The Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County's mission is to provide Compassionate Care for Every Life Touched. To me, that means that whether it's a patient, a friend or family member, or even a co-worker, it is our mission as a hospital to treat every single person with compassion. It is my honor to nominate Sheridan Shultz, an ICU nurse for The DAISY Award, as she is the perfect example of what the hospital strives to achieve and what The DAISY Award is all about.
If I could think of one word to describe Sheridan, well I can't. After narrowing it down, I just can't eliminate my top 4 descriptors.
Sheridan is Compassionate, Sheridan is Empathetic, Sheridan is a Superhero, Sheridan is One-of-a-Kind.
Being an employee myself, I know and have worked with quite a few of our staff members in various areas of the hospital. One area that I'm not familiar with though is the Intensive Care Unit. Well, that was until my little baby boy, P, was admitted into the unit at 13 days old.
Sheridan was our nurse. I say "our" because she didn't just take care of my very sick baby, she took care of me too. From the moment I met her, I knew she was going to be special to us, special to my son's life story- and I wasn't wrong. She was attentive to P's needs, she treated him like he was her own, she held him, she rocked him when he was upset, she genuinely cared for him, but most importantly, she was beyond proactive in ensuring that P received the best care imaginable. Every time his oxygen dropped, she was by his side in the blink of an eye. When she felt something was wrong, she was proactive in exploring her gut feeling which resulted in huge breakthroughs in my son's recovery. But it wasn't just about P, she was the support system for me too. In these COVID-19 times with visitor restrictions, and being just 13 days post-partum myself, she was unknowingly my rock. When my husband couldn't be there, she was. When my family couldn't be there, she was. Every day, all day. One thing I found amusing was that she always asked me if I had eaten if I was hungry. At the time, I would think to myself- man, she must really like food (like me!). Looking back, I realize that the only time I ever ate was when she'd ask if I'd eaten, I'd say no, and she'd tell me to. When I had concerns, she listened, she sympathized with me and assured me that P would be okay. She not only gained my trust, but she gained the trust and respect of P's physician and respiratory therapist enough that they empowered her to make decisions in the best interest of P's health and recovery.
I've spent months trying to figure out how to thank Sheridan for taking such great care of us. Day after day, I've tried to find just the right way to explain Sheridan to others. Trying to figure out just how to articulate how amazing she is in just a few sentences or a short paragraph, but I can't. I haven't found the right words to show just how amazing she is, why she is so special and important in our son's life, without sharing our story.
Our Story:
When my husband I decided to have our second child, we tried for quite some time. Because our first baby came so easily and quickly, I didn't anticipate it taking so long to conceive. Right when we were ready to give up for a while, I found out I was pregnant. I was so excited to tell my husband, so on his Valentine's Day card, I signed it from myself, our daughter, and baby #2. What a fun surprise that was! Well, it wasn't more than 3 days later that I knew something was wrong. A few days after that, I suffered a miscarriage- it devastated us. It was a really hard time for I didn't know how to cope and my poor husband didn't know how to support my heartbreak- though he sure did try.
Once we were able to somewhat heal from our heartbreak, we decided to try again. This round didn't take long and we were so excited to find out I was expecting again. I felt great, everything was great, life was great- until... we started doing the standard blood work. At the time, my normal OBGYN was out and we were working with a physician I wasn't too familiar with. She was nice, but that personalization wasn't quite there like what I experience in my first pregnancy- and even my miscarriage. It made this experience even more stressful as I was leaning on essentially a stranger for answers and to help guide us through test results and next steps. Well, after a few months of additional testing and a trip to Salt Lake City to see a specialist, we were finally relieved to learn that our little baby boy was strong and healthy.
Fast forward to when I checked into the hospital for my induction. My labor and delivery went smoothly and relatively uneventful; right around noon, we welcomed our sweet little baby boy, P, to the world. We fell in love immediately, he's such a precious blessing to us, especially after about a year and a half of nothing but sadness and rocky roads.
When I took P home, we were so excited to introduce him to his big sister, though excited probably is not the word I would use to explain how she felt as she quickly learned she had to share our attention with baby brother. But, as we settled into our new life, my little family of four found our new normal and I genuinely enjoyed every single minute.
About a week after P was born, I noticed that he started coughing sporadically throughout the day. I monitored and watched and looked for patterns or causes. Was it when he woke up from a nap? After he was done eating? If we held him a certain way? There was no correlation to when he would have his little coughing fits. As the days went on, I got more and more nervous and worried. I had a gut feeling that something was wrong. I consulted his doctor who felt P was probably coughing up post-delivery liquid. I didn't feel that was right, especially because my poor little guy would turn blue when he coughed, and his coughing fits would last up to 20 seconds at a time, anywhere from 2-10 times a day.
