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Negative effects of post traumatic stress disorder
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Throughout the course of my sixteen-year old life, I have experienced the unfortunate incident of taking a trip to the emergency room several times. The majority of them however were only for the typical injuries of an individual who shares in my liking for an adrenaline rush, and a lack of common sense. I never actually considered being seriously injured as a possible consequence of my actions. Of course, I have never tried to attempt any incredibly dangerous act without thinking it completely through. Nonetheless, previously I thought being alive could consistently be taken for granted, and as a result I never felt as thankful for living as I should have been. It was not until January 2009 that I truly was in a situation where I was in danger of losing my life, and ironically I had no responsibility in causing the incident.
On January seventh, a Wednesday, I first started to experience what would become this life changing development. The night before this I had difficulty sleeping due to a sharp sting in my right side. The tenderness had subsided by the time morning came, and I went to school like on any regular day. However when I returned home, I once again experienced this peculiar type of pain. I thought it was perhaps a pulled muscle or some other injury of that nature, so I decided to tolerate it and see if it would disappear. Friday the hurting seemed much worse. I decided I would arrange an appointment with a doctor if the soreness persisted. Much to my surprise that evening, the ache in my side mysteriously disappeared, or so I thought it did. I felt perfectly normal until Saturday evening around five o’clock. The intense sting in my right side returned, only about twice as painful as before. It was ...
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...efore it burst entirely, which saved me a lot of time in the hospital. The whole ordeal changed me both physically and mentally. At the time I was so caught up in the moment I barely understood the seriousness of the situation. That night I realized that if medical technology was not as advanced, or if doctors were not as intelligent as they are, I might not be alive today. In addition to giving me a renewed respect for those who study medicine, my appendicitis instilled in me a more realistic way of thinking. I now have a fuller understanding of why I should be thankful to be alive, and I will not forget it anytime soon. Before my appendix burst, being seriously hurt seemed like it could never happen to me, but after having surgery I realized that I was not as invincible as I once thought I was, and I began to comprehend my actions before I performed them.
... Joe, and Paul Barr. “Call to Action Through Tragedy.” Modern Health Care (2012). Academic Search Complete. Web. 20 Feb. 2015.
About 4 years ago Johnathan was in a tragic car accident due to drinking and driving. He fell asleep at the wheel and drove his car underneath a parked 18 wheeler on the side of the highway. Johnathan not only put himself in danger, but also a friend of his that was passed out in the backseat. This caused Johnathan to have to have massive facial reconstructive surgery. Johnathan’s friend suffered minor injuries since he was lying down.
“We can’t turn away from a patient’s pain just because it’s difficult” (chapman, 2015, p. 88). I know the path of least resistance is taking a path of ignorance. Easy, is to ignore or neglect the true pain patients experience in times of crisis. As caregivers I believe we all want to heal others or we wouldn’t be in the field of nursing, but there are only handfuls willing to be present during the healing process because sharing one’s pain hurts. As a surgical nurse, I find being genuinely present takes hard work on my behalf, not only mentally but emotionally. On a unit where patient’s needs and conditions are changing at astonishing rates, being present requires mental strength in order slow down enough to recognize the value presence
I had just finished facing my fears watching the metallic needle slip so seamlessly under my skin into the veins of my nervous, clammy hand. Hugging my Mom like it could have been the last time I saw her, seeing my dad's face stern and worried. I wheeled down the hall into this operating room, white was all I saw, a bed in the middle for the surgery to go down. As I lay on the bed waiting to be put under I remember seeing the blue masks of the people to be operating on me, I had to put all my trust in them, trusting someone you seen for less than 5 seconds with your life. Absolutely terrifying. The nurse slipping the fluid into my IV as I lay on my back looking up at the white ceiling, this cold sensations rushed over me. Then suddenly, I was out.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Everything will be all right.” My doctor was there. That reassured me. I felt that in his presence, nothing serious could happen to me. Every one of his words was healing and every glance of his carried a message of hope. “It will hurt a little,” he said, “but it will pass. Be brave.” (79)
Oddly enough, my relationship with medicine began at an early age, as a twelve year old asthmatic, living in a house with two dogs (that I insisted on having). As a result, whenever I got sick, my respiratory situation was quick to decline, which inevitably led to frequent trips to the local emergency room. In one particular situation, I was admitted to the ICU with a pnuemothorax. While I do not recall the names of the doctors or nurses who cared for me over the next several days, I have come to recognize that their anonymous efforts may very well have saved my life. Naturally, this is not something immediately recognized as a child, but there is no doubt that I was walking a thin line between life and death.
Shortly after I had learned to drive, my mother called me while I was at the store. She told me in an urgent voice that she was in a lot of pain and had to be taken to the doctor. I immediately left the store and drove my poor mother to the health center where she could be helped. After waiting for what seemed like forever, my mother was finally taken back to see the doctor. As it turned out, my mother had a condition that caused spasms of pain throughout the day. Despite the fact that she had this condition, she was given a minimal amount of Vicodin to get her through the agonizing pain. She suffered through the pain for weeks, and the medicine did little to help the spasms that shook her whole body. I watched her in despair. If it was the doctor’s job to help her, why didn’t he do anything to assuage her pain?
