Debbie Moore-Black is a nurse who blogs at Do Not Resuscitate.
Mom. She was a feisty 100 percent Italian, straight from New Jersey. Her dad, straight from Italy, was a tailor and made the finest suits for New York and New Jersey businessmen. Mom learned this trade well. She could sew some of the most beautiful tailored suits for herself. She loved to cook and every night was a banquet, a feast which required up to 2 hours of clean-up time …
The surgeon is doing a tonsillectomy on a 4-year-old boy. Dr. Jones drops an instrument on the floor of the OR. The instrument is now contaminated and has to be sterilized by a special machine called an autoclave. This was a small hospital, so they did not have a large inventory of duplicate surgical instruments. So the circulating nurse put the instrument into the autoclave. As this machine locked in …
She fit into the palm of his hand. That long nine months. Waiting desperately for that baby they thought they could never have.
Jeff, football player from his high school days, met the love of his life, Bridget, at the school party. She was smart and beautiful; Jeff was big and burley, but as kind and gentle as a kitten. They hung out through their college days.. And finally said their …
They said, “Do everything.”
She knew something was wrong. And by the time she was 85, she had forgotten the names of her children, the town she raised them in, and even the name of her deceased husband. In her 70s, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Still coherent, she talked to her physician about becoming a DNR: do not resuscitate. She did not want to live on a machine that would …
Benjamin, Jr. was the apple of their eye. He was cute and inquisitive, and smart. Very, very smart. The minute he took his first breath into this world, his mom and dad had already ordained him as a future MD. He would become a doctor and follow in his father’s steps. No questions asked. He would become the second MD in the family. Every birthday, his parties were doctor-themed: kiddie …
I slipped and fell. My hip fractured, surgery would make it better. But it didn’t. My body was too weak to fight. I couldn’t cough and deep breathe; I stayed in bed. I had nausea and vomiting. I couldn’t breathe. I became weaker and weaker, until my family noticed. The medics rushed me into the ER. My blood pressure was 62/34. For how long? The ER nurses and doctors tried …
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