Free Opening My Heart by Tilda Shalof Page A

which, by necessity, passes through his vocal cords.
    “How are you doing tonight?” I ask and he motions for a clipboard to write on.

    “Anything in particular bothering you?”
    He shakes his head and sets aside the clipboard beside him on the bed.
    “Just being here, huh?” He nods. “Do you know what day is it?” I ask and he shrugs his shoulder to indicate he hasn’t a clue, so I tell him. It’s easy to lose track of time here, cut off from the world. When I wake up in the morning or especially in the middle of the night, the first thing I do is check my watch or clock.
    When I tell George it’s Saturday night, June 30, he moves his legs and arms like he’s out dancing on the town. He reaches for the clipboard again.

    “Love to.” I strip off a vinyl glove so that I can touch his hand, skin to skin. This can be a hazardous practice, possibly exposing me to infectious bodily fluids, but sometimes I take the risk. George points to the eagle tattoo on his shoulders and tries to tell me something but falls back against the pillow, too weak to get the words out clearly.
    “Maybe later you’ll be able to tell me?” I ask and he nods.
    The night wears on. As I monitor his heart, record his hourly vital signs, suction his lungs, give him his meds, and change hischest tube dressing, I can’t help but think about my own heart, vital signs, lungs, the meds that will be given to me, and the wound I’ll have.
I’ll be in the hands of strangers, just like George
.
    Tonight, some of my buddies are on duty. There’s Jasna, who is in charge of the ICU this shift, making her rounds, checking on the patients and the nurses, too. Stephanie is in her patient’s room, the curtains closed. I don’t expect to see much of Janet. It’s her turn on the Rapid Response Team. She’ll be making her rounds, following up on patients who’ve recently been discharged from the ICU to the step-down unit or answering calls for help from the floor, always on the alert for patients in trouble or, as Janet puts it, “people making mischief in the night.”
    She’s explained to me how it works. “Anyone can page us, a nurse, doctor, or even a family member. We go there, size up the situation, figure out if it’s a hot A – a patient who needs to come to the ICU ASAP! A B is a worrisome or iffy patient. It’s a ‘heads-up’ that this patient needs to be followed closely. We try to fix them on the floor so they won’t have to come to the ICU . A good save like that is an amazing feeling! Then there’s a C , which is a consult about someone who’s stable but not looking good. It’s someone that someone is worried about. You’ve got to trust your gut and use your noggin. Sometimes we just offer advice or teaching, nurse to nurse, say, about pain management or symptom control. Some of those nurses on the floor are very experienced. But they don’t have time to help the rookies – so that’s what we’re there for.”
    To me, this advanced role sounds daunting, but Janet is quick to explain that they don’t do anything without running it by the doctor first and getting an order, and that all decisions are made together. “We’re the eyes and ears, right at the scene, telling them what we see and what we think.” She’s serious and emphatic about that, but in a moment the old twinkle in her eye reappears. “Butwhat usually happens is we’ve figured out the problem and have a pretty good idea what needs to be done by the time we’ve called the doctor.”
    To be chosen to become a member of the Rapid Response Team, you have to be an experienced nurse, undergo additional education, and have proven yourself capable of this advancement. I haven’t taken it on myself but hope to one day.
    I look over at my partner for the night, Simone. She has been an ICU nurse only a few months, a nurse less than a year. There aren’t many nurses who are capable of working in the ICU so soon after graduating from nursing school, but