By Amanda Anderson, a critical care nurse and graduate student in New York City currently doing a graduate placement at AJN.

Everybody, myself included, thought he was going to die. Another nurse on another floor had administered his stem cell transplant a few weeks prior, but as his primary nurse I was now in charge of managing its aftereffects.

Ben (not his real name, and some details have been changed) was one of the many young patients I’d cared for who suffered from a violent course of complications following allogeneic hematopoietic stem cell transplant (allo-HSCT). Intractable diarrhea and skin sloughing led to graft-versus-host-disease’s usual sequelae: wounds, drug-resistant infections, looming sepsis. The walls of his bladder, scarred and irritated by the myriad of toxic drugs he’d been given, bled. One day, while I slept at home between night shifts, he lost so much blood that they rushed him to the OR. The treatment—never before performed—stopped the bleeding. But it left him in excruciating, around-the-clock pain.

Between regular doses of Dilaudid and PCA pump pushes, he cried out to me, “I can’t do this. I don’t want this anymore.” I couldn’t blame him—his cancer fight raged on endlessly. Watching his boyishly handsome face grimace with so much pain, I remembered other young allo-HSCT patients’ faces, some of them peaceful only in the postmortem.

As it turned out, Ben survived his ICU stay. I heard about his discharge to the bone marrow transplant unit after I returned from a vacation. I lost touch with him, in the […]