The first year of the course included 4 placements. My first placement was in a day nursery. My second placement, on an acute children's ward, my third placement on a Cystic Fibrosis ward, and my fourth on an Adult's Stroke Rehab ward.
The first two placements went smoothly. I settled in quickly and got on with what I had to do. It was the third placement that challenged me. I'll never forget the ward manager's words on my first day. "If you can survive this placement, you can survive anything". Little did I know he was absolutely spot on.
The ward was for patients with Cystic Fibrosis, but took other patients too. I'd never seen so many severely sick children in my life. It amazed me to see them simply getting on with their lives as if nothing was wrong. I was in awe of the parents, who went by day by day, being strong and brave for their children.
I was 18 at the time, and became quite friendly with one of the 16 year old patients who had CF. She'd only come in for her regular IV antibiotics, but while she was with us, she developed more chest problems. A few days later in handover, one of the nurses said something that made my stomach flip. "It's not looking good for her, she's just getting worse".
They were right. She had agreed to have a heart lung transplant, something she had earlier refused. Unfortunately she couldn't have a transplant to save her life, because she was far too sick and wouldn't survive surgery. She was dying and there was nothing anybody could do. Two weeks later, her life ended. The day after she died, I was sent home with a migraine. I lay in my bed that day and couldn't stop thinking about her. Yet no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't cry.
I never went back to that placement, because I became physically unwell due to stress.
My adult placement was one that I was dreading. I hated the thought of looking after adults. Yet after a few days, I was enjoying it more than childrens.
I was taking my own bay of 6 males after a couple of weeks being there, and felt like a proper "nurse". I'd just been laughing and joking with two of the males in my bay and was leaving to do some work when one of them shouted me. I turned to find one of my patients making choking sounds, staring blankly at the ceiling with his hands outstretched.
I grabbed his hand and called his name... nothing. I pulled the emergency buzzer and everyone came rushing in. The nurse in charge shouted for the crash team and trolley and before i knew it there were people everywhere. I was shaking, stood at the end of the bed, when one of the doctors called upon me to do chest compressions. I felt so awful practising on a dying man. But I gave it my all, hoping we could keep him alive.
After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor in charge uttered those dreadful words... "I think we should call it"... it was like being kicked in the stomach repeatedly. They couldn't let him die!! I wanted to scream at them to carry on. I wanted to tell them to shock him again, one more time. Instead I just froze. And then I turned and saw his two sons sitting in the office. They'd arrived for a visit just 5 minutes after he went into cardiac arrest. I went in with the doctor to tell them the news. I cried with them.
In the 4 days following the cardiac arrest, 10 other patients on that ward died. Some were cancer patients, others strokes. It was such a grim week. I was surrounded by death all of a sudden, and the thing that hurt me the most was seeing those loved ones who were left behind.
I didn't want to be one of those grieving loved ones for anyone of my friends or family.
To cope, I started drinking more and more. I was also secretly cutting my thighs. I started seeing one of the uni's counsellors and was referred to occpational health for a psychiatric assessment. The psychiatrist suspended me on medical grounds.
My GP wanted to start me on antidepressants but I refused. I was too scared of becoming dependent upon them. But because I refused medication he had no other option but to refer me to the community mental health team (CMHT).
Things became scary now as more and more people got involved and more people were asking me why i was so distressed. I tried to explain how all the deaths id witnessed had affected me, but they didn't believe that this was the problem, or the reason for my destructive behaviour. And so, I continued to struggle.
October 2006 was my time. i couldn't go on living the way I was for much longer. I couldn't bear the feelings any more. I obsessed for days over the tablets I'd been collecting. Counting them, recounting them, sorting them into piles and counting them again. One by one, I slowly swallowed them.
The first overdose, i was caught in the act by my housemate who rushed me to hospital. Days later, I took a second overdose. This time I was admitted to a psychiatric unit where I was to spend the next 4 months.
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