Walking Each Other Home

Tag: health

  • Waiting

    Lately, C.S. Lewis and I keep crossing paths. I think I have a journey reading his books in my future, but for now I see his quotes. Today, my husband and I were getting blood work done. Planning ahead, we had gotten two specimen containers last visit, so we were even prepared in that area too. Sometimes it’s hard to force a specimen if you’ve been fasting. Which we were. So in we go to the lab. The waiting room was FULL. We registered and took a seat. Jim was balancing our “specimens” on his lap. I was across the room. Young, old, able, infirm we waited…silently.

    C.S. Lewis wrote, “I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless He sees that it is food for him to wait.” And wait we did. Initially, the waiting room was exceptionally quiet. No one really looked at each other. No one spoke. A man in his thirties offered my husband a seat. Jim said, “thanks, but I’m still pretty young and I can stand.” I joked, “Yes, he’s younger than the new Pope!” Some laughter. Enough to give me license to now engage. The door opens and someone with an appointment comes in and the lab tech yells, “Mrs. So and So with an appointment.” An appointment! How’d she do that! Why didn’t I do that? In she went and the rest of us continued our wait. The door opened again and in came a mom with a carriage and a little one. Two women who’d been there for a while commented on the bench they shared.

    As we waited, we began to develop a comradery. A woman in a chair offered to switch seats with the bench lady. Discussion about coffee began. When someone was called, the group gave a cheer. We were moving! Yay!! The group began to good naturedly tease the appointments. The kids played right outside of the door, and as children were, they were a bit noisy. No one seemed to bother. My husband, Jim, commented that our specimens might have evaporated, much to the laughter of the room.

    Finally, we were called. Elizabeth was pleasant and smiling. Elizabeth was working all by herself. Her coworker had called out sick, so she had to register the patients and draw the specimens. Wow, and that room just kept filling up. But as I thought about our wait, I thought about a group of strangers who slowly bonded in patience and humor. Who began to support and care for each other. And Elizabeth who masterfully managed us all with kindness and efficiency. What a lesson to learn on a Monday morning.

    We often hit forks in the road where we can choose to move forward in anger and frustration. Or we can choose to see strangers as people. We can choose humor and kindness. Today, after fasting for bloodwork, God gave us the food of kinship and shared experience. What a great breakfast! What a gift!

  • Humble

    Sometimes, just when you think you are doing well, you get a little humbling shove from God. I remember as a child taking ice skating lessons. I was clinging to the instructor so I wouldn’t fall. As I gained more confidence, I let go and looked for my friend yelling “Look at me!” And my feet lifted off the ice and BAMM! Down I went.

    As a hospice nurse and director, I had many humbling experiences. Some funny, some not. Working as a home hospice nurse, I had an orientee with me. She was orienting to on call, and we were called out at 2 am to put a new IV in a young woman waiting for a heart lung transplant. She required medication and could not go without it. We met at the residence and went in, speaking to the patient and family and finally were able to locate a vein and start an IV. And it was a hard IV. We ended up finding a vein in her thumb. I was really impressed with myself!! As we were leaving, I said my goodbyes and opened the door to leave. The orientee too said her goodbyes and walked out behind me closing the door. At that moment, I realized we’d walked into and closed the closet door, not the apartment door!! Sheepishly we opened the door, enjoyed our laugh and left!! Great orientation!!

    A favorite patient of mine was an Irish gentleman. I loved visiting him. Except he had a bird. A parakeet who flew freely. And the parakeet would always head for my head when I went in. He was trying to land. I was trying to duck!! I took to putting a throw pillow on my head when I visited. Didn’t do much but give the patient a good laugh. One day on my way to visit I saw a craft store and went in and bought a fake bird with a wire. I wired it onto the corner of my glasses and walked in the home like nothing was different. No flying bird, but a crying hysterically patient. Sometimes we let down our pride!