I decided that enough was enough. I knew that our hospital's pediatrician was out of the office, that my daughter's physician was also out of the office, and that we wanted to avoid the Emergency Department if at all possible due to COVID-19. I reached out to my daughter's physician anyways and we talked through what was going. I was actually at the hospital waiting for my husband, who was getting a procedure done at the time. After hanging up with him, I called the Family Medicine office and scheduled an appointment. When my husband's procedure was done, I took him home, dropped him off, picked up P, and set off to the Family Medicine office. When we arrived for his appointment, P's oxygen levels were steady in the low 80s, the doctor called the Emergency Room's physician for a consultation and we were told to take P in and they would be ready for him, trying to keep him away from germs as much as possible. Before we left Family Med, they tested P for COVID-19, RSV, and the flu.
On my very short drive to the Emergency Room, I kept thinking to myself, he's 13 days old. THIRTEEN DAYS OLD. He's only left the house for doctor's appointments and then one time for his newborn photo session at my neighbor's house. He hasn't been around many people. There's no way he could have caught any of those things, could he?
I was greeted at the doors of the Emergency Department where they immediately took P to triage and then into his room while I got him checked in. When I got back into the baby's room, he had been hooked up to oxygen. His levels were now in the 60s. Seeing my little baby- less than two weeks old­ need oxygen was definitely a punch to my gut and it took everything in me to not completely meltdown right there in front of everyone in the room. Everyone in that room, in the Emergency Room, were all so wonderful and patient. They took such great care of him!
Within what seemed like mere minutes, the Emergency Room physician walked in, looked at his vitals, looked at me, and said, "we're admitting him." I know I probably looked like a pure disaster, and as I tried to process what was going on, but the only thing I could get out without bursting into tears was, "really?" He looked at me and said, "Yes, really." Then, someone, I can't remember who at that point, told me that he had tested positive for RSV. RSV? What the heck is that? How could my little itty-bitty baby have RSV? My household was healthy, nobody that had been around him was sick- to my knowledge. My mind started going through 1,000 scenarios a minute, trying to figure out how I failed at keeping my little baby safe and healthy in just 13 short days.
It didn't seem like too much longer after that, that we were then taken to the ICU. That's when I first met her, P's superhero nurse, Sheridan. When we got into P's room, his new home for the unforeseeable future, Sheridan greeted us, asked how I'd like the room set up, and what she could get for me. I had never seen her before, but there was something in my gut that told me that with her, we'd be okay. Because everything was such a blur, I honestly don't even remember what I said, but the next thing I knew was that P was in his bed, hooked up to monitors and an oxygen machine, and I was sitting on the bed next to him wondering how we ended up here. When everyone left the room and it was just me and P, I couldn't keep myself together any longer and had my complete "my baby is here, my husband is at home recovering, my 3-year-old daughter is probably wondering what was going on, how am I supposed to take care of everyone? What do I do now?" meltdown.
After a while, Dr. G and Sheridan came in for an examination and to discuss what was going on. Dr. G was very easy to talk to and we talked about P's current status, where he should be, and how we were going to get there. After talking with Dr. G and Sheridan, I watched Dr. G talk directly with Sheridan and I tried to take it all in, so I could make sure that P was getting taken care of when Dr. G wasn't around. Something that I quickly realized was silly because P couldn't have been in better hands than Sheridan.
Our first night in the ICU, P's new home, was pretty uneventful for him, minus breathing treatments and suctioning from our Respiratory Therapist. The night was hard for me. I felt very alone and like a failure that we were there. I slept, but not much. I watched TV, read a book that happened to be in my purse, and tried to distract myself from our current reality. I felt guilty that I couldn't be home with my daughter and taking care of my husband in his time of need. Then I wished my husband could be with us, here in the ICU, but because of the newly implemented COVID-19 restrictions, he couldn't be. I wished anyone could be with me so I wasn't alone. I knew that wasn't possible. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was scared. I felt I was being denied my support system because of COVID-19.
I remember thinking our first morning there, Saturday (my 34th birthday), that I just wanted someone to talk to, someone to sit in the room with me so I didn't feel so alone. Then, in walked Sheridan. Her shift had recently started and she came in to say good morning and check on P. She asked how I was doing, asked how our night was, and then told me I needed to order breakfast. She spent some time in the room with us, chit-chatting about the day and whatever else I could think of to delay her from leaving the room. Dr. G and the RT came in for morning rounds and we discussed the day's expectations with P's oxygen. They explained the high flow oxygen in more detail, we talked about his current intake and where he needed to be for discharged. Our goal was to get discharged on or by Tuesday. Hoping to meet that goal, they told me that RSV in babies is a slow and steady healing process.
