Student Ruminations

NamasteNurse, BSN, RN

She looks a lot younger than she is. All her make-up is on but she is not at all flashy, she just takes care of herself, for herself. On the phone chatting away happily she sounds like she's on a business call with a dear friend.

She see me enter the room and her eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise and she holds up a finger in that "just a minute" attitude. She winds up her phone call and greets me warmly.

Her smile is dazzling and she holds out her hand for me to shake as she introduces herself, she makes me feel as if I'm an important dignitary at a dinner party. Her hand is warm and her handshake firm. This patient may be one of the sunniest people I have ever met.

She is dying of cancer.

On closer inspection her illness becomes apparent. Her lungs sound wet and raspy. She coughs nearly uncontrollably when she laughs. Ascites takes up the middle portion of her body and she deftly teaches me how to drain the excess fluid that builds inside her peritoneal cavity and is slowly and surely 'drowning' her.

"Pancreatic cancer" she whispers conspiratorially as if someone may overhear and think badly of her. They may think she is sick or worse, dying; which she is.

"That would be the worst thing" she confides; "for people to pity me".

She doesn't want pity, she wants to live now the way she always has; with gusto, with bravery and with her friends all around.

This patient wants to die in the same fashion in which she lived her life, having fun and enjoying humanity. She is interested in me and my journey the way a favorite aunt might be and she is as happy and excited for the news of my graduation on January 7th 2010 as I am. "How wonderful for you!" she claps her hands together and her eyes sparkle like a young girl seeing her birthday cake covered in candles.

"I will be thinking of you on that day!" she promises, and I believe her.

Her pulse is weak, thready, the sclera of her carefully lined eyes slightly jaundiced. I touch her abdomen and it ripples with unseen liquid under the skin. Her back is dry and flaking. She would appreciate a back rub and as I massage her she relates her last few incredible months.

"I had no idea, no pain. I was working and traveling and meeting with colleges just four months ago".

She shakes her head incredulously and glances back questioningly over her shrugged shoulder at me to see if I have an answer, can I maybe explain this incredible news. I cannot.

My patient is a college graduation planner. Can you imagine the energy, the stamina and the intellectual input such a job requires?

She travels up and down the east coast January to June, visiting colleges and planning with students and staff the details of their most important day. She arranges the speakers, the programs, the invitations, the huge tents and thousands of chairs and then she leaves them to their celebration and moves on to the next.

This amazing woman plans celebrations every year for thousands of young adults on the precipice of their lives. "And now", she tells me tiredly, (for her voice is getting weaker, she has drained her fifteen minutes of energy telling me her tale) "now I must make some plans for myself." Again she shrugs and smiles and asks me to fix her pillow and cover her feet.

"Let me rest sweetie, give me thirty minutes would you?" I turn off the lights and quietly pull the door shut as I leave her room deep in thought.

A few weeks later I hear from a classmate that 'my' patient has passed away. Before she died she planned one last celebration. From her hospital bed she arranged a good-bye party. Not a funeral, not a pity-party complete with dirges; but a time for her friends and family to come and have a few drinks together; a time for reminiscing and celebrating life. This to me was a calling to live life to the fullest every day. We hear this dictum often, but what does it really mean? Who really does it? We complain about the weather, about the traffic, homework, bills, our kids, our parents, and our myriad other obligations. We're so tired. We hate our jobs; do not want to do our chores, the shopping, or the wash. When we do this, we complain about life itself. How dare we!

A woman dying of inoperable cancer can love and laugh and look to the future. She had not one complaint. Not one bad thing to say about anyone or any thing. Every day when I wake up I think of my most memorable patient and promise myself that I will try to make myself more like her. I have to. She just might be watching me, especially on January 7th.

Student Ruminations

About NamasteNurse, BSN, RN

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