Mr. ****

I wish I could just type his name as the title of my post, but HIPAA says I can't. But I want to because people like him deserve to be recognized. 

I've been caring for him for over a month now. And although he hasn't been my patient throughout the entire duration of his time spent at GSMC, he has been on my mind and heart since the day he was admitted. 

As nurses, we care for all of our patients. But what no one tells you is there will be certain ones, for whatever reason, that really grab hold of you.

They inspire you, and teach you, and in their own special way, fill up an empty space inside of you.  I've written many posts, specifically dedicated to certain patients.  They consist of lessons and things I've learned through my experiences with them.  But even so, "He" has been different.  Maybe it's because he stayed a lot longer than  average, but I think it had a lot more to do than that. 

Maybe it's because I know he spent several years in the Air Force, delivering newspapers in Massachusetts. Maybe it's because I know the name of his wife and all his children...even his oldest son, that took his name, who passed away years ago.  Or the fact that he named his dog "POD."..because he found him outside the post office and called him "poor old dog" until he finally decided to take him home and then "POD" stood for "post office dog." 

Maybe it's because his wife brought in old family photos, in frames, and showed me their 62 years of a beautiful marriage together. (62 years this Saturday) Or that she sat at his bedside every single day, helping him bathe, and eat. Maybe it's because every morning before she got there he would ask, "where is my bride?" 

It could be that he, despite his deteriorating health, maintained his sense of humor.  I asked him one afternoon, "how are you feeling?" And he responded..."well, just as good as I did when I was 28, but just a little bit older." (I'm 28). Or the day I had to give him a soap suds enema and I asked, "how ya doing?" And his response was..."well, I've been a hell of a lot better, but I'm doing alright considering."

Maybe it's because I know he used to love duck hunting but never understood Canadian geese or that he could eat bananas all day, every day. 

Even today, after he told his wife that he didn't think he was going to make it, I asked him what he wanted his daily goal to be... He said, "Just get on my feet, I just want to get on my feet." 

Truth is, he left the hospital today, and he most likely isn't going to get better. And as selfish as it sounds, I just wanted to keep him at GSMC because the thought of coming back to work and him not being there is a loss for me.  

I loved his smile when I walked into his room. I loved the big hugs I received from his wife every morning, and the wave down the hall I got from his son.   I loved his positive spirit and sarcasm.  

As we wheeled him out today, I couldn't help but feel sorry for everyone who never got the chance to know him or his sweet family. 

What no one tells you is that sometimes...sometimes your patients help you more than you help them. 

To Die Alone and Happy

A patient of mine, a few weeks ago, inspired me to me think about whether or not it is possible to die both alone and happy. More so, she forced me to think about whether or not I let the love, or lack of love, I receive from others define me. 

She was alone, but was she okay and content in the last quiet moments she held with only herself? Did she need someone there to validate the life she lived? Did she need reassurance that she was important and worthy and loved? If she did, there wasn't anyone there to do it...except the medical staff, complete strangers. 

And isn't that what we all want? To be important to someone, to be loved by the people we love, to have meaningful friendships/relationships with others? 

And it hurts when we realize we cannot force nor demand love. It hurts when the people who you think are supposed to care, don't.  When the people you hold closest to your heart, hardly acknowledge your existence.

I've experienced this many times, starting with my biological mother. Emotions regarding that non-existent relationship continued on and poured into other faucets of my life.  And those emotions are vicious cycle, especially if you feed the insecurities and the chronic self doubt while constantly desiring the love of someone else to define your worth.  It can eat you alive. It can literally destroy you. 

My patient died the next day. I was left wondering for days, and even now, about whether or not she was content in her own skin and comfortable enough with herself to die alone. Its not ideal to think about laying in a hospital bed, staring at white walls, listening to the occasional beeping of an IV pump while you die but did she "need" someone there? Did she need the presence of another being in order to feel at peace? To feel loved?

Maybe she didn't have friends or family in the area. Maybe they were too busy. 

My hope for her, and what I would like to believe is that she was okay... That she was at peace with the person she had become over her lifetime.  I hope that she was so comfortable with herself and confident in her character that being alone didn't make her feel any less cared for, less loved or less of a human. 

And while love is one of the greatest emotions we will ever feel, give and receive, the reality of death is that even with the physical presence of others, we all die alone. 

I plan to start living in such a way that the approval, reassurance, and love of others does not define me. That my value does not decrease just because others may not recognize it. 

Loving yourself is what I think it means to die happy.  Because in the end, we are alone... and if we don't love ourselves, the love we receive from others becomes meaningless.