I don't even remember when I started writing or even remember when I stopped. I am writing this just to make sure I won't forget. I never intended to be a nurse, not at all but as fate would want to play it I became one. Time flies,it surely does. I have been through numerous med pass, cleansed a lot of wounds, dealt with gore (not really), literally piled up with physician order sheets.
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If only I could account them probably my list would stretch a mile or two. When I was a student, I had a perception that right after graduation I will be raking dollars in my backyard but to get to where I am right now, a lot of things were done, some of those I need to work hard for, some were given to me easily. Please don't get me wrong, I don't have any room for complaints. I just want to reminisce and justify that where I am now is right where I belong, and this leads me to my story.
I was a floater for almost 2 years. I would never mind putting an old patient into a shroud bag. My perception was either way these geriatric residents of mine will join their Creator peacefully. I will always carry a poker face once a nursing assistant call me and say that Mrs.Jones or Mr.Smith just decided not to open their eyes and respond one day. I will automatically pull my not so reliable automated vital signs machine named Rosie, while I page overhead that there is a Code Blue. One will get the crash cart, I will be barking orders to get me an oxygen tank in which case one will go to other floors just to get me a face mask or a humidifier bottle. Calling a code is synonymous to getting an army. Somebody is calling 911. One is preparing the crash cart, another is prepping for CPR. The cycle goes and most of the time, our not so favorite bag will be out from central supply. Social worker comes in. I feel bad for them sometimes having to break the news to families. My tear ducts stopped working for quite sometime. For someone like me who practically cries for anything, it is very unusual not being able to cry when I am required to. I will always rationalize it. The reason why is because I was a floater.
In a nursing home setting, making the residents feel that they are "AT HOME" is one thing I took seriously. For me, it was like adopting grandparents, trying my very best to help them. Basically, I was able to memorize each and every color of their pills, how and when they want to take them. There are times most of them are like toddlers throwing tantrums. Some of them with progressing dementia, already forgetful and with periods of confusion, sliding and falling elsewhere.
I cried the other day while in the bathroom of one of my residents. I have to run quickly by the sink and wipe my tears because I don't want him to feel that I pity him. I saw him in a sorry state of trying to feed himself with lunch. I don't want to offend him by taking the spoon altogether and just shove the food into his mouth, with just a couple of days in the hospital, he was emaciated. His faculties were still intact, he knows that it's me his "muneca " (doll in Spanish). He almost cannot see anything due to his ptosis, everything he sees was double. His blood pressure without notice shoots up. He has difficulty swallowing and in a couple of days. I know his swallowing reflex will be absent. He keeps on saying "TE QUIERO.." Knowing him, he will never give into having a feeding tube to sustain him hence his advance directives.In my broken Spanish, I was trying to communicate to him that he should never stand up by himself, try to call someone if he needs to go to the bathroom because he might break a hip. I know at that time he was not receptive to that. Sooner, he will be more depress and will be wishing that He be taken away instead. I am positive that I responded and said "TE QUIERO" too.
He was my Captain, he stands tall with his hearty laughs and becomes upset when he doesn't have a Lactaid milk in his tray. He always goes to his room after lunch, taking a nap while listening to classical music. He was the one who gives me two pieces of Hershey's nuggets in exchange for the three pills he was getting during the morning. I bid him goodbye that afternoon and told him I will visit him the next day. Before I went, he struggled his way back to his wheelchair and went to his ref. He pulled out something and opened a bag of Hershey's Nuggets, I told him to give me just two pieces only because he's making me "gordo" (Spanish word for fat) already and he can just give me the next day when I visit him again. It was a Thursday and I know somehow that he is soon going back to the hospital or worse he might be in that dreaded bag instead.
Last night, I received a call, it was my friend and workmate, she wants to give me a bag of chocolates from a patient. It was from him. He said to give it to "PEANUT". I can't help it but I started to cry again. Maybe it was him saying goodbye already. Maybe he wants to leave a piece of him so I could not just forget his face like the many other wrinkled faces in the nursing home. And maybe he was sending a message that to eat chocolates I will be able to last the entire day with something to smile about.
I never had the chance to know who he really was. I just wanted to remember him as the Captain I always salute to, the one who must be in so much pain but still manage to say "I'm good." whenever I ask even if it's obvious that he is not. He was ambulatory the other day and can not even open his eyes the next, a constant reminder of how life always takes us by surprise.
Most veteran nurses will advise a neophyte like me to play in the grounds of the hospital, to acquire more clinical skills and learn what nursing is all about. It might be suggestive of saying you could rake more dollars out there. But none the less, I think my heart desires to settle here right now,
...with the elderly with hearts that never grow old.
