I’ve worked with nurses for eight years and heard clinical terms I don’t understand all too often. They tend to end in –itis or –osis or something else I don’t understand.
It often seems like they're using a foreing language I just don't quite comprehend.
I didn’t know what palliative care was until I started working there. It’s not a topic that comes up in many conversations. And when it does, most people just don’t want to talk about it.
Then, my dearest, closest friend in the world, Bucky, was diagnosed with cancer. The outlook was bleak from the beginning. The tumor was wrapped around his brain, stretching from his throat up and over, like a boa constrictor. Not the news I wanted to hear.
He went to MD Anderson and went through one round of radiation treatment.
He said “enough is enough.” Or something to that effect. He had to write things down because his tongue had swollen so badly that he couldn’t talk.
He died in hospice care.
Fast forward eight or so years, and I got a call from Shannon, my partner. He just said, “You need to call home.” I could tell he was on the verge of tears. Then he told me Daddy was in the hospital, and Mama didn’t sound real good.
Daddy had been diagnosed with liver failure a year or two before. He was waiting for a transplant and for him to be healthy enough to get one.
To this day, we don’t have any understanding of why his liver failed. It looks like a random event.
That said, I drove up to Tennessee with my older sister.
It took 15 hours, and by the time we got there, visiting hours had long come and gone.
We came back the next day.
He wasn’t doing well. He promised me that he would fight, if only for my sake.
Two days later, he died. surrounded by his wife, children, grandchildren, a brother and a sister, as well as a couple of in-laws.
We watched the heart monitor slow down to a flat line and then settle into a distracting alarm.
The nurse turned it off.
The hospital (Methodist University in Memphis) had assigned a palliative care nurse to us. I didn’t realize up until then that there was such an ANCC designation.
She made everything easier. As Daddy was making his way into the next world, we sang “In the Sweet By and By” and “Amazing Grace.”
She had already told us what to expect and made sure that our requests for the removal of live-support were honored.
I don’t know how that little short APN with palliative care credentials deals with death every day. My guess is that she has enough experiences with people who appreciate her to make it worthwhile.
I can’t imagine any other reason for anyone to make witnessing death a career.
But Daddy died in peace.
It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what happened.
And I thank God that it happened the way it did.
With me there to tell him “I’ll see you on the other side.”
And in a good bit, thanks to her.
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