Hospice Nurse as Travel Agent

I have been going through some of my old posts this week. I guess you may have noticed that. I was trying to decide which post I thought was most important, of which post was I most proud. I think it is the one comparing working as a hospice nurse to working as a travel agent.  I wrote it in January of 2012. Currently I am not working as a hospice nurse but I am so grateful for that experience. This post helps me remember some of my feelings about that work.

Anyway, the following post is the winner (I am the only judge and my blog was the only entrant) of my "best post" contest. 

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My Life as a Travel Agent

On a recent morning I was at work and as one of my patients was waiting for his death. I thought again about an idea that keeps popping into my head...the thought that I am now some sort of a travel agent, someone who's main job is to assist travelers as they prepare for a big, big trip.

My patient, thanks to good medications, was reaching a level of comfort.  He knew it was almost time for his departure.  His daughter was by his side.  She wasn't going with him but she wanted to wait with him until it was time for him to go.  She was sad because she knew she was going to miss him, but she was happy for him because she knew he was going somewhere very lovely and exciting.  Although she couldn't travel with him at this time, she expected to join him at a later date.  

Together, they waited and waited and waited.  It reminded me of a train station.  I don't think in terms of the grim reaper or anything like that.  I was thinking of an elegant train that was coming and he was the only passenger at our station who was waiting to board at that time.  The station seemed pretty empty to me, but our traveler reported there were "a lot of people" present.  Just because I did not see them does not mean they were not there.

Although this traveler was originally reluctant to make this trip, as the train approached, he was ready.  In fact, I think maybe his mother was already on that train, coming to escort him to his destination.  I think this because he thought he saw her; he was watching for her.

His daughter left the room for a few minutes.  It wasn't long before I saw the train coming, I could hear it, I could see it, I could almost feel the ground trembling... almost.  I stepped away from our traveler for just a few moments to summon her so she could hug him good-bye.   I knew it was important to her to be present when he climbed aboard.  I could see pain in her eyes but she smiled as she approached him and held his hand.  She did not try to stop him from going.  Her husband joined her for the send-off and they were ready to say good-bye.  When they reassured me they were prepared, I quietly left their side.

When I returned, the train was just pulling out from the station.  The traveler's daughter was crying and smiling at the same time.  Her husband held her close.  It was quiet.  It was peaceful.  We all felt we'd just been very close to something amazing, something we could not yet fully understand.  

Remembering Cordelia's Compassion

I've spent about the last hour going through some old posts. I kind of liked one I wrote about compassion.  Maybe you'd like to read it. Please click here.

Wasn't she just so cute!?

Just a few more days and then I will tell you what I'm celebrating!

Life's Interruptions

I have a big day coming up! 

I'm not going to tell you what it is just yet, but I will. 

In the meantime, I refer you to one of my early posts. In it I explained a bit more about how I came to name this blog what I did.  Click here for that post from February 2011.

Netflix and Googling

I was sick this past week-end. I started thinking maybe something was coming on Friday afternoon at work. By the time I arrived home, I knew I wasn't quite healthy. It was just a little virus or something, the usual achy muscles, sore throat and headache. It wasn't that big of a deal but I stayed home the whole week-end. I wasn't so sick that I couldn't have powered through but why share stuff like that with everyone else if you don't have to?

Saturday evening I was shopping around on Netflix for a series to start and I found Emily Owens, MD. I started watching it and liked it right away.The main character reminded me of someone, though. The more I watched her, the more she reminded me of a young Meryl Streep. She even sounded like her!

I don't know much about her personally but I have always admired Meryl Streep as an actress. I have always thought she was one of the best ever because she was so versatile.  The following clip demonstrates that point.




The more I watched Emily Owens, MD, the more I thought of Meryl Streep. Well, the great thing about the internet is that you can follow hunches like that. So, I researched and discovered that the main character's name is Mamie Gummer and she is indeed the daughter of Meryl Streep. I was kind of proud of myself. She may actually be her clone; I'm not sure. Google conjured up several photos for me. What do you think?

Look at their identical mouths!

Then, I stumbled upon these photos...

Mamie Gummer and Grace Gummer

Apparently Meryl has two clones.

It just so happens they are both actresses.

Then, I found this photo...

Mamie, Grace and Louisa Gummer

I am not certain that Louisa is an actress, but I'll bet she could be if she wanted to be.

Well, they also have a brother...

Henry Wolfe Gummer

Guest what!? He also acts as well as writes songs and sings.

Good grief! 

What a lot of artistic talent in one family!

