Que será, será

10 week old baby fetus; a poor mother that's miscarried a life that is so perfectly human already. Each limb is delicately shaped, gently suspended in his sac. my heart hurts for this family, my mind marvels there is no skin difference in utero; I never would have guessed they were African American. My soul says a prayer for this tiny being. my fellow nurse says, "to think we all started this small" Que será, será

a homeless man with pancreatic cancer. his vital signs are dwindling, his body is emaciated, yet he seems like he has so much life within. from the ED to the ICU, and in my heart I know it won't be long before I'll read about him in the paper. Que será, será

It's out of my hands, and it always has been. I have no ultimate control over life and death. I can give compassion and learn medicine, applying it to the best of my ability, but ultimately, I have no control. Whatever will be, will be.

Que será, será will be my next tattoo, because as much as I love this job as an ED nurse, sometimes it really hurts to have no control over human suffering.

And then we have a patient come in with anxiety, and suddenly she's coding. We do what we know we're supposed to do, and cath lab comes and whisks her away, only to come back to let us know she had a 'widowmaker' MI, the worst one, but she was already being extubated up in CICU. Que será, será