Sheridan told me that we shouldn't expect drastic results in a day, to always remember, it's a slow and steady process of healing.
When everyone left, I called my husband to update him on what was going on and got settled into the room, ready to hang out for the day. At that time, I wasn't sure if I was able to leave for fear of not being able to return because of the newly implemented visitation policies. So, I rearranged some furniture and got comfortable in the reclining chair, staring at P's monitors, watching his heart rate and oxygen numbers. Watching him sleep. Every hour or so, P's oxygen would drop to the mid-80s, the alarm would sound, and within seconds Sheridan would be in the room to find out why. She would use the little wall vacuum snot sucker (or so I called it) to remove the mucus in P's nose that was blocking his airways. Every time she sucked up the mucus, P's oxygen numbers would increase back to the high 90s. It seemed like clockwork, his numbers would drop, the alarm would go off, I would blink and Sheridan would right there, she'd suction, he'd be okay, and then an hour later, we'd do it all again.
That afternoon when the RT came in for a breathing treatment and mucus suction, Sheridan told us that she felt like something was off. She noticed that no mucus ever came from P's right nostril. It seemed odd to her that he struggled to get oxygen so quickly after a suction session and that mucus only came out of his left nostril, not his right. After treatment, Sheridan and the RT left the room talking and came back a few minutes later. Sheridan wanted to see if P's right nostril was being blocked by something, but there wasn't necessarily a tool to use to check. So, she had gone and gotten what I think was a feeding tube, somehow connected it to a syringe, and made a makeshift snot sucker thing; she said it was the only thing she could think of that may work. After talking through her plan, I held P and they inserted Sheridan's contraption up P's nose to feel around and break up any hardened mucus that may be blocking the airway in P's right nostril. After a few tries and a few breaks to calm an angry baby, she felt something. She worked a little longer and then got the vacuum snot sucker and tried suctioning. She did it! Out popped a huge, dried-up mucus ball that had been blocking his airway and preventing him from breathing out of both nostrils.
Once P's nostrils were both clear, he was breathing a lot better, his stomach wasn't contracting so hard, and his oxygen shot back up to the high 90s. His vitals were stronger, and he looked more relaxed, I was so excited, I felt hope and I felt encouraged that Sheridan was proactive to address and solve a huge problem that nobody had thought about up to that point. After that, his oxygen remained steady for significantly longer streaks and we shifted our attention to managing his high-flow oxygen intake. As earlier described to me, we needed to work on lowering the amount of oxygen we were giving him so that he could work on breathing more on his own. The RT dropped P down 0.5% to see how he would handle it. After watching him for a while, he seemed to handle the new flow of 5.5% just fine, so we left it there. Sheridan asked if I ordered lunch or if I wanted her to order for me.
That afternoon, Dr. G came for evening rounds and we talked about the day. She was thrilled with Sheridan's proactive thinking and action to clear the mucus blockage. Though I was already impressed and thrilled at P's progress, hearing Dr. G's approval of Sheridan's makeshift blockage remover validated my feelings of Sheridan being P's superhero. After we discussed the day's happenings, Sheridan left the room and it was just me, Dr. G, and the RT. I told them both that I was very hopeful that P would continue to improve and that I was very happy with Sheridan. Dr. G agreed and told me that she felt confident with Sheridan making calls on P as needed. Our RT also agreed and told me that because she had been very proactive and even more attentive to P's needs, P was improving quicker than he expected and that he was going to encourage Sheridan to make the decisions on when to lower P's oxygen; a decision generally made by the Respiratory Therapists. I assume that they then talked to Sheridan because once they left, I saw something spark in Sheridan. She took full ownership of P and his care. She made decisions on what she felt P needed and explained to me why every step of the way. She also started taking care of me. I'm not sure if she realized it, or if it was just her nurturing nature, but I felt like she really started to take care of me as much as P. Instead of her coming into the room solely to check on P, she started coming in, to check on me too.
It wasn't until Saturday night after shift change when she went home and my night nurse came in, that I realized I wasn't alone, I hadn't been alone all day. I had Sheridan.
