Be My Life's Companion

(Warning: long post, more of a journal entry, so grab a drink :))

I am at the hospital writing this post from work. I have always felt privledged to be at the most difficult and most joyful crossroads in life of my patients and their families. I so often see the best of human nature come out during difficult situations and my perspective is clearer and my gratitude increased after a day at work. Today pulled on my heartstrings as I watched three couples faced with the prospect of losing a spouse - all in very different ways and different timeframes, yet with the same profoundness that comes from losing a soulmate.

I went down to the cafeteria for breakfast and "Code Blue - Cath Lab" was called. It means a respitory or cardiac arrest has occured - someone has stopped breathing and/or their heart has stopped beating. My stomach always drops when this is called - especially in the Cath Lab where there is an MD with a wire up a vessel in a heart - and the heart doen't like being tickled and stops beating...dang it. The cashier asked how my day was going and I said "great, until I heard that called." The lady across the register looked at me and said, "My husband went to the Cath Lab 1/2 hour ago." Oh boy. The tears started streaming down her face and I took her arm, walked her to a table and called the Cath Lab, sure it could not be her husband. After I convinced the cath Lab that I needed info on the Code Patient ASAP-as I was holding the wife's hand I got to deliver the news - it was him. His heart had stopped during the procedure. She sucked in a deep breath when I told her he was awake and we walked to the ICU. When we got there they paged an anesthesiologist (bad bad sign), then called another "Code Blue - Cath Lab," he was coding again. Really, there is a reason those are supposed to be in C-O-D-E - to avoid the situation of the unknown for the family and she was hearing it play by play - yuck. I turned her over to his (& her) nurse and walked back to my patients. They intubated him and he is in 4 vessel open heart surgery as I write this.

I came back to the floor and our house supervisor was telling us about a critical patient in the ICU. This was a 36 year old woman who had just emergently delivered twins via c-section. Her liver ruptured during the labor because she had high blood pressure and labor and high BP don't mix well at all. She had been in and out of surgery multiple times to stop the bleeding and at this time was open from "sternum to bottom" with her liver being packed in the ICU. She has two other children, these 2 lb twins in the NICU and they don't expect her to make it. They are from India and have no family here. Her husband is working on flying in her mother while taking care of the other two children and staying with his wife as much as possible.

Today I was blessed to care for a 61 year old female who was diagnosed with early onset dementia with Parkinsonian features 7 years ago. Her husband has been her primary caregiver and has managed to care for her at home until this past week. He had someone come in 6 hours a day to help, but even with the assistance it became more than he could handle. I walked into this patient's room this morning and thought I had the wrong room - the lady laying in the bed couldn't have been more than 40 years old and absolutely lit up the room with her smile and demeanor. She was stunningly beautiful with perfect wrinkle free olive skin. I began to talk to her and it quickly became apparent how advanced the dementia was. She incoherantly repeated what I said, nodding and smiling the whole time. I could understand about 1 word out of 5, but was amazed at how she noticed everything that was going on in the room. Her husband called three times that morning to check on her; when he came in I witnessed and heard the rