On Seeing Death Up Close

A guest post from Josh Sheridan:

Recently I saw a man die. For most people, especially in America this is probably a fairly uncommon occurrence. I am a nurse in the operating room, and a young man was brought in after a car accident for a trauma surgery. For those who have ever been in this situation you know the intensity with which it unfolds. A mad rush of activity to save a person's life, and valiant efforts no matter how hopeless the case.

Without going into details about how the whole process transpired, the young man did not make it. His body, despite all the medical technology and skill available today, simply could not absorb the trauma it was required to endure. Eventually it could no longer stop its bleeding, and even the addition of multiple blood products was to no avail. When it was all over, and he lay there motionless, the finality of the situation crept in. I found myself glancing upward (in spite of theological inaccuracies), thinking perhaps his spirit in its final departure to eternity, was viewing his body from above.

Sometimes in these situations you try not to think about stuff like that. It's easier to do your job, and prepare for the next case—which incidentally started in 30 minutes. I picked up little blood soaked objects from around the room like an alcohol pad stuck fast to the floor in dried blood, and a piece of gauze stained red and looking vaguely tissue-like. We placed sheet after sheet soaked in blood into the linen hamper, and washed every piece of equipment off that had even a drop of blood on it. Am I using the word blood too much? Well, there was a lot of it. Normally most of this would have been the job of the surgical housekeepers, but as I said there was another case in 30 minutes, and we had to get the room ready. For a while I didn't think we would ever get the room clean. It just seemed like so much. But eventually we wiped away the traces of human tragedy from the room, and to my amazement in the requisite time frame we had the room ready for the next case. As if nothing had ever happened.

But I could not wipe clean the memory from my mind. Sometimes I find myself taking little snapshots in my head of situations that are well, Kodak moments. My kids playing in the yard, sitting with my wife on the porch in the evening, regal cumulous clouds bursting over the horizon, and a surgeon's hand inside a man's chest holding closed the aortic artery. Yeah, weird. I know. But that's life. A compilation of the majestic and the tragic. I don't always know how to handle or even process it. I can't really think of any spiritual conclusions other than to say that I never want to take life or my time here on earth for granted.

I have faith in God and His sovereignty in life to get me through such times, and yet no pithy conclusions come to mind to bring closure to this event. It was tough. I will get over it, but it will take a while. As it should.