A Second Chance, The Cases You Never Forget

There are some cases you never forget.

After more than 17 years working in ENT and Neurosurgery at Froedtert Hospital, the academic medical center of the Froedtert & Medical College of Wisconsin health network, specializing in ENT and neurosurgery, I have seen some incredibly difficult things. I have also witnessed some of the most remarkable moments of healing. Working at a Level I trauma hospital in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, means you see people on some of the worst days of their lives, often when they have nowhere else to turn.

One case in particular has stayed with me.

A patient had attempted to take their own life with a shotgun and sustained devastating injuries to their face. To this day, I remember the OR I was working in when a resident brought a new consult and the patient’s images into the room to show the surgical team. Later, that patient became my patient.

Their face was unrecognizable. There was so much devastation that it was difficult to comprehend how reconstruction could even begin. Prepping the patient for surgery was incredibly challenging because there was so much open injury. I remember standing at the head of the bed, unsure where to begin. It was one of those moments when you realize you are standing in the middle of something that will stay with you forever.

And yet, the patient lived.

Over the course of several major surgeries, our surgeons rebuilt what had been taken away. 

Eventually, the patient had vision, a nose they could breathe through, and a mouth. Watching that transformation was nothing short of incredible.

The skill of our facial plastics ENT surgeons was extraordinary. Hours and hours of meticulous work went into giving this person another chance. To this day, the facial plastics ENT surgeon who led the reconstruction says it was the hardest and most complex case he has ever performed, and he continues to provide care for this patient to this day. 

As an ENT and neuro OR nurse, I was able to witness what felt like a true work of art being created in that operating room. It was a powerful reminder of just how much can be accomplished through surgical skill, teamwork, perseverance, and compassion.

Those are the moments that remind me why I do what I do.

I often think that patients who come through cases like these are being given a new lease on life, a second chance. I hope they know that they are worthy of it.

But the emotional side of nursing is complicated. We care for people who may have no one waiting for them. I have cared for many patients who come in as a “Doe,” with no family checking in, and who undergo surgery after surgery. The nurses on the units become their family. The OR team learns their name. We recognize them when they return. We remember their story. Even when a patient may not have anyone else, there is a team of people who continues to show up for them.

That is one of the things I am most grateful for about nursing.

People sometimes don't fully understand what an OR nurse does. It can be incredibly challenging. We are constantly thinking ahead, anticipating what the surgeon will need, watching the patient, protecting their safety, managing unexpected situations, and working as a team through procedures that can last for hours.

And I could never do it without the surgical technologists I work alongside. Their knowledge, skill, preparation, and teamwork are everything. Every person in that operating room has a role, and every role matters.

I work with real heroes every day.

We may not always be seen by the patient. Sometimes they are asleep while we are working. They may never know the names of everyone who stood around their table, prepared their instruments, watched their vital signs, anticipated the next step, or stayed beside them for hours.

But every person in that room matters.

After 17 years, I have also learned that nursing doesn't always end when you walk out of the hospital. Sometimes my family gets the leftover version of me. I give so much of myself at work that there are days when I come home with very little left.

I have missed weekends, holidays, birthdays, and family events. Sometimes I come home and don't want to move because I have been moving all day.

There are also things we carry home that we don't always talk about, the anxiety of wondering if we missed something, the fear of letting a patient down, and the emotional weight of caring for people during some of the worst moments of their lives.

But somehow, despite the difficult cases, the long hours, the missed moments, the fear, and the exhaustion, I still feel incredibly grateful.

Grateful for my patients. Grateful for my family. Grateful for the nurses and surgical technologists beside me. Grateful for the surgeons who can take something that seems impossible and turn it into a second chance. And grateful that, after all these years, I still get to walk into an operating room and be part of something that can change someone's life.

That is what keeps me coming back.