我的第一個死亡病例,發(fā)生在一個周二。
I lost my first patient on a Tuesday.
八十二歲的一個老太太,身材嬌小,自己收拾得很整潔,是普外科最健康的人。而我在普外科實(shí)習(xí)了一個月。(驗(yàn)尸的時候,病理醫(yī)師得知她的年齡很是震驚:“她的器官年齡只有五十歲??!”)她住院是因?yàn)檩p微腸梗阻導(dǎo)致的便秘。我們等了六天,希望她的腸子能自行恢復(fù)。希望落空后,我們做了個小手術(shù)來進(jìn)行治療。周一晚上八點(diǎn)左右,我去病房查看,她神志清醒,狀態(tài)良好。我一邊和她聊天,一邊從口袋里掏出一日工作計劃,把最后一項(“術(shù)后檢查,哈維太太”)劃掉。我該回家休息一下了。
She was an eighty-two-year-old woman, small and trim, the healthiest person on the general surgery service, where I spent a month as an intern. (At her autopsy, the pathologist would be shocked to learn her age: “She has the organs of a fifty-year-old!”) She had been admitted for constipation from a mild bowel obstruction. After six days of hoping her bowels would untangle themselves, we did a minor operation to help sort things out. Around eight p. m. Monday night, I stopped by to check on her, and she was alert, doing fine. As we talked, I pulled from my pocket my list of the day’s work and crossed off the last item (post-op check, Mrs. Harvey). It was time to go home and get some rest.
午夜過后的某個時間,電話響了。病人不行了。幾個小時前那種略帶官僚主義的志得意滿突然被撕得粉碎,我從床上猛地坐起來,連珠炮似的發(fā)布指令:“一升鹽水靜脈輸液、心電圖、照胸片,馬上行動——我在去的路上了。”我給住院總醫(yī)生打了電話,她告訴我還要多做一些檢查,等我把情況搞得更清楚一些,再給她打電話。我沖到醫(yī)院,看見哈維太太呼吸困難,心跳加快,血壓陡降。無論我做什么,她也不見好轉(zhuǎn)。而當(dāng)時我是唯一在值班的普外實(shí)習(xí)生,呼機(jī)一直在震,有些信息可以忽略(病人需要安眠藥物),有些沒法不管(急診室病人主動脈瘤斷裂)。我手忙腳亂,如同溺水的人,萬事纏身,黔驢技窮。哈維太太仍然沒有起色。我安排把她轉(zhuǎn)到重癥監(jiān)護(hù)室,拼命給她灌藥輸液來保命。接下來的幾個小時,我就狂奔在急診室那個面臨死亡威脅的病人和重癥監(jiān)護(hù)室那個生命垂危的病人之間。凌晨5:45,急診室的病人被推往手術(shù)室,哈維太太的情況也相對穩(wěn)定下來。我們動用了十二升點(diǎn)滴、兩個單位的血、一臺呼吸機(jī)、三個血壓增壓器,才得以維持她的生命。
Sometime after midnight, the phone rang. The patient was crashing. With the complacency of bureaucratic work suddenly torn away, I sat up in bed and spat out orders: “One liter bolus of LR, EKG, chest X-ray, stat—I’m on my way in.” I called my chief, and she told me to add labs and to call her back when I had a better sense of things. I sped to the hospital and found Mrs. Harvey struggling for air, her heart racing, her blood pressure collapsing. She wasn’t getting better no matter what I did; and as I was the only general surgery intern on call, my pager was buzzing relentlessly, with calls I could dispense with (patients needing sleep medication) and ones I couldn’t (a rupturing aortic aneurysm in the ER). I was drowning, out of my depth, pulled in a thousand directions, and Mrs. Harvey was still not improving. I arranged a transfer to the ICU, where we blasted her with drugs and fluids to keep her from dying, and I spent the next few hours running between my patient threatening to die in the ER and my patient actively dying in the ICU. By 5:45. a. m., the patient in the ER was on his way to the OR, and Mrs. Harvey was relatively stable. She’d needed twelve liters of fluid, two units of blood, a ventilator, and three different pressors to stay alive.
等我終于走出醫(yī)院,已經(jīng)是周二下午五點(diǎn)。哈維太太仍然不見好轉(zhuǎn),也沒有惡化。晚上七點(diǎn),電話又響了,哈維太太昏迷了,重癥監(jiān)護(hù)團(tuán)隊正在嘗試心肺復(fù)蘇。我又狂奔回醫(yī)院,她再次死里逃生,真是命懸一線。這次我沒有回家,只是到醫(yī)院附近去吃了晚飯,以防萬一。
When I finally left the hospital, at five p. m. on Tuesday evening, Mrs. Harvey wasn’t getting better—or worse. At seven p. m., the phone rang: Mrs. Harvey had coded, and the ICU team was attempting CPR. I raced back to the hospital, and once again, she pulled through. Barely. This time, instead of going home, I grabbed dinner near the hospital, just in case.
八點(diǎn),手機(jī)響了:哈維太太去世了。
At eight p. m., my phone rang: Mrs. Harvey had died.
我回家去睡覺。
I went home to sleep.
我的情緒介于憤怒和悲傷之間。不管怎么說,哈維太太是從那一摞厚厚的文件中“脫穎而出”,才成為我的病人。第二天,我參加了她的尸檢,看著病理醫(yī)師把她開膛破肚,移走各種器官。我親自檢查那些器官,用雙手去撫摸,檢查我在她腸道上縫針打的結(jié)。從那以后,我再也不把任何病人簡單看作病歷上的文字了,而是把所有的文件和病歷都當(dāng)作真正的病人來看待。
I was somewhere between angry and sad. For whatever reason, Mrs. Harvey had burst through the layers of paperwork to become my patient. The next day, I attended her autopsy, watched the pathologists open her up and remove her organs. I inspected them myself, ran my hands over them, checked the knots I had tied in her intestines. From that point on, I resolved to treat all my paperwork as patients, and not vice versa.