    But I remember less funny humble moments. I was diagnosed with macular degeneration over 20 years ago and recently, was noticing changes in my depth perception. In the meantime, several members of our hospice staff had developed COVID. Staffing was challenged and I volunteered to help out 3-11 in the hospice inpatient unit. I offered to do whatever the nurse wanted me to do to help her. She sent me to deliver eye drops to a patient who was not responsive and whose eyes were dry. We needed to provide drops to help her comfort. As I was preparing to administer the drops, my central vision could not determine exactly where to drop the liquid. Drops spilled onto the patient’s cheek and in her eye, thank goodness. Minutes later, the nurse asked me to flush an IV and my central vision didn’t allow me the coordination to connect each end. I asked the person I came to help, to help me. It is humbling to admit you cannot do something you’ve done time and time again. The nurse was kind. “Thank you for coming in. I’ll take the things that need hand to eye coordination. Just you being here makes me thankful.” Of course, the story spread. We could laugh, but no one ever let me give them an injection again!!

    In the early 1990s as AIDs was becoming more common place, we still were not entirely sure of transmission. I always believed myself fearless. I’d always do anything I’d ask my staff to do. I also knew that providing hospice care carried an emotional drain on people. So often they’d come in to chat or laugh or just be heard. One day one of my nurses ran into my office, threw his arms around my neck and began to sob, uncontrollably. He told me he’d been diagnosed as HIV+. His tears were running down my arm, and for a brief second, I thought “Oh, no! Would I get AIDs? ” I knew not, but I still thought…Humbling. Enlightening.

    To say the least I’ve been humbled so far this year with illness and its burdens. I’ve learned though, that becoming humble allows for introspection and grace. Humility lets others help me and hopefully learn from that. Humility says let go. Laugh, cry, learn. It’s all good.

    Humility helps me to surrender to something greater.

  • Lessons in Healthcare

    Yesterday I had lunch with a friend of mine. I met her on my first day of work as a nurse in June 1978. I was a scared new graduate nurse working at Hahnemann Hospital. We wore starched white uniforms, white stockings and the clinic shoe. If you know, you know. My friend was already out of school two years when I graduated, and I thought she was so smart and good! And she was. And is. A great teacher.

    We became not only workmates, but friends. We had work adventures and non-work adventures. We were in each other’s weddings and then as happens lost constant touch with each other. She had kids, I didn’t. She stopped working full time and I didn’t. But always a bond! I knew her life had some bumps lately. Like mine.

    So oxygen in tow, off to my friend’s house for lunch. As I walked in her door, a hospital bed was to my immediate left. Lying contently in bed but not interacting was her husband. Over five years ago he’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. For five years she’s cared for him. The last year he’s been bedbound. My friend said the hospice nurse for her husband told her she’s giving him wonderful care. She said, “I’m a nurse!’

    We spent the afternoon reminiscing about the “good old days of healthcare.” Before AIDs, before COVID. Before pumps. Counting IV drops by hand; mixing our own IV meds; mixing our own peritoneal dialysis solution. Caseloads anywhere from 14 to 25 patients. I worked the permanent 3-11 shift. Get report, assess your patients, introduce yourself. Do your medication rounds. Frequent check-ins and a backrub offered. Always. And I thought about my recent hospital stay.

    Laying in the bed, the door opened and a machine wheeled in. With two feet behind it. A human popped out from behind with a scan gun. “Hello, I’m your nurse. Can I scan your wristband? Name and date of birth please.” Wow, hello to you too! In fairness, many staff are not as seasoned. I was looking for connection. For eye contact. For that reassurance and care. What found was the technology of progress. All charts correct. All i’s dotted and t’s crossed. What I didn’t see was the human contact I was hoping for. And I became frightened for our futures. Who will care for us? How will they care for us? As we adjust to technology and robots and AI, let’s not forget being human. May we all walk this road a little more aware and a little more compassionately. Like my friend.

    For she’s never lost her touch, her compassion. She is selflessly caring for her husband. What a great example. She’s still teaching me. Teaching me how to walk each other home.