I got curious about their Dad, then.

Don Gummer is a sculptor.

I guess that explains the double dosing of creative talent!

This is Don and Meryl in their younger years.

Here is a more recent photo of them.

They've done something right to be able to stay together after

all these years in the spotlight.

After reading more, even watching a couple of more YouTube clips, I came upon Sarah Heyward's blog post about her obession with the Gummers.  Apparently it is easy to get obsessed with this family.

Uuummmm.... maybe I've researched enough.

Photo credits: Thirdage.com, losangeles.cbslocal.com, picstopin.com, espahalfactos.com, zimbio.com, 123people.com, dataloune.com

All of Creation - Mercy Me

Letting My Heart Walk Off

Our middle child, Ben, lives far away. He and his wife, Sara, have a happy life. They both have useful work and exciting adventures. They have a nice home and their lives are good.  I like that our kids have the courage to follow their own paths.  I would want nothing less for them. They sent this photo when they were on one of their adventures.

Today, though, I'm just missing them. It must be time to plan a trip to see them.

I once read that to have a child was to agree to have a piece of your heart walk away from you. Isn't that just so true!? It starts shortly after they are born when a nurse walks off with your baby to weigh and measure and come up with all those vital statistics about them. After 9 months of being as together as it gets, even a few feet apart seems like too much.

When Ben was born, those first moments apart were frightening. He was born with the cord wrapped so tightly around his neck, they had to cut it before he could finish being born. My first glimpse of him scared me. He was pale, so very pale. He was quiet. I didn't think that could be a good thing. And he was quickly whisked off, out of my sight. There went a piece of my heart.

As the doctor quietly tended to business with me, she finally noticed that I was crying. When she asked me what was wrong, I thought she had lost her mind. I squeaked out something about my baby being dead. Really. After my glimpse of him, I thought he was dead. Swirling hormones may have confused my thinking but I thought that was why they'd whisked him away so fast. If I remember correctly, Mike had gone with the baby as well. I just remember an overwhelming sense of loss.

My sweet little doctor (really, she was like 4'11" or so) reached over and flipped a switch that worked an intercom to the nursery. Instantly, I heard a crying baby.... my crying baby! Apparently, all was well. He'd just had a few moments of catching his breath after having been strangled. It all turned out fine.

Their growing up years are full of such separations. I loved having my little kids with me. Whenever I had to drop them off at a daycare, I couldn't wait to get back to them. It just seemed wrong to be apart.

And Kindergarten! That was sooooo traumatic for me. The first time, I was totally unprepared. Mike asked me ahead of time if I'd cry when Maria went to school. She was so excited, I was sure I'd just be happy for her. Well, as it turned out, she got on a big yellow bus for her first day of school. It was as though a big yellow monster had swallowed her! I smiled and waved and then had to duck behind a nearby shed so she couldn't see me out of the bus window. I fell apart! When Ben went to kindergarten, more tears. By the time Sam started kindergarten, I knew to take Kleenex with me!

Fast forward to kids and college... that almost did me in! Maria was first. She was just going to be a few hours away from us. We drove her there, helped her move into her dorm room and then said our good-byes. The boys were with us and I was working hard to hold myself together for their sake. After leaving Maria's dorm room we went down to the building's main lobby, where I excused myself to go to the restroom. Once inside, I burst into tears! It was rather dramatic for sure. I'm more of a quiet weeper than a sobber, but not so that day. I just kept thinking that our family would never again be the same. I remember hiding in a stall trying to stop the noise when I heard a timid, "Mom?" It was Maria. She'd forgotten to tell me something. Busted!

It was even worse when Ben was in college. He'd only been there a few months when we moved several states away! That was a rough drive.  While it seems natural for a child to leave a parent, it felt bad to be the parent leaving a child. I think I arrived in Wyoming fairly dehydrated from all the crying.

You see, when you raise children you are always, ever so gradually, preparing them to be on their own. You dream for them to have wonderful adventures, to follow their own paths. With all that preparing them, though, I may have forgotten to prepare myself.

Sam, our youngest, is in college now. I didn't mind one bit that he chose to stay here in town to take his classes, but I know that it is likely we'll be separated by miles at some point. He, too, needs to follow his own path. That's what we want for all our children, right?

Seriously, though, my children will always be out there, walking off with a piece of my heart. As a matter of fact, the granddaughters do the same thing! It's not all bad, though. That means we can stay close, even when far apart.

Lost in Translation

Today at work we had a little patient who was Spanish-speaking only. I was getting my iTranslate app fired up on my phone but then found out the family had brought along their own translator. That worked out just fine but it reminded me of something funny that happened when I was a nursing student.

It happened during my clinical practice in pediatrics.  I was at a hospital in Las Cruces, New Mexico and my first patient was a six year old little boy. I don't even remember what he was admitted for but I remember that I was told he spoke no English. His mother was by his side all day but she also spoke no English. There was another boy in the room who was bilingual and eager to act as my translator. Since I had only one patient (remember, I was just a student), I was in that room quite a lot. Other than some awkward pointing and such, the communication was all through the other little boy in the room.

Until...

The second day I was there, the little translator helped me convince my patient's Mom that if she wanted to go down to the cafeteria or something, I would stay in her son's room until she returned. She trusted me enough to leave his side. The moment she left the room, though, her son turned to me and said, "Would you read a book to me?" Yes, I mean he actually said those words. The little translator in the other bed laughed and laughed at my shock.

I didn't understand this. The little guy begged that I not tell his mother. He didn't want her to know he could speak English. I tried to convince him that she would be thrilled but he was pretty insistent. So, I read a book to him and when his mother returned, we continued looking to the little boy in the other bed to translate. It was strange but oddly, kind of fun. Besides, I was bound by patient/nursing student confidentiality, right?

Later, I was talking about it to my supervisor and fellow students. One of the other student nurses, who happened to be Hispanic, shed some light on the situation. She explained to me that in her culture, it was considered extremely rude to show a parent that you knew something they did not know. In this case, the little boy was showing respect to his mother by not letting on that he knew something she did not yet know. The other student told me the mother likely already knew anyway.

So, what do you think? Wasn't that an interesting little lesson on cultural differences?

(You are invited to stop by Cinnamon Rose Cottage. She was kind enough to allow some free advertising for Wyoming Rose Boutique.)

About Sara

I've been writing this post in my head for several days. I just decided I wanted to tell you about a lady who was one of my first chemotherapy patients. She was also my dear friend.

When I first met Sara, I was working as the only nurse in a one-doctor office.  I'd not been giving chemotherapy very long. Sara likely was pretty frightened that first visit, but she didn't really show it. Her family was terrified. We all knew she was in for an ordeal.

Sara was a nurse. That was maybe our first connection. Our strongest connection, though, was our Christian Faith. We quickly formed a bond of mutual respect and friendship. I grew to love her dearly. I think I probably took care of her over about a 3 year period. Early on, while we were still in the solo doctor clinic, we had a lot of time visiting with just the two of us in the room. Later, when we merged with a larger clinic, other nurses sometimes did Sara's chemotherapy but I always thought of her as my patient.

Sara was kind and funny and quick-witted and musical and friendly and so much more. As grim as her situation became, she always had a joyful spirit. One winter she and her family were going on a trip to somewhere exotic. She wanted to make the most of the time she had, leave her family with beautiful memories. They were driving to Denver (about 4 hours away) to catch their flight. Unfortunately, they got caught in a snowstorm and were stuck in Cheyenne, WY for three days at a hotel. When they returned, rather than whine about the trip they didn't get to take, she laughed and told me all the fun they had while stuck in Cheyenne! That was the kind of person she was.

Sara always remained a nurse. Often, when she arrived, she "worked the room" before going to her treatment chair. She would smile and greet all the other patients. She was especially attentive to new patients. Her easy nature helped others relax. Sometimes she'd offer to get someone a blanket or something else she thought they might need. Like I said, she always remained a nurse.

As Sara's health got worse, she just got sweeter. She still always asked a lot about me and my family, told me stories about her's. Even after she no longer received chemo and was under the care of hospice nurses, she welcomed me into her home for visits. I was touched when I was shown that she had my photo on her refrigerator. It was sad to watch as her body started to shut down, but her spirit remained bright. As I watched her approach death, I wondered if I would be able to do so as graciously as did she.

On Halloween 2008, working at the oncology center,  we received the call near the end of the day. We were expecting this news. Sara was gone. I don't really remember how the day ended but I remember calling Mike just before I headed home, telling him of Sara's death. Of course, it was no surprise. Mike had met Sara but didn't know her well. He just knew that she was important to me.

When I arrived home that day Mike met me at the door. He didn't say a word; he just held open his arms for me. Although I had been trying to act brave, he knew I just needed to mourn.

Now, five years later, I still feel so grateful for the time I got to know that sweet lady. Sometimes when I am dealing with something difficult, particularly if it is related to my work as a nurse, I go to Sara's grave to sort it out.

Actually, just standing by Sara's grave, I can see tombstones with other familiar names, other patients I once treated. It is sad but also it makes me feel honored to have been a part of their lives when they were in need.

This is kind of a strange post. I don't have any tidy way to get to any particular point. Is this a post to remember a dear friend? Is this a post about how nurses handle grief? Is this a post about how blessed I am to have a good husband who held me as I cried? Is this a post about living each given day to the fullest?

The answer to each of those questions is, "Yes."

Feeling Appreciated

May is National Nurse's Month or something like that. At work we usually get gifts that are pretty cool. This past May we all received really cool backpacks, the kind for serious backpackers. We also received gift certificates for massages and other nice little gifts. I enjoy May. Mike didn't receive any gifts for National Nurse's Month.

October is/was Pastor Appreciation Month. Did you know that? Well, the congregations Mike has served have always done nice things for him. He receives gifts and cards that are really nice. But guess what!? So do I! When they express their appreciation for him as their pastor, they always include me as well. Isn't that sweet?

And who knew...they even make cards to show appreciation for Pastor's Wives!P

Thank you to Allen and Gwen for this pretty card.

Seriously, it was really sweet of you to do that for me and it meant a lot.

I do feel a bit guilty about it. I don't really do anything special as a Pastor's Wife. The things I do at church are things I'd want to do anyway, things that a lot of other people do as well. I think the only thing I do specifically as a pastor's wife is to just be there to take care of Mike so he can take care of his flock. That's my only job as a pastor's wife. But then again, that is what my job would be as his spouse no matter what he did in life. He does the same for me. I'll tell you a little story about that tomorrow.

In the meantime, maybe I should plan ahead to make a nurse's spouse appreciation card for him for next May.

To Be Purified

I John 1:9

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and 

just and will forgive us our sins and purify

us from all unrighteousness.

Feeling Blessed

The Butterfly and the Flower and Uncle Sam

Our first trick-or-treaters were the cutest!

Maria caught this sweet photo of their arrival at our house.

Notice that Elise is going for the leaf.

She often arrives carrying a leaf; they are one

of her favorite things.

What's cuter than a butterfly enjoying Smarties?

On a side note, when Sam was really little our friend Beth, who owned a grocery, often

gave him Smarties to enjoy while I shopped. He got to where he would start chanting for them by name as soon as we arrived at the store. The funny thing was, he couldn't yet say the "sm" sound but instead substituted the "f" sound.... Yep, I pushed a little 1 1/2 yr old around a store as he chanted, 

"Farties, Farties!"

I just thought you'd like to know that.

They were just as cute from the back side.

I love that little butterfly!

She was quite proud of her wings.

I don't know if Elise understood that she was a flower, but she certainly

understood that she was adorable.

See what I mean?

I got a good dimple shot.

Sam came up to take a look and got  sweet snuggles from the flower and the butterfly.

Be sure to check out Little Things are Big for some great photos!

Confessions of a Nurse - Knock, Knock

Who's There?

One thing nurses are taught to do is to knock. We knock a lot. All day long we are in and out of rooms with patients in them and we are to knock before entering. So, I knock and I knock and I knock...all day long.

Not too long ago I knocked before entering a room. It is just automatic for me. The weird thing was, I was at home and the room was our bedroom. Mike was inside. He just looked up at me as I entered and said, "Well, that's new."

This week I over-knocked yet again. I was in PACU (Post-Anesthesia Care Unit...formerly known as a recovery room) and as I was going from that unit out to the hallway, I knocked. No one answered. I'm not sure who, if anybody, saw me knocking before entering the hallway, but I burst out laughing at myself. I thought it might tickle you as well. 

If I made you smile, my mission is complete.

Handicap Accessible?

My sister, Tina, has always been physically handicapped. Because of that, I grew up being aware that there were places she just could not easily access. It is wonderful that now so many places have made their businesses more handicapped accessible. It has made life a lot easier for her and others for whom mobility is a challenge.

I'm thinking not everyone quite understands this whole accessible thing, though. As it turns out, just putting up a sign saying a place is accessible does not make it so. I don't want you to think I'm just some weirdo that takes photos in bathrooms but I did it once again. I couldn't help myself! 

This is the view coming out of the women's restroom. Down and to the right goes to the restaurant. The other step up leads to the men's restroom.  Either way, it is a small passage, around a corner and with two steps involved.

This is the sign on the bathroom door.

Duh?!

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