Well working in a nursing home has its definite ups and downs. This past week or two has been full of downs. Of course working with the elderly and sick, I see many patients pass away. Usually, however, those residents that die are not currently on therapy caseload. They have been discharged due to hospice/worsening illness or go to the hospital and never come back. So in some ways, I remain removed from the situation. I never actually face it head on, until last week... A patient of mine (Mrs. H.) whom I had become close with actually had a massive heart attack and died while in my room, just the two of us. For the first few days, it was somewhat traumatic reliving the experience. We had just finished our 45 minute therapy session, she was laughing, talking and within one instant, she collapsed. Despite all the nurses and wonderful care we provided, she didn't make it. Although I have experienced death around me, never so close, so sudden. Compounding on this a day later, a vibrant patient (Mr. L.) who was returning home in a couple of weeks to live independently suddenly passed away with a blood clot only a couple of hours after our session. Wow. 4 years of working and never a week like this I thought. How can I keep this up? Then after much reflection and prayers, I began to look at the situation differently. How blessed I was to be with Mrs. H. in her final moments on earth. Despite initial depression and sadness about being in a nursing home, she had begun to find peace in her final days and was very happy. We were eating ice cream and laughing her final few minutes on Earth. It's almost as if she knew... she was content with her life and ready to go. During my final session with Mr. L. the day after Mrs. H died, he began to cry, out of the blue, about how he missed his wife and his two sons who had preceded him in death... Did he too know on some level it was his time? He began to tell me that "you never know what an impact your life will have on others." He reminisced about his youthful days as a WWII soldier in Japan. After the US had bombed a village, a Japanese woman came out of her home with her skin literally falling off her body from the burns. She had no clothes on. Through sign language, she asked him to shoot her (to relieve her from her misery). Mr. L refused to shoot her. He couldn't do it. He wanted her to survive if possible. He rushed her to a medic, and she eventually made it to the hospital and did survive. On his last few moments on earth, Mr. L stated "I always wondered if my decision to not shoot her made a difference in the world." Here is someone who couldn't remember what he had for lunch but could vividly see this Japanese woman in his memory and wondered what had happened to her. Did she go on to do great things? Raise wonderful children? Because of his decision not to shoot her despite her begging. He ended our last conversation together with, "Maybe one day I'll finally see her again." Did he know that only a few hours later he would be seeing her again? So the moral of this story is... this week, although difficult, has really served as a blessing. I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to spend quality time with these patients in their final days. I learn so much every day. Life is really precious and can be over in an instant. It really makes you appreciative of everything. Well, you are probably wondering what Whiskey has to do with all of this. Yes he is alive, but only after quite a scare and $400 of medical bills! A trip to the emergency vet in the middle of the night followed by two consecutive vet appointments discovered not much of any explanation of his terrible illness--unable to walk, not eating or drinking, hiding under the bed, and severe fatigue. The good news is his week of illness has finally come to an end.
Thanks for reading this. I hope it has inspired you to live every moment. I am the worst about looking to the future but through prayer am hoping to live more in the present.
