You'd think I'd have learned my lesson after caring for my old friend in that same room and witnessing her inevitable decline and death, but nope---this one had me from "Hello". OOPS ....
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.....I went and lost my heart to yet another hospice patient.
Her name is Dottie, and she is 85 pounds of trouble dressed in a white satin nightgown and an ancient pair of fuzzy pink slippers. She came to our nursing home in early April for a five-day hospice respite, and for reasons known only to her, liked it so much there that she decided to stay put instead of returning to her own apartment. It's OK---she is quite literally a ray of sunshine---but we're still trying to figure out how a LTC facility could possibly be more appealing than one's own home, especially at a time of life when one needs familiar surroundings the most..........or so we believe.
In addition to a strong Christian faith, fastidious ways, and a dry wit that keeps us constantly in stitches, Dottie has kidney cancer, which has spread to her lungs and God knows where else. Ever the lady, she coughs bright-red blood into a Kleenex which is folded neatly into fourths for further use; she coughs again, folds again, and finally places the well-used tissue inside a basin which has been lined with plastic bags to facilitate easy disposal of the offending materials.
She puts her hair in rollers each evening before bed. She has a picture of Jesus on her nightstand and will tell you to move aside if you happen to be standing in between them. She has a stuffed leopard, Tigger, whom she talks to as if he were a real cat.....much to the amusement of well-intentioned social workers who mistake her sense of humor for dementia. And she honestly wonders why God hasn't come to take her home yet---"I was supposed to be dead by the end of March", she will tell you matter-of-factly. We joke about Him taking so long because He's adding on another couple of rooms to her mansion in Heaven, but I suspect it's because in her dying, she is teaching us how to live.
She tells me I am her favorite nurse. I still think she says that to all of the nurses who care for her---not that she needs much care, she is still VERY independent---but her daughter confirmed it one night last week when things were looking bad for her and we thought she was nearing the end. Then the other night, her college-age granddaughter gave me a huge hug as I was going off duty and said, "Now I know why you're Grandma's favorite!" So to say that I've bonded with these people is probably the understatement of the month; and while I still do my best to remain professional and objective, her passage will be one of the toughest I've ever had to endure. The selfish side of me fervently hopes another nurse will be present at that sad hour; but in my heart of hearts I pray I'll be the one to brush her hair and to wipe her brow for the final time. As someone much wiser than I once said: some people come into our lives and quickly go; others leave their footprints on our hearts, and we are never the same.
I don't know what awaits this good woman, or her family. I don't even know if I'll see her again on this side of the grave---she's in rough shape, and I'm off-duty for several days. But when I stopped by the other night to let Dottie and the family know that I was going to be off until Saturday, she grasped my hand and held on, looked at me with eyes that were suddenly clear of their drug- and pain-induced fog, and said, "I love you. I mean that."
I knew she did. And I meant it when I said "I love you, too". I don't say that to patients, but I say it to my friends all the time. And that, dear reader, is what I love so much about nursing. In spite of all the ugliness and the brokenness we see, every now and again we get to meet one of God's angels, cleverly disguised as a human being, who becomes more to us than just another patient.
