I am in the midst of a pancreatitis attack. My body is shaking uncontrollably in pain. My heart is racing; my blood pressure keeps going higher and higher; my breathing is ragged. I can hardly talk because shrieks of pain and screams constantly radiate from my mouth. I beg the nurse for pain meds. The pain is growing worse and worse with each passing minute. I can feel the pancreatic digestive enzymes eating away my pancreas. In addition to the excruciating pain, my pancreas is cramping; it feels as though I have a bad charley horse in my pancreas.
The nurse insists I just got pain meds, and there is nothing she can do. I beg; I plead. “Call the doctor! Take me to the ER! I am in the worst pain of my life!” The nurse ignores my cries. Instead, she continues on with her responsibilities. She shoves a thermometer into my mouth to take my temperature. She notes my other vital signs. She then leaves, closing the door behind her. As time passes, the pain continues to intensify. I cannot help but scream. The words, “HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!” continually cry out from my mouth. I think if it is possible, I might just die from the pain.
When it feels as though all hope is lost, my mom suddenly appears in my room. Relief radiates through my body. I now have an advocate. I silently thank God for sending my mom to my side. When my mom sees me screaming and shaking, she is immediately alarmed. She demands I get pain meds. Again, the nurse says there is nothing she can do and leaves, once more closing the door behind her. My mom leaves my side and goes on a loving kindness rampage. When my nurse will not do anything about my pain, my mom demands to speak to the nurse’s supervisor. The nurse supervisor says she can do nothing either, but she does act and has my nurse call my doctor.
After suffering for 3.5 hours, I am finally given a small dose of fentanyl. The pain does not decrease in intensity. I likened it to having someone slam your hand in the car door and then giving you a baby apsirin for the pain. Another hour passes. Finally, the nurse again calls the doctor. I am prescribed a large dose of fentanyl. After nearly five hours from the start of the pancreatitis attack, I finally have some pain relief. My body stops shaking. I stop screaming. I can finally lie on my back. Fatigue from the long hours of pain and drowsiness from the fentanyl tug at my mind. Very soon, my body collapses into sleep. Less than an hour later, I am jolted back awake. The pain is raging again, but this time, only my body shakes. The pain is not severe enough to cause me to scream. I curl up in a ball. I know I could get more fentanyl, but I do not ask for any. I know this will not be my last pancreatitis attack. If I can endure without medication, I must endure. I will not always be so fortunate to be in the hospital when these attacks occur. I need to continue to build my pain threshold.
As a night of pain and sleeplessness passes, I pray to God. I thank Him for the reduction in pain. I thank Him for sending my mom to my side. I pray my nurse develops kindness and compassion. Amazingly, as the night progresses, my nurse does show some empathy. When her shift ends in the morning, the nurse says how sorry she was that I was in so much pain. Although the nurse never apologizes for being so cruel, I thank God that the nurse seems to be developing a warmer heart. I continue to pray for my nurse. May she continue to grow in tenderness and kindness. May none of her patients ever have to spend so much time in such agony. May much love and beauty blossom from my night of pain.
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