On Monday, P started to really excel. Sheridan dropped his oxygen flow multiple times that day and we saw very little drop in his oxygen levels. We were feeling good, we were feeling successful, I was feeling hopeful. We were thinking that he was on track to possibly go home Tuesday which was our original goal. Well, then Monday evening happened. We had a new Respiratory Therapist come in to give P his breathing treatment. After his treatment, his oxygen tanked and nobody could really figure out why. We had multiple nurses coming in and out trying to figure it out, our new RT stayed and monitored him. What felt like a lifetime was probably 2-3 hours, but that's how long it took to get P's oxygen level stabilized. His poor little body went through a lot. He had bad chest compressions, you could visibly see that he was struggling, and all I could do it sit there and watch. I watched a few decisions get made that I didn't feel were aligned with P's care plan or what Sheridan, my other RT, and Dr. G had been doing the past few days. I didn't know if I could say anything about it because these were trained professionals who knew a lot more than my uneducated guesses on what was going on. I wished Sheridan was there because I knew she could solve this problem. I couldn't wait for her to come back because I knew she'd have answers for me. At one point, though I was furious at the situation, I sympathized with our night nurse. I could tell that she was almost as frustrated as I was as she tried to figure out why his oxygen dropped and took so long to get him stabilized again.
In just those few short hours, P declined enough that we had to put his oxygen back to his original settings when he was first admitted. That was a long night.
Tuesday morning came and when Sheridan checked in, I told her about my frustrations. I explained that I did not like what I had seen, I did not like some of the decisions I saw, and that I was beyond upset that all of the progress we had made with P was gone and that we were starting over. The whole time I vented, probably yelled a bit and explained what happened, Sheridan just sat there and listened.
Through her protective gear, I could somewhat see her facial expressions and her eyes; she was very sympathetic. She listened to me and my concerns. It looked like she felt the pain and frustration that I felt. Then when she responded, I was blown away. She told me that she had stayed after her shift for a little bit to monitor the situation and see how P did. She also sympathized with me and validated the way I felt. It was at that moment that I truly saw the hospital's mission of "Compassionate Care for every life touched." I wasn't even the patient but she treated me with compassion and showed tremendous respect for my feelings.
That morning when Dr. G came in for her rounds, she and I had a very similar conversation about my observations and frustrations. Dr. G was very receptive, showed great compassion, and had similar opinions regarding the situation. That was very reassuring to know that P's A-team was all on the same page. After Dr. G left, Sheridan came back in to check on both P and me. She again reiterated that even though we had a setback, that P was doing well now and that we just needed to take things slow and steady. Then she asked me if I had ordered breakfast.
That day was a day of recovery. Poor little P slept a lot and you could see in his chest compressions that he was working hard to breathe, harder than he had the past few days. Though P rested and we didn't adjust anything that day, Sheridan still visited our room to check on us frequently. She asked me if I had eaten lunch or if she could order food for me. I never realized it until after the fact, but I never ate unless she reminded me to. I sure appreciated that.
Well, as the week went on, we clearly didn't reach our goal of getting P discharged on Tuesday. Wednesday came and went another slow and steady day, and we said goodbye to Dr. G whose rotation was over. Then, I got the sad news that Wednesday was Sheridan's last day working that week. I was so sad that she wasn't going to be with us anymore because whether she knew it or not, she was my support system. She had been my rock. P was essentially getting a new team, a new physician, and a new nurse to add to the new Respiratory Therapist that had started the day before. Then, just when I had come to terms with the team change, I was told that there was a potential COVID-19 positive patient in the ICU and that we were getting moved to the Medical Unit, just to ensure the safety of P and eliminate any possibility of an accidental cross-contamination/COVID-19 spread.
As we were packing up, getting ready to go, Sheridan said goodbye, Dr. G said goodbye, and we were off to our new home with our new team. When we got settled into our new room on the medical floor, Dr. S came in- I was happy to see him. He had evaluated P when he was born so it had been a mere 10 days since the last time he had seen P. It was a huge relief to me, to have Dr. S as P's doctor after having such a great experience with Dr. G.
After he left, I sat in the chair and rocked P. I told him that this was going to be our new home until he was strong enough to go home. I told him that Sheridan was gone, she went home to be with her little boy and her family and that though we'd love to see her again, let's get better so we don't have to. Well, not that a 20-day old baby really understands, but something in his sweet little body changed. He decided he didn't want to be there without his superhero, Sheridan. Within 24 hours, he improved so much that he was completely off his oxygen, holding his SATs on his own, and ready to go home. He was discharged on Friday morning.
After a full week- 5 and a half days with Sheridan, and one day without, P was discharged without oxygen!
Yesterday, we celebrated his 6-month birthday. Every month, on the 14th, we celebrate. We celebrate every milestone (he loves to roll over, but then gets mad that he rolled over, he has a smile that melts our hearts, the sweetest giggle, and two teeth already!), we celebrate everything we can with our little guy. In every celebration, we think of Sheridan and how she took care of P and treated him as her own. We are so thankful for her, her compassion, and her dedication to P's health. Selfishly, I'm also extremely thankful for her, that she was unknowingly my rock through one of the hardest weeks of my life.