Life Supporter, a loyal reader of RT 101, recently sent me a story she’d like to share. This is a guest post by her. Enjoy.
Do You Feel Like I Do?
No, I am not referring to the Peter Frampton song. Instead, I am merely suggesting a thought to ponder. Do we as respiratory therapists really know what our patients feel, both physically and psychologically? For instance, how does it feel to be intubated, trached, on a ventilator, or air hungry? What does it feel like to have a blood gas drawn? What does it feel like to have your ability to speak drastically taken away because of an artificial airway in place? What does it feel like to be suctioned?
Unless we have had the unfortunate circumstance requiring one of these interventions we really do not know. As respiratory therapists we understand that some of the methods and devices we use to help our patients actually can cause pain, anxiety, helplessness, and discomfort. While others actually provide much needed relief.
While I have been blessed to never require any respiratory interventions; I have had two experiences which resulted in a better understanding of what our patients are feeling. On one occasion I allowed someone to draw a radial arterial blood gas just so I knew what it felt like. Of course I chose a seasoned respiratory therapist. He obtained it without difficulty and I barely felt anything. (He also got in on the first stick, without using the Singer sewing machine method).
The next event was a much more dramatic episode which occurred ninety feet underwater while scuba diving. In order to explain this I must first take you on a journey. I was a newbie RT and an even greener certified scuba diver. Nothing in a diving pool prepared me for what could happen ninety feet below the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. On one beautiful summer day I was diving on an artificial reef which was a sunken barge. I was buddied up with another diver on the boat that I had just met. He was an older guy (as in balding and grey) and I was told that he was an “experienced” diver. Since I was not, the dive master thought it would be a good idea to pair us together. Fine. Well his “experience” was soon to be put to the test. I was enjoying the dive (at first) swimming up, below, and around the reef for several minutes. THEN I took a breath from my tank and no air was delivered. I tried a second time and again no air was delivered. I glanced at the gauge that displayed the psi left in my tank, and according to it I should have plenty. So why wasn’t I getting any air? Panic started setting in, next came fear, and closely following fear was a sense of doom and despair. Remember I was ninety feet under water and the surface seemed a mile away. So I did what they train divers to do, let your buddy know! I then began looking around for him. I could see him in the distance. (Neither of us were following the diving rule stay close to your dive buddy). I swam closer to him using all of the “out of air” signals I could give. The first couple of times he looked back at me with a blank face. (Sort of like a dog when it hears a strange sound and tilts its head sideways). I was still waiting for his “experience” to kick in. Then the light bulb flashed in his head. He understood the signal, swam over to me and offered me his octopus. For all non-divers, an octopus is a secondary breathing apparatus that is used so that two divers can breathe off of one tank if needed. In other words it is a device used for emergency situations like mine. I breathed the air out of his tank as fast as I could at which time we began swimming to the surface. If I could just get to the surface, there would be plenty of air waiting for me there. I began swimming upward as fast as I could with the only thing on my mind get more air. By doing so I was breaking another diving rule, rapid ascents are not allowed at that depth. Once on the surface a flood of feelings overcame me. My chest muscles hurt from struggling to breathe. My head wanted to split due to the rapid ascent. My lungs wheezed pleading for any air they could get. However, amidst all of these negative sensations I also felt a sense of relief. I felt the relief that I was no longer ninety feet underwater. I felt the relief that I was able to breathe. But most importantly, I felt the relief that I was still alive.
I believe that everything happens for a reason. I have come to the conclusion that this whole diving experience has given me a better understanding of both the physical and the psychological feelings that my patients experience. This diving episode occurred at the beginning of my RT career proving to be yet another non-coincidental factor. So from the very beginning of my RT career, I have known what my patients feel. While I never want to experience that degree of “respiratory failure” again, I am grateful for the experience. It by far has made me a better respiratory therapist.
Life Supporter
About the author: Life Supporter holds a BSRT with over twenty years of respiratory therapy experience. The author is a licensed RRT in the state of Florida and continues to work fulltime in the hospital setting.
