Mortality

The staff at the hospital I work at are closely knit and the night staff even more so because there are fewer of us. We depend upon each other in a crisis and inject levity where we can, particularly when things get tough. One respiratory therapist in particular was known not only for his skill and genuine caring for the patients, but also for his quick wit and ever ready humour. I give as good as I get, and the two of us would regularly engage in verbal sparring--seeing who could one-up the other with an ever escalating series of comments razzing each other. It was always in good humour, and would span the range from irreverent and silly to downright bawdy. Many nights we were all laughing so hard that the tears were streaming from our eyes, especially as the night progressed and we all became more tired and sillier.

Well, last night during report we were told that this therapist, a man I sometimes called Mothra (play on man of the hour, aka MOTH), had successfully committed suicide. The news hit me like a ton of bricks, not only because we have and a number of other losses in the last three months (another coworker killed by a drunk driver and the recent drowning of three young children in the town where I live) but also because I really cared about this man. He had a special gift and greatly enhanced every life he touched. He was a husband and father to young children, as well as an employee who excelled at his job, and who played a crucial role in saving the lives of many people.

I knew he was struggling with depression and had expressed my concern to him a number of times in the last two months. His marriage was in trouble and this was tearing him apart. I took him aside several times to ask if he was alright, and asked if there was anything at all I could do for him. He was able to vent some, and I hope that helped--he never really let on the depths of his despair. That he unfortunately chose to keep close to his heart. No one had any idea he was considering suicide. His desperate act yesterday floored all of us. In retrospect I think he did give a hint five months ago, but I totally missed it. We were discussing a patient who had attempted suicide and succeeded only in causing herself damage that would last as long as she did, but which was far from lethal. He expressed a sentiment that has crossed the mind of many health care workers "I should give a workshop entitled 'Suicide, doing it Right'." He then went on to comment that if he wanted to kill himself he knew how to do it properly--none of this mucking about leading to lengthy resuscitation. I wish I had picked up on that. I wish he had tried a less immediately lethal method so that we could have a chance at saving him. I wish he would have called someone, ANYONE...I wish he were still around, because he brought a life and light with him wherever he went. Instead he succumbed to the pain and despair. I've been there myself--twice--but I reached out and got help that quite literally saved my life. Alas, he was unable to reach out, and was able to conceal the intolerable pain he was in. Some was evident, but he never gave any of the clues that usually indicate someone is contemplating suicide. Instead he quietly went ahead and "did it right."

I've spent much of the day alternating between crying and being terribly angry with his wife. I know I should have compassion for her--she's just traumatically lost her husband and the father of her children, but the little my colleague shared with me seemed to indicate that she was at the heart of his despair and frustration. There are two sides to every story and have never even met her, let alone heard her side of things, but the little I do know leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. My heart breaks for her children, and I'm very worried about how the elder of the children will cope, but towards her I feel plain old anger. Rational its not--I guess its a stage I'll have to work through as I work through my own emotions about this. Right now what I hope is that she feels suitably horrible about this. I guess I'm not as big as person as I would like to be right now. For that I'm sorry--I'm sure my sense of compassion towards her will eventually return, however at the moment I am feeling rather adrift in the loss of someone I truly cared about as a wonderful person.