What we went through is a classic example of compassion fatigue. Yet there was little fatigue involved, instead it was laced with the sheer power of feeling powerless, and hopeless, a sense of foreboding, and a constancy of suffering none of us could make sense of. “She is so young.” “It’s so unfair.” “This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” And “Can’t we do something?”
Try as we might it felt like nothing we did was helpful. We couldn’t change the outcome we knew was approaching. Was there something we could do for Kerry? There was no answer to that question. But it prompted another question: What could we do for ourselves?
Kerry taught us many things. The learning curve was steep. There were missteps. Most of what I personally learned was from the things we could have done better for each other. Because the situation was so extreme, we had to separate from it in order to take care of ourselves. Some of what we did was organic and natural. We reached out to each other. The charge nurse and manager made sure to check in with whoever was taking care of Kerry that day. But we also needed someone from outside the fold. The chaplain made regular visits. The social worker from palliative care and the rest of that team made an effort to explain any changes that were made to medications.
The focus of this column is communication challenges. But this case was one where there was not a clear way of addressing those challenges. We knew we were overwhelmed. The best we could do was to acknowledge the difficulty and to support each other as we cared for Kerry.
Kerry’s death was not a surprise yet it sent shock waves. We all wanted to know what those last moments were like. Who was with her? Her family was there. Was she comfortable and peaceful? Yes, she was. Now that she is gone the challenge is to address our grief, to avoid burying it or diminishing its impact. The challenge is to keep communicating.
Ann Brady is the symptom management care coordinator at the Cancer Center, Huntington Hospital, Pasadena, California.