Imagine being a first year medical surgeon just out of the highest-ranking university in the nation. You are placed in the ER, in the Methodist Hospital building, as your days are spent saving people from the cruel realities that they are forced to live among. Day after day, you see handfuls of people coming in with a variety of gunshot, knife, and domestic violence wounds. Your troubles are easily compensated, however, by receiving over $200,000 a year, a brand new Mercedes, and a house upon the palisade shores. Suppose for a moment that one evening while you are on duty, an ambulance radios in and informs the hospital staff that they are bringing in a multiple gunshot wound victim and to prepare the ER for an immediate operation. You begin to order people around and dictate what needs to be prepared before the ambulance arrives. Finally the victim is present, only to show that he is not the average gangster or policeman, instead it is the near lifeless body of your own son. Your blood freezes; your brain shuts down, as you see every precious second slip away through the lifeless gaze of your child's eyes.
After a gradual build up of symptoms and discomfort, I received the diagnosis that I had developed a Staphylococcus aureus infection in my lower left lung. One of the symptoms of this rare strain of pneumonia, besides fever, sore throat, and night sweats, I would discover, is pleurisy: inflammation of the lining of the chest cavity. It started with a strange slight throbbing of my ear, then a sore shoulder, and finally the most excruciating pain I can imagine. I woke gasping and half expected to see a large gash beneath my lower ribs and an exit wound in my mid back. Moaning to myself with tears boiling in my eyes, I tried to muster the air to call for help. Movement intensified the pain but I finally crawled to my parents’ bedroom and my dad rushed me to the ER. Heading up I5 in the middle of the night, I cursed the demon that was inside
Envision that you're laying in a hospital bed hooked up to numerous machines knowing that your life is ending. Nurses and doctors come in often to check in on you, yet they know nothing they will do can keep you alive. You’re tired and feeling the effects of the many drugs you’ve been put on to control the pain, breathing is hard and you don’t enjoy food like you used to.Doctors have told you there is no chance of survival and you will die very soon. The only thing that matters now is when you will die. You have said goodbye to your family and friends and have come to terms with the harsh reality. If you had the chance to choose how your life would end you could do it now. Yet you can’t. This is because in the place you live, physician assisted
During this time the hospital social worker came up to my family and offered to help us in any way that we needed. The social worker helped us find somewhere to stay and gave us information regarding the area surrounding LPCH. The social worker also provided us with a packet of information about how to cope with everything emotionally. I remember reading the packet and thinking that this could be my part in helping my family. My aunt and uncle had a five and two year old as well that had become a second thought when the accident happened. Both the five and two year old witnessed the accident and were traumatized by what had happened. I used the sibling section of the packet in order to help them get through the vision of seeing what had happened to their older brother. My family and I took on the parental responsibilities in order for my aunt and uncle to focus on their sick
I remember entering the emergency department and immediately heard the ambulance dispatchers call to report that they were on their way with a male patient who was in serious condition. When he came in, I was one of PCA performing CPR and assisting the code response team in any way that I could. The background story of this patient was that he and his son were riding a motorcycle headed to a country concert at Gillette Stadium when they were hit head-on by an SUV. The father was in worse condition, so he was sent to the closest ER which was the hospital I work at and his son was in better condition, so he went to the closest children’s hospital in the area. We did what we could for the father, but he unfortunately didn’t make it after hours of resuscitation procedures. When the 35-year-old father was pronounced dead, it really hit home for me because my own father was only 37-years-old when he passed. I knew how painful it would be for his family to lose him tragically at such a young age and to also to have his son injured at the same
An 11 years old kid lying on the ground in a dark room crying, shaking, and trembling with intense pain in both of his ears. The pain was similar to as if someone was hitting with some sharp object inside his ears and every time he would feel the shock of pain, he would pull both of his ears while enduring the pain. The pain would raise every couple of second and with each shock of pain, the kid would lose part of the hope that he had of surviving. He would experience so intense pain that he had never anticipated and all he could think of that “he is about to die.” This was the experience that I felt when I had a severe ear infection in both of my ears.
Always curious about the medical field and how the human body functions, I have constantly forced my parents to take me to their hospitals since I was 8 years old. Stubbornness has always been one of my traits ever since I was a kid. I would observe my parents perform various surgeries, comfort families, take care of patients and their families, which taught me to be compassionate. At my father’s hospital, I would voluntarily meet patients, their families, and children’s at times; playing and helping them soothe their pain through jokes and candy. This experience helped me built an ability to connect with people on a more personal level.
Oh my God! TJ!“ It was just my mom.She was crying and calling my name again and again.I was so embarrassed and disappointed of my self.I had let her down. After, two of the EMT guys put us on an ambulance. Finally,we made our way to the hospital. My friend john and me were sent in palo alto medical center. It took us about fifteen minute to get there. My friend john was alright. He had a couple of stitches in his head and his arm. He got relieved after a couple of tests but, I was severely injured. I was lying on a hospital bed and thinking what I would have done in the past. Cause this terrible accident happened to me. I was sent to el camino hospital, where I went to the operation theater for my hipbones surgery.The doctor told me after surgery that my hipbones was fractured the reason they had to put a plate in hipbones to stay together.Although, my left arm was also fractured the reason I could not feel my arm. After surgery, they took me to the other room and gave me a couple of injections. Momentarily, I went to sleep. I woke up in the next day and thinking hopefully it was just a dream,but it’s not. I opened my eyes and saw a couple of relative looking me like a stranger. My dad came over my bed and gave me a hug and I literally started crying after thinking about the accident. I could not believe after a massive car accident I was still alive. Doctors kept in hospital couple of