Dad's Final Gift

CalNevaMimi, LPN, LVN

It was not a difficult decision to pursue a career in nursing when my first career came to an abrupt halt. I had been an elementary school teacher for six years, enduring two layoffs and finally a school closure. None of the schools had any sort of medical staff. My nurturing character and lack of aversion to bodily fluids gave me the qualities necessary to handle the non-emergencies of five to twelve-year-olds. Consequently, at age forty, I found myself sitting in a class of future nurses, most of whom were almost half my age. Little did I know that the most difficult challenge was yet to come.

It was summer. I was half-way through my nursing program. One day I came home and my husband told me that my mom called and the news was bad: Dad's got terminal lung cancer.

I started the grieving process from the moment I heard the news. Nursing school had already given me some insight on the horror Dad would experience with this dreadful disease. The grim thought of him basically drowning in his own tumors and fluids was horrendous.

The impending pain I knew Dad would feel bothered me the most.

I felt helpless at first, but then decided to less selfish; my feelings would need to wait. I needed to be strong and practical for my parents because they would need it. I would be there for my mom, who would have many questions regarding medication, side effects, what to expect, and how she would help with pain.

Dad was accepting of his fate and opted for no intervention. He would be under hospice care at home when the time came.

The day after I heard the news about Dad's cancer, I went back to class and braced myself for the lecture: Death and Dying. Really. I left the classroom twice in tears.

How was I going to make it through the future lecture on lung cancer, with the color Power Point which would no doubt have pictures of tumors?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I decided to work as hard as possible in spite of cancer and to honor my dad's bravery. Somehow, I wanted the experience to make me a better nurse. There were more tearful trips out of the classroom for me in the following months, but I accepted them as a part of the grieving process.

During clinical days at long term care facilities I gave care to many elderly residents who were probably someone's mother or father. I treated my patients the way I would want my dad treated. I held many hands and listened to several life stories. I sat by a dying woman's bedside and talked to her as if she could hear me.

I learned to accept death as a part of life. Some of my fellow classmates were undoubtedly better at procedures than I was, but I felt as if I had an insight that could not simply be taught. This insight would be Dad's final gift to me.

Dad never spent a dying night in the hospital. Thanks to hospice nurses, who are angels in disguise, and my amazing mom, Dad was able to live out his last days at home. Those days were spent visiting with family overflowing with love and laughter. Dad was so proud of me when I graduated from nursing school first in my class in academics. He was proud of me when I passed the NCLEX two months later. He was proud of me when my license arrived in the mail. Two days later, I was proud to be the daughter of such a brave man when he died.

I have heard people say, "When God closes a door, He opens a window."

Yes. In my case, that is very true.

A few weeks after Dad passed away, I had my first nursing interview for a school nurse position. They hired me on the spot. Thanks, Dad, for the inspiration, insight, and renewal of faith that anything is possible.

Dad's Final Gift

About CalNevaMimi, LPN, LVN

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