We had several patients with birthdays this week. I missed the 102nd!! birthday party of one patient, but I was part of celebrations for two other patients. They were special moments, reminding us that the work we do is about life and the celebration of life. And cake.
One patient was impatient. There was too much talk, and too much time waiting for everyone to get there to sing "Happy Birthday." You shouldn't have to wait for cake. So a finger reached out and swiped off a finger-full of frosting. It doesn't matter whether you're 3 or 83 - a birthday is about the cake and the frosting (and "all the pretty girls" surrounding you.)
Our second patient was having a bad day, not in any physical pain, but in bed, kind of gloomy. The room was dim and there weren't a lot of personal belongings brightening up the space. But when we came in with a big chocolate cake and announced we were there to celebrate the birthday, we got a smile. As we sang "Happy Birthday" and applauded, our patient glowed and gave us a big smile. One bite of the cake was enough, so we left the rest of the piece by the bedside "for later."
It was a good day. There was cake and frosting; singing and celebration. And two people were reminded that they have not been forgotten, that we can still celebrate and sing and laugh together as we give thanks for the blessing of time . . . and for one more piece of cake!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
TGIN (Thank God it's November!)
Was it the changing weather? The cold? The increasing hours of darkness? Was it just something that happens now and again?
I don't know what it was, but I know that in October we had death after death after death. I think that last month we had the most deaths in a single month in the three+ years I've been doing hospice work. I've had some people say: "You're doing hospice work. What did you expect?"
I know that most of my patients will die. I also know that some of them will plateau or improve and come off of hospice services. I'm used to that. I'm not used to days when 3 or 4 people die, followed by days when 2 people die, followed by days when 2 more people die. I'm not used to day after day of trying to figure out which dying patient, or which family, is more in need of my presence and support.
Hospice staff juggle lots of tasks, but sometimes information sessions, new patient assessments, and dying patients require too many balls in the air. Invariably one or another gets dropped and bounces until we are able to scoop it up and toss it back in the air.
As I look back at October, I'm not sure which makes me sadder - the deaths of patients who came on hospice service and died in a few days, patients whose names I barely remember; or the deaths of long-term patients, patients whom I got to know well, patients whose family members I know, at least as voices on the other end of the phone line. All I know is that there were too many of them.
And I'm grateful that in the midst of all this loss, I took time to take care of myself. I can't imagine what the month would have been like without healthy food, exercise, educational opportunities, time with family and colleagues, and enough sleep. I'm grateful that October also was filled with bright days with sunlight sparkling off orange, red, gold and green leaves and vivid blue skies. The crisp air, cider donuts, and time driving in the car between patients were moments of rejuvenation in a month that was altogether too dispiriting.
I don't know what it was, but I know that in October we had death after death after death. I think that last month we had the most deaths in a single month in the three+ years I've been doing hospice work. I've had some people say: "You're doing hospice work. What did you expect?"
I know that most of my patients will die. I also know that some of them will plateau or improve and come off of hospice services. I'm used to that. I'm not used to days when 3 or 4 people die, followed by days when 2 people die, followed by days when 2 more people die. I'm not used to day after day of trying to figure out which dying patient, or which family, is more in need of my presence and support.
Hospice staff juggle lots of tasks, but sometimes information sessions, new patient assessments, and dying patients require too many balls in the air. Invariably one or another gets dropped and bounces until we are able to scoop it up and toss it back in the air.
As I look back at October, I'm not sure which makes me sadder - the deaths of patients who came on hospice service and died in a few days, patients whose names I barely remember; or the deaths of long-term patients, patients whom I got to know well, patients whose family members I know, at least as voices on the other end of the phone line. All I know is that there were too many of them.
And I'm grateful that in the midst of all this loss, I took time to take care of myself. I can't imagine what the month would have been like without healthy food, exercise, educational opportunities, time with family and colleagues, and enough sleep. I'm grateful that October also was filled with bright days with sunlight sparkling off orange, red, gold and green leaves and vivid blue skies. The crisp air, cider donuts, and time driving in the car between patients were moments of rejuvenation in a month that was altogether too dispiriting.
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