signals. 

This is what I’m staring at. This is not how it is supposed to be tonight.

As an anesthesia provider, I’m the last person you usually see when you go to sleep for surgery. I’m one of the last providers your family sees as well, and I always smile at them and say with confidence, “We will take great care of your loved one,” as I’m pushing the patient away to surgery. 

All I have to leave with them is encouragement and kindness. The family can do nothing other than hope and pray that I and the rest of the operating room team bring their family back to them. That is usually the case. But not tonight.

“I’m so sorry. You did good,” I whisper as I walk from her bedside. I turn down the lights, make sure the room is perfect and walk to the bathroom. I dry my face. It’s 12:03 a.m., and I am going to find the family. The job of discussing the case and outcome is that of the surgeon, but I just had to see them. I had to make sure they knew that I did literally everything in my power to save her. It’s risky for me to talk to them at all, because death brings forth all types of reactions in people, and oftentimes they need someone to blame. But I go anyway. I am drenched in sweat from hours of willing this patient to live. A mother, wife, daughter, sister. 

There are no comforting words for a family in this state of crisis. The family will not remember my name, or what I say to them, but they will remember compassion, gentleness and kindness. Since the pandemic, hugging isn’t done much in hospitals, yet, when I see the crowd of family that is gathered as I walk up, I cannot help but hug them. The most important thing I can convey to them, to ease their heartbreak even a tiny bit is, “She was not alone.” 

I’m wiping my eyes and trying to compose myself. I do not know this family at all, yet the burden I feel is immense. I ask if they understand what happened, which of course, they do not. I try to explain, cautiously, and with the kindest and most gentle of words, the last hour that has transpired. “Oh,” they say. Followed by, “Thank you so much, truly.” They are shocked and at a loss, yet I can tell they are so thankful for this conversation. Thankful for any light that can be shed. Any kindness.  

These conversations have occurred countless times in hospitals across the world, especially these last few years. Doctors and nurses have hugged, comforted, explained and gone the extra mile for families. It would be easier for them to dry their eyes, wash their hands and try to rest before another emergency came in the doors. But they don’t. They infuse kindness and compassion into the family on the wrong side of the news.

I hope and pray that the next time you see someone in scrubs, that you’ll hold the elevator for them. That you’ll buy the nurse in line behind you a coffee. That instead of worrying about how long the doctor’s office wait is, you'll think of all the kindness behind those doors. All the little things that are taking up time, but are helping another. I hope that you’ll offer grace and I hope that the same is gifted to you in return. Because in the end, on that last day, all you have are your words, your actions, and the wave of kindness that continues on — extended from you to another. 

Alana is a nurse anesthetist, writer and boy mom (ages 7 and 2), who lives in north Shelby County with her husband, kids and Boxer, Sam. When she’s not writing or chasing little humans, she can usually be found in the aisles of Target. She shares her writings at Holy Moly Motherhood (on Facebook and Instagram), where she takes on all things motherhood and marriage.