Chaotic

My mind is everywhere today. I've found it hard to focus on anything. I had an emotional night at work last night working with a favorite patient that is dying and her family that I've  come to love. This dear, sweet lady is 92 years old. She has breast cancer that they've chosen not to treat. She is now in atrial fibrillation which is causing  renal failure. They can't treat her with Heparin (standard treatment for A-fib) because she has a GI bleed. This little lady is like the LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULD, she just simply refuses to give up the  fight. She is completely alert and oriented. Still trying to be the strong mother and grandmother that she's always been. Her only child is a son. To watch this man with his mother is a true blessing. He absolutely adores her, as she does him. They are so comfortable with each other. His children, all daughters are beautiful girls with the most loving hearts. Her son, in a moment of sadness, outside of her room last night asked me to tell him the truth. He asked me point blank, "Is Mom going to die tonight?" I get asked this question so many times. If only we knew. He has accepted that his mother is dying. He doesn't want her to suffer. And yet, in his eyes, I see a glimpse of the little boy he once was and he can't bear the thought of losing his mother. I told him that death didn't seem to be imminent at that time, but we can never say for certain. He broke down, and my heart absolutely broke in a million pieces for him, this devoted son, strong father and proud grandfather. He said to me in that moment, "I don't know how you all do it, watch people die all the time." Through my own tears, I squeezed his hand back and said, simply, "To share someone's dying moment is a gift."

I'm not sure if he understood what I meant, but I think he did. He didn't ask me to explain it. I've  had many people ask me a similar question many times. My own son, Patrick often wonders out loud how I can stand it. My answer is always the same. "It's a gift to share that moment with a dying person". I don't know exactly how to explain it. I know that I've experienced it many times now and I always feel grateful that I've been there. Truly grateful that I could offer some comfort to the families, often times without a single word being spoken. But mostly, I'm thankful for the privilege of being in the room  at the moment of death, that time when the soul leaves the body. I can literally feel the presence of angels, many of them, unseen, unheard, but oh so present at that moment of death.  It can't be explained, it can only be felt. The dying give you gifts of the soul that no one else can give you. Please don't misunderstand what I'm saying here. I don't look forward to people dying. Rather, I don't fear it. I know a lot of people run from it. There are nurses that I work with that absolutely hate it, and they will purposely stay out of a room when they know that death is moments away. I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for the families that need a silent, comforting hand on their shoulder, a reassuring presence in the room. I feel sorry for these nurses because they cheat themselves out of an experience  where the art of our profession becomes more important than the science of it.

There are many times that a patient dies completely alone in a room. No family by the bedside, no nurse to hold their hand. This makes me so sad. No one should have to die alone. No one.

I hated to leave work last night. In fact I stayed for an extra hour. I know that the night shift nurse I reported off to is a very compassionate and loving nurse and I knew that if something were to happen last night that they were in good hands. I didn't want to leave for my own selfish reasons. I have come to love this dear lady. I have taken care of her so many times that she has come to feel like my own family. I gave the night shift nurse my phone number and asked her to call me if she thought her death was imminent. She promised she would call. No call came. I called the nurses station today and she will still alive. I am off again tomorrow and won't be back in until Friday night. I've requested to have her as my patient again on Friday.

I guess I'm not finished learning from this dear soul. Last night, as sick as she was she told me how to make tomato gravy. She asked about my little boy. She is so present. So dear. I am not anxious for her death, no, not at all. It's just that I've shared in her love and been blessed by her loving spirit. I want to be there when the angels come for her.