My first job out of college was as a registered nurse in a neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). It was my night with Michael Hagerdorn that initiated me to the world of hit and run drivers. Michael Hagerdorn was a preemie who had grown up in our unit. He was around 9 months old and still breathed through a tracheostomy or tube in his throat. He was hooked up to a ventilator which did his breathing for him, thus the reason he could not be discharged home.
I had only been working in the unit for about 6 months and one night I was given Michael as my patient. I was feeling confident in my skills by that time and never questioned that I could handle his needs. When a baby has a tracheostomy you need to suction the tracheostomy tube out every couple of hours to make sure it stays clear of mucous, otherwise the baby will start having difficulty breathing. This entails taking a small tubing that is attached to a suction machine and passing it down the tracheostomy tube and then pulling it out as you suck. It’s a relatively simple procedure and I had done it hundreds of times since I had started the job. I was working nights at the time. I went to do one of Michael’s routine suctioning and as I pulled out something went wrong and I knew it almost instantly. Michael started struggling to breathe. The tracheostomy tube looked like it was still in place but he was quickly turning blue. I grabbed the Ambu bag which is a bag that you can attach to a tracheostomy tube and blow air into the lungs. But when I tried to blow air into his lungs I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The lungs would not expand and I could feel extreme resistance. Within moments Michael was the color of a blueberry. I yelled for help and then I panicked. The respiratory therapist came running in as did the charge nurse. Me? I was useless. I dropped everything and stood to the side with my hands over my mouth saying “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God”. All I could do was stand there frozen watching this tragedy unfold. I thought I had killed him. The respiratory therapist immediately recognized the problem, took out the old tracheostomy and replaced it with a new one. Michael quickly pinkened up and the emergency was over.
But not for me. I was traumatized. Seeing my distress, my charge nurse told me to take a break. I left the unit and never went back that night. As I walked the halls I heard over the pager my charge nurse paging me to return to the unit. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to a place where I had almost killed a baby. I couldn’t face the parents who would be in that morning to see Michael. And this for me was a moment of clarity - when I understood for the first time hit and run drivers. Before that night I could not understand how anyone could injure or kill a person by accident and then leave the scene of the accident. But now I did. My first reaction was to do just that. Run. As far as I could.
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One day when Jake was around 2 and Zach was 4 something happened that tipped the scale and tipped me into madness. It was so important that I can’t even remember what it was. Zach did something that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was livid! I started screaming like I have never screamed at the boys before. In my blinding anger I didn’t see them both leave the room. Instead I stalked up to the kitchen and picked up a chair and threw it across the room. I leaned over and wiped everything that was on the kitchen table down to the floor with a fury that I have never in my life before felt. At some point in my uncontrollable rage I realized that Jake and Zach were no longer in the room. I slowly panned the room and growled “Where are you?” I scanned the area looking for them like Gollum looking for the ring. “Where are you?” I growled again under my breath. My anger was like lava boiling just below the surface. “Where are you?” I headed back to the bedrooms and searched throwing doors open and looking under beds until I opened one of the closets to find the two of them wrapped in each others’ arms trembling with fright. I looked at them “Aha! What are you doing in here? Get out here and face me like a man!!” As they stepped out with so much fear in their eyes I snapped out of my anger and realized I had totally lost it. What was I doing telling a 4 year old to face me like a man?!! I stopped midstep. They waited in horror for what they thought was coming and I grabbed them in my arms and hugged them. I am so sorry!! Oh! I am so sorry. Their bodies relaxed into me with relief as we all embraced each other.
I had very nearly been THAT Mom. The one who lost it and beat her kids, the one who couldn’t see past her rage at the little vulnerable faces before her. It terrified me as I have never felt that kind of rage before. I thought about mothers who feel that rage daily, maybe because they are overwhelmed and have no support, maybe because of the way they were parented or lacked role models and I understood. I understood for the first time the very small difference between those who do lash out and and those who are able to pull back and stop themselves.
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Perimenopuase happened. I was on hormone replacement therapy, antidepressants, herbs and supplements, acupuncture treatments, anything that I thought might get me back to normal. My personality had totally changed. I had no control over my emotions and my mood swings were legendary. Up one minute, down the next, laughing, crying, laughing while crying. I carried anger around with me like a backpack weighing me down as I trudged through my daily responsibilities.
While irritable, resentful and overwhelmed I also felt vulnerable, fragile and powerless. This was scary. Who was this person living inside my body? I didn’t recognize her. One day I went to the grocery store and along with a few other groceries I picked up a bouquet of flowers that were on sale for $7.99. As I was putting my other groceries in the basket the cashier wrung up the flowers. It came up as $12.99.
I said, “That’s wrong, they are on sale for $7.99”.
The cashier looked at the bagger and this sweet girl said “I’ll go check.”
She came back and said “Nope, not on sale. They’re $12.99.”
I immediately jumped down her throat.
“They ARE on sale,” I said “They are $7.99.”
She demured “We can go look together if you want.”
I lost it. I threw the flowers at the cashier who was backing away from me. I said “You can have your damn flowers. I don’t want them.” I flung my basket around and stormed out of the store. I pushed that cart to my car with the ferocity of a tiger and when I went to unlock my door I burst into tears. “Who the hell was that?” I cried. “Who or what just took over my body??” I was confused and ashamed and frightened.
I drove home still in this vulnerable state and went to my bedroom where I had my one and only panic attack. I didn’t know what was happening. I was sobbing as I sank to the floor. My heart was racing and the sadness was overpowering me. I couldn’t take it any longer. I just wanted to be normal again. I had totally lost myself and despaired that this was how I was going to be for the rest of my life. I felt lonely and isolated and with all of this going on I thought to myself “This is how it feels when people are suicidal. This total loss of self. This feeling that it will never get better.” For the first time in my life I understood why someone might take their own life.
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What is the quote? “Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes.
Looking back, I am humbled by these experiences and shaken by how close I came to reacting in a dangerously negative way. But I was the lucky one. I had a strong, positive upbringing, a safety net of people who loved me and the life experiences that gave me the opportunity to make the right choices and pull me back from the edge. Living through those moments I have a fierce new empathy for anyone navigating these challenging and very scary experiences.
I’ve walked in those shoes if only briefly.