Confessions of a Male Nurse by Michael Alexander

cared.

Heartless
    ‘I’ve learnt my lesson,’ Mr Holdsworth said, pausing to look me in the eye for emphasis, before continuing. ‘I’ve learnt it the hard way.’
    I nodded my head in sympathy, even though I’d heard the story at least three times. He seemed to think of himself as some self-sacrificing guru of wisdom; wisdom gained through pain and suffering. Well, I guess he was at least part right.
    ‘Don’t make the same mistakes I . . . arrrgh—’ He never finished his sentence because he was clutching his chest.
    Having looked after Mr Holdsworth during his last two admissions, I was quite used to his frequent attacks of chest pain.
    I placed an oxygen mask on Mr Holdsworth’s face, told him I’d be back shortly, and left the room. When I returned I was armed with morphine. ‘This should do the trick,’ I said as I injected the narcotic directly into his vein.
    Often providing oxygen can be enough to relieve a patient’s angina, but if this isn’t enough, then morphine is another option. It not only relieves pain, but helps reduce the workload of the heart.
    I watched Mr Holdsworth’s expression as the pain slowly eased from his chest and an almost calm, albeit glazed, look came over his face. It’s sometimes hard to believe that medicine can have such an amazing effect.
    ‘How much that time?’ Mr Holdsworth asked.
    He always asked this and every time I was reluctant to answer. It’s not as if he didn’t need the medicine. People rarely ask how much. Maybe it was his background that made me reluctant, or maybe it was because I was giving him more each time, which meant his heart was getting worse.
    ‘Thirty milligrams,’ I reluctantly replied, avoiding his gaze.
    ‘Hell, I’ve never had that much in one go.’
    Mr Holdsworth didn’t sound upset, more intrigued, as if curious about how much his body could take. You see, Mr Holdsworth used to be an intravenous drug user. Over the years that he had injected morphine into his veins, he had built up a resistance to the drug. This was also how he damaged his heart. Most of the damage occurred on the occasions he took so much that his breathing stopped (one of the primary risks of morphine). Once his breathing stopped, it wasn’t long before his heart stopped. Fortunately paramedics were able to revive him. Each time, he survived, but the damage to his heart was permanent.
    ‘Not a good sign is it?’ he added.
    Sometimes it pays to tell the truth, even when it can hurt, but it’s still hard. Should I tell him that I’ve never given such a high dose of morphine in one push, or given it as frequently to one patient, in my entire career? Should I tell him that I’m even a little nervous giving 20 to 30 milligrams pushes of morphine every half an hour? He probably already knows this, especially given his background. He probably already knows that for most people one to two milligrams is a sufficient amount.
    ‘You’re probably just having a bad day,’ I replied with false bravado and an equally false smile.
    ‘Now I know you’re trying to be nice, but stop the bullshit. You know as well as I that I probably won’t make it to Christmas.’
    Mr Holdsworth tried to say this as casually as if he was talking about the weather, but I could tell his efforts were as forced as mine.
    ‘You’re still young, there is a chance. Something could happen any day.’
    Unfortunately, Mr Holdsworth had had his first heart attack at the relatively young age of 36. It had been his first wake-up call, but now after four heart attacks, and four subsequent areas of dead, scarred heart muscle, there was very little that either drugs or a healthy lifestyle could do to help him. Christmas was one month away and unless a miracle happened Mr Holdsworth was probably not going to see it.
    Still, we had to hope, sometimes it’s all that keeps us going, and there was one chance, one possibility, that we could help Mr Holdsworth. At the age of 47, the only thing that