The Nurse at GWU
A/N: I found this story amid the documents saved on my computer, with a saved dated of 08/9/2016, and therefore it should appear among my stories, but but I checked and it isn't there. So, since I haven't had much writing time of late, I'm adding it now to compensate. It describes Booth's brain surgery observed by one of the OR nurses caring for him. And while I'm at it, thanks to all the nurses out there, watching over sick people today in our hospitals. I have medical people in my family, and very much appreciate the efforts, dedication, and time you invest and expend on behalf of others.
My name is Frances. I've been around hospitals all my adult life, 19 years next month. I work at George Washington University Hospital in surgery. Today I had a patient I'll never forget.
As a nurse, I strive to take the best possible care of each patient in my charge. We in the medical field want the best for each human being we encounter. But every so often, you encounter a patient who is uniquely memorable in one way or another; particularly kind, good-looking, outgoing, grateful, irascible, depressed, worried-you get the idea.
This is especially true in surgery, because people are facing an unfamiliar experience, and worse, an unknown outcome. Even the bravest of patients are nervous, and concerned what beyond those large swinging doors, what will occur while they are asleep and unable to control their destiny for at least the immediate future.
Some surgeries are elective, expected, pre-scheduled; like a caesarian section birth or a tummy tuck. These give patients a chance to prepare themselves mentally, physically, spiritually. Other procedures are urgent, sudden, life or death matters, emergencies. These catch the patients by surprise, unprepared, like a fish gasping for air.
Each surgical procedure carries its own rewards and risks. Of these, neurosurgery is one of the most complex and unpredictable fields in medicine. Patients facing a pressing time-critical medical issue are caught the most unawares. I can't help but feel both sympathy and empathy for these individuals.
Today I had such a patient. A man in his mid-30's, handsome, muscular, articulate and strong, with the kindest brown eyes. Despite his situation, trying to crack jokes, thanking nurses for the slightest care. The kind of person you sense would normally be taking care of others, solving problems, finding answers, doing his best to bring comfort and calm.
But for him, today, the tables were turned. He was the one needing help, answers, reassurance in a situation where little could be offered. He had a brain tumor, very likely a cerebellar pilocytic astrocytoma, which was causing him to hallucinate, see people and cartoon characters with whom he conversed without realizing the implications of the experiences.
He seemed the kind of person who would ignore his own aches and pains, needs and wants to focus on the well-being of yet, he needed reassurance just like the rest of us. You could tell he was nervous, worried, scared; and this was likely a very unfamiliar sensation to him.
I recognized his companion, a woman he called his partner. She is a fairly well-known author, Dr. Temperance Brennan. A peek at his chart told me whyhe was concerned about everyone but himself, what his job is: an FBI agent. His name: Seeley Joseph Booth. As we prepped him for surgery, he was still asking questions about the interrogation they'd just come from, that his partner had pulled him away from in haste, insisting he go to the hospital NOW.
"Trust me!"I had heard her entreat him as they rolled him down the hall for innumerable tests. As we were hooking up lines, inserting IV's, she left him to inform others in the waiting room what was transpiring, what the tests had revealed, what surgery was planned. Now that he was alone, the look on his face broke my heart.
He craned his neck, straining to see out the door, catch a glimpse of someone. Like a lost little boy, he needed someone familiar. I could tell he was worried the surgery would begin before his partner returned. When you're waiting like that, the minutes are hours.
Finally, she reappeared. His smile of relief was not the first I've seen, but certainly the widest. I stepped out of the room to get a bag of sterile saline, and watched through the glass. He was asking her something, begging her.
The pair exchanged words, and looks, and facial expressions. I could tell shewas demurring, not giving in to his request. Then Dr. Jurzik came in, shook his hand, explained a few things, reassured the man. Dr. Brennan said very little, watching the exchange.
I saw Booth give her another look that said it all: Please! Suddenly, Dr. Brennan's demeanor changed imperceptibly, and she walked out of the room, followed the doctor, took his arm gently, spoke to him quietly, and gradually a bit more insistently.
The surgeon shook his head, grimaced, sighed, then nodded. She looked up, and gave her partner a look. She had gotten permission for his request. It turns out Booth wanted her in the OR, very rare, never granted, but this time, it was.
A few minutes later, they were walking down the hall, hands gripped tightly; her in blue scrubs, him in the drafty gown. Through those wide swinging doors.
"It'll be fine," she told him.
I had overheard part of what they'd said to each other.
"I'm not a neurologist, Booth, or a surgeon," she had protested.
"But you're a genius. That's good enough for me. Plus, you'll know if they're screwing up," he had responded; firm, sure, resolute about what he needed: HER.
I will never forget the looks they exchanged, the smile on his face when she agreed to be present, the calm reassurance she communicated without words, by squeezing his hand.
As I go home tonight, I'm glad his surgery went well, that Dr. Jurzik was able to excise the tumor successfully. As for his recovery, a few snags have arisen. It seems he's allergic to the anesthetic they used, reacted poorly, is still 'out' in recovery after longer than usual, not awakening as patients should after surgery.
When I work my next shift. I will check on this man, Booth, to see how he's doing. He is one of those patients I'll never forget.