Life Supporter, a loyal reader of RT 101, recently sent me a story she’d like to share. This is a guest post by her. Enjoy.
Do You Feel Like I Do?
No, I am not referring to the Peter Frampton song. Instead, I am merely suggesting a thought to ponder. Do we as respiratory therapists really know what our patients feel, both physically and psychologically? For instance, how does it feel to be intubated, trached, on a ventilator, or air hungry? What does it feel like to have a blood gas drawn? What does it feel like to have your ability to speak drastically taken away because of an artificial airway in place? What does it feel like to be suctioned?
Unless we have had the unfortunate circumstance requiring one of these interventions we really do not know. As respiratory therapists we understand that some of the methods and devices we use to help our patients actually can cause pain, anxiety, helplessness, and discomfort. While others actually provide much needed relief.
While I have been blessed to never require any respiratory interventions; I have had two experiences which resulted in a better understanding of what our patients are feeling. On one occasion I allowed someone to draw a radial arterial blood gas just so I knew what it felt like. Of course I chose a seasoned respiratory therapist. He obtained it without difficulty and I barely felt anything. (He also got in on the first stick, without using the Singer sewing machine method).
The next event was a much more dramatic episode which occurred ninety feet underwater while scuba diving. In order to explain this I must first take you on a journey. I was a newbie RT and an even greener certified scuba diver. Nothing in a diving pool prepared me for what could happen ninety feet below the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. On one beautiful summer day I was diving on an artificial reef which was a sunken barge. I was buddied up with another diver on the boat that I had just met. He was an older guy (as in balding and grey) and I was told that he was an “experienced” diver. Since I was not, the dive master thought it would be a good idea to pair us together. Fine. Well his “experience” was soon to be put to the test. I was enjoying the dive (at first) swimming up, below, and around the reef for several minutes. THEN I took a breath from my tank and no air was delivered. I tried a second time and again no air was delivered. I glanced at the gauge that displayed the psi left in my tank, and according to it I should have plenty. So why wasn’t I getting any air? Panic started setting in, next came fear, and closely following fear was a sense of doom and despair. Remember I was ninety feet under water and the surface seemed a mile away. So I did what they train divers to do, let your buddy know! I then began looking around for him. I could see him in the distance. (Neither of us were following the diving rule stay close to your dive buddy). I swam closer to him using all of the “out of air” signals I could give. The first couple of times he looked back at me with a blank face. (Sort of like a dog when it hears a strange sound and tilts its head sideways). I was still waiting for his “experience” to kick in. Then the light bulb flashed in his head. He understood the signal, swam over to me and offered me his octopus. For all non-divers, an octopus is a secondary breathing apparatus that is used so that two divers can breathe off of one tank if needed. In other words it is a device used for emergency situations like mine. I breathed the air out of his tank as fast as I could at which time we began swimming to the surface. If I could just get to the surface, there would be plenty of air waiting for me there. I began swimming upward as fast as I could with the only thing on my mind get more air. By doing so I was breaking another diving rule, rapid ascents are not allowed at that depth. Once on the surface a flood of feelings overcame me. My chest muscles hurt from struggling to breathe. My head wanted to split due to the rapid ascent. My lungs wheezed pleading for any air they could get. However, amidst all of these negative sensations I also felt a sense of relief. I felt the relief that I was no longer ninety feet underwater. I felt the relief that I was able to breathe. But most importantly, I felt the relief that I was still alive.
I believe that everything happens for a reason. I have come to the conclusion that this whole diving experience has given me a better understanding of both the physical and the psychological feelings that my patients experience. This diving episode occurred at the beginning of my RT career proving to be yet another non-coincidental factor. So from the very beginning of my RT career, I have known what my patients feel. While I never want to experience that degree of “respiratory failure” again, I am grateful for the experience. It by far has made me a better respiratory therapist.
Life Supporter
About the author: Life Supporter holds a BSRT with over twenty years of respiratory therapy experience. The author is a licensed RRT in the state of Florida and continues to work fulltime in the hospital setting.