It's been quite some time since I've shared a blog post. It's not that I haven't had meaningful connections or stories to share, I've just been processing life and trying to make sense of it all.
I've sifted through some of my experiences the last few months and decided to share a story about a patient who had the most simple advice.
She was an elderly lady, in her late 80s and she was faced with a decision: Hospice.
She still had several living family members, most of who would visit her at bedside. She was still in her right mind, able to make medical decisions herself. She was loved in her community, with a history of giving back as much as possible. The sweetest, most vibrant and cheerful patient I've had in a very long time. She cracked jokes, kept a positive outlook and always, always smiled at me when I walked in the room.
Now some people think I'm crazy, but nursing is a give and receive profession. As nurses, we give ourselves...we give our care, compassion, sympathy, our time. But like I've always said, I receive just as much from my patients as I give to them.
Whenever I'm caring for someone at the end of life, I always muster up the courage to ask the tough questions. What do you regret? What can you teach me? What is your best and single most important piece of life advice? Surprisingly, my patients are always happy to answer these questions and I feel it creates a bond. A human bond. Something that reminds us both that outside of our age, outside of our life experiences, we are all the same.
So as the story goes, I asked her, " If you could give me one piece of advice for me to carry with me forever, what would it be?"
She smiled. She thought. She said,
"Sweetie. Don't just DO things. Do things because you want to, because they make you happy. All the rest will follow. Oh, and keep that smile."
I smiled back at her. Simple enough. After a few more words, I left the room, headed into the next.
Now, there's something to be said about advice. People can give it all day long, but if you don't see them following their own beliefs, the advice itself becomes less meaningful. It doesn't carry as much weight.
Fast forward, she was my patient the next day. I walked into the room, and she was her bright eyed self. However, her family had a different demeanor. The room seemed sad. Quiet. Stiff. And then a family member spoke out..."But if you continue with treatment, you could get better and get out of here."
My patient spoke instantly and without hesitation. "That's what you want. That's not what I want." And then she winked at me. The conversation ended right there. There was no argument, no fighting, no explanation.
It seemed so easy for her...to make decisions, literally life decisions, without being influenced by the pressures of society or what other people thought was best for her life. I've never felt so happy about someone deciding on hospice. However, she had demonstrated the advice she had given me the day before and I just knew she meant what she said and I just knew she was happy with the decision she had made...and that's all that mattered to me at that point.
"Don't just do things, do things because you want to and because they make you happy."
She left the hospital the next day to go on hospice but she never made it home before she passed. I went to her memorial a few days later and the room was so full of life. I couldn't help but think that maybe it's because she lived so open and truthful and because she truly tried to make decisions for 80 years that made her happy.
They say happy is contagious. That was made quite obvious at her memorial...and while I was sad the world lost such a kind and honest spirit, I was happy to have known her for even just a moment.
