Every now and then my job really gets to me. It is always heart tendering to comfort someone at the end of their lives and their families but some of my patients get under my skin more than others.
Last weekend I cared for two families that touched me, whose experience stayed with me long after I went home at the end of my shift. They were both Hispanic families, big families. The love they had for the person fading away was so clear and bright one almost had to shade their eyes from it. They were not only immensely supportive of their loved one, but of each other. It was a lovely thing to watch and I was honored to be a part of that.
Almost unconditionally, by the time someone has chosen to enter Hospice, they have come to terms with their mortality and are ready to travel that road. Not always so for their families. I have had only one patient in nearly 2 years that has expressed fear of dying, but I have had a family nearly every day that is struggling to find peace with the end of a loved ones life. I, of course, completely understand this and do my very best to give them the support and comfort they need to both accept the inevitable and find the courage to move on. This is the hardest part of my job. Because even now I have days where I struggle with dad's loss, the desire for one more day, or hour, to say what I want to say.
That is the grace of hospice. We strive to allow people to stop focusing on the disease and start focusing on the person. It is a chance for a daughter to stop nursing her mother and just be her beloved little girl, for a son to let go of past troubles with their father and hold his hand in quiet understanding. It is a peaceful time for most, believe it or not, and I have been honored to witness many a "good death".
One of the families that touched me last weekend put up old pictures of the patient all over the room: his wedding, standing in his armed services uniform, laying in a raft in a pool. They had a slideshow set up on their laptop of this person holding his babies and cradling his grandchildren. His death became a celebration of his life. It is the way we should all be lucky enough to go.
I have told people this before but I'll put it here for posterity. I used to be one of those people afraid of dying. It is a natural thing, the living are hungry for life. But when my time comes I want to find peace in the surrounding of those I love, and I want them to find peace in knowing I have had a truly blessed life and am only sorry to leave them behind, not afraid of the next journey. I wish to be cremated and buried so the kids have a place to go if they need that sort of thing. I want "The Circle of Life" (from Disney's The Lion King) played exhuberantly at my funeral. And I want everyone to know that I wouldn't have changed a thing. I am lucky, and I know it.
My patients are ready to pass onto something new. I am more there for their loved ones, because letting go is hard. I should know. I've been trying to do it for 7 years.
Last weekend I cared for two families that touched me, whose experience stayed with me long after I went home at the end of my shift. They were both Hispanic families, big families. The love they had for the person fading away was so clear and bright one almost had to shade their eyes from it. They were not only immensely supportive of their loved one, but of each other. It was a lovely thing to watch and I was honored to be a part of that.
Almost unconditionally, by the time someone has chosen to enter Hospice, they have come to terms with their mortality and are ready to travel that road. Not always so for their families. I have had only one patient in nearly 2 years that has expressed fear of dying, but I have had a family nearly every day that is struggling to find peace with the end of a loved ones life. I, of course, completely understand this and do my very best to give them the support and comfort they need to both accept the inevitable and find the courage to move on. This is the hardest part of my job. Because even now I have days where I struggle with dad's loss, the desire for one more day, or hour, to say what I want to say.
That is the grace of hospice. We strive to allow people to stop focusing on the disease and start focusing on the person. It is a chance for a daughter to stop nursing her mother and just be her beloved little girl, for a son to let go of past troubles with their father and hold his hand in quiet understanding. It is a peaceful time for most, believe it or not, and I have been honored to witness many a "good death".
One of the families that touched me last weekend put up old pictures of the patient all over the room: his wedding, standing in his armed services uniform, laying in a raft in a pool. They had a slideshow set up on their laptop of this person holding his babies and cradling his grandchildren. His death became a celebration of his life. It is the way we should all be lucky enough to go.
I have told people this before but I'll put it here for posterity. I used to be one of those people afraid of dying. It is a natural thing, the living are hungry for life. But when my time comes I want to find peace in the surrounding of those I love, and I want them to find peace in knowing I have had a truly blessed life and am only sorry to leave them behind, not afraid of the next journey. I wish to be cremated and buried so the kids have a place to go if they need that sort of thing. I want "The Circle of Life" (from Disney's The Lion King) played exhuberantly at my funeral. And I want everyone to know that I wouldn't have changed a thing. I am lucky, and I know it.
My patients are ready to pass onto something new. I am more there for their loved ones, because letting go is hard. I should know. I've been trying to do it for 7 years.
2 comments:
What a wonderful thing you do. For the dying and those left behind. Be happy to know you make a difference in the lives of both, giving gentleness and peace to the last days of the ill and the first days for the loved ones.
I love you.
Mom
It has just occurred to me that Elton John probably didn't sing "Cricle of LIfe"; regardless, it's the song from Disney's The Lion King.
It is true that I get much humble satisfaction from my job. Interestingly, more so now than when I was working cardiac care and the goal was saving life at all costs. Each life is precious and nothing exemplifies that than the ending of one.
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