One day you get a terminal diagnosis, like Mr. X. Madge, our NP, briefs the staff by saying, "Mr. X. may complain of a sudden pain and that will be it." Lots of people are worried, about you, but we do a pretty good job of bluffing sometimes.
You finally realize that maybe you should go to hospice, because, even though your siblings love you, they just don't know if they can take losing you by themselves at home. As usual, for some people, the Hotel becomes their home for many reasons, as it did for Mr. X.
Our docs get ready to send you to the hospice unit. You say you're okay with that and wheel around in your chair. Your relatives come and even bring your little dog, Fido, who's missed you ever since you've been gone on this odyssey of one life-threatening event after another.
That day, your sister comes for lunch and brings you the biggest burger from Burgers-R-Us nearby, which you tell us are the best ever (just like the sign out front says) and you eat your lunch out on the patio.You go to bed, telling staff you're happy, after a wonderful, sunny day.
Early the next morning, Sasha, the night nurse, finds you. Unresponsive. Gone. She wept and wept. It was her first death on the unit.
She wept for all of us.
We'll miss you, Mr. X., your family and your little dog, too. Godspeed...
1 comment:
Your fabulous writing takes me back to 1976 and my first death of a patient. His name stays with me still, as does the chocolate shake he drank while we did intake. Thank you, Rehab RN for your blog and the memories it evokes for me and others.
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