Covering my bum

I didn't want this to be public anymore because I wanted to know exactly who is reading it. In the following words, I am going to share some things that happened during my patient's death experience from a few weeks ago. This is part of a theraputic project assigned to me by a professor that was kind enough to take some time for me to talk to her.

I don't share as much of nursing school and my life as I should. Writing helps me come to conclusions better than anything else. Maybe blogging more about my experience with my patient would have helped more, but I can't do anything about that now other than to move forward.

Let's just say I've been torn up about what I experienced a few weeks ago when my patient died. I contacted my favorite professor because I really needed a listening ear and someone to trust with the powerful information I held. These aren't the type of things I can discuss with other people in my life; I needed someone to confide in that understood.

The professor I was working with that Saturday killed my patient.

There. I said it. She took advantage of my patient's vulnerable wife, the attending physician, and facilitated his death.

This is the reason why I keep my idenity protected. Even student nurses hold information and power that can be very dangerous to patients, their families, fellow collegues, and even themselves. This is one of those situations.