Invalid Date, A DISTRAUGHT mum whose four-year-old son was killed in a murder-suicide by his dad wrote: 'I'm so sorry I couldn't save you'. Natsuko Kurihara posted the heartbreaking message to her 'beautiful boy' Koah who was found dead at a house on Friday. YOU ARE READING. Sorry I Couldn't Save You Fanfiction. You shouldn't blame me,I already said I'm sorry.I'll say it again.I'm sorry I couldn't save you.Although,not every story has a happy ending and you should've known that. I'm sorry to the person who has the same title but I really don't want to c.
Big brother. When you left me, you took part of me with you. That morning I should have been paying closer attention. You were always taking care of me, standing up for me, and consoling me when something was wrong. You took me everywhere with you and the first 3 months of high school, we had never been closer. I didn’t mind ironing your shirt in the morning, because I knew that I would get a hug afterwards and a kiss on the head. You treated me so wonderfully.
That day, you let me pick out your outfit, you asked Mom to make your favorite thing for breakfast, you actually looked Dad in the eyes when we got out of the car and told him you loved him, and you called me . . . I’m so glad that I took that phone call, but I should have realized that you were about to do the unspeakable. The last thing you said to me was that you loved me. I waited for you after school, but you didn’t answer the phone. The buses had left already. It was too long of a walk to go home. I called Mom several times but she was still at work. I waited 2 hours. I was going to march straight into your room and ask you why you left me out there, but it wasn’t until we pulled in the driveway, the same time as Dad, we all had a feeling that you were just listening to your music to loud, or maybe you were watching a movie.
By the time we got to the porch, we could hear “Hey Joe” blaring from your speakers. All three of us went straight to your door and opened it.
Before I knew it I was screaming and sobbing like I had just lost my mind. All these strange people coming into my home and taking pictures of you. I threw up twice and the paramedics were going to sedate me. You left me. Your lips were already blue.
Mom and Dad listened to the tapes you left for them after the police gave them back to us. They questioned all of us separately and I couldn’t even speak a single word over my tears so I had to write down my answers. Half of my life was gone. And now as I reach another anniversary I really have spent half of my life missing you.
I’m never going to listen to the tape you left me. I want the last words you ever said to me be, “I love you.”
Five days into my emergency medicine clerkship, I had experienced a lot of firsts: My first participation in a code, my first CPR compressions, and my first patient death. This was specifically a code blue for a patient with pulseless cardiac arrest.
An elderly woman was brought in by her family after not feeling well for several days and quickly became unresponsive. As the room flooded with staff, my upper-level resident started running the code and assigned people to critical tasks, including starting CPR, establishing an IV and airway, and placing defibrillator pads on the patient.
“Evan, you will take over for compressions next.” I verbally acknowledged my role and took my position at bedside, my heart furiously beating in my chest as I tried to recall all of my basic life support (BLS) and advanced cardiovascular life support (ACLS) training. At the two-minute pulse check I relieved the nurse who had initiated compressions and stood over this frail woman who reminded me of my only living grandmother.
I clasped my hands together and held them steady above her exposed chest and waited for the signal to begin; the monitor displayed an electrical rhythm but there was no pulse. While her heart might still be conducting electricity, it wasn’t functioning properly — defibrillation would not help her. The only thing that could save her was high-quality CPR.
“Resume compressions.” A tidal wave of thoughts cascaded over me. On the first day of ER orientation we practiced on an advanced model with visual feedback, and during that orientation exercise, I realized how long it had been since I had practiced CPR.
But the waves of self-doubt receded and after gentle prompting from another nurse, I settled into a rhythm, with my body and mind completely dedicated to the task at hand. I am a BLS and ACLS instructor, responsible for training other medical students and even residents and attending physicians, and we teach that high-quality CPR needs to be between 100-120 beats per minute or the approximate tempo of the Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive.” The morbid irony of associating that song with this task was not lost on me.
“Two-minute pulse check.” I stepped aside, my mind completely blank. CPR resumed again. My upper level came to my side at the foot of the bed and said, “Let’s go through the Hs and Ts.” In ACLS, the team leader is responsible for directing the group, ensuring effective communication and determining the underlying cause of the problem leading to the code in the first place; the Hs and Ts are a short list of differential diagnoses to consider.
My faculties having returned to me, I assessed the likelihood of possible etiologies: hypothermia, hypovolemia, hypo/hyperkalemia, and hydrogen ion excess seemed unlikely compared to a thrombus to the heart. Clear lungs ruled out a tension pneumothorax but there could be a pulmonary embolism, cardiac tamponade, or a medication overdose. The upper-level resident ordered epinephrine, magnesium, bicarbonate, calcium, among other medication to be administered while someone scanned the heart looking for fluid in the pericardium. There was no specific medical history to point to, and any intervention at this point was increasingly unlikely to bring her back.
In total, we performed 15 rounds of CPR, and I performed four of those 15. During my third round I felt fatigue creep in, and my wrists cramped. To prepare for my fourth round of CPR, I replaced my gloves and attacked my task with renewed vigor, ignoring everything around me except for the beating of my own heart, which I used as my personal metronome.
We tried everything we could to help the patient, but in the end even everything wasn’t enough. The code was called, and she was pronounced dead. The chaplain attended to her grieving family, and everyone who had participated in the code respectfully left the room as she was covered with a thin bed sheet finally granting her body some small modicum of dignity. I was one of the last ones to leave, and after reclaiming my white coat, which I had hastily tossed away I told her, “I’m sorry that we couldn’t save you.”
The dam broke and twin rivulets of tears cascaded down my face as my accompanying intern guided me into the break room where I started sobbing uncontrollably. Creative zen touch driver windows 10 download. She asked me what she could do for me, and somehow, I told her that I needed to be alone.
My body almost shook from the exertion as if the release of emotion were more taxing than performing eight minutes of CPR. I didn’t know her name, but from the moment I stood at her bedside to the moment I apologized, she was my patient. And I had lost her.
A few minutes later, I had stopped crying, and I allotted myself five minutes for self-reflection. I then attended the debrief where the code was discussed to ensure closure and to provide feedback for improvement. The consensus was clear; we had all done everything we could, and everyone’s chest compressions were admirable. Ten minutes later, I was at my work station reading about my next patient.
Sorry I Couldn't Save You
Even now as I recall the case my eyes remain dry until I remember telling her that I’m sorry. I know that as a doctor I will become more familiar with death. I know that this will become easier. I don’t know if I want it to.
Sorry Not Sorry T Shirts
I'm Sorry I Couldn't Save You
-By Evan Schauer, third-year medical student at Baylor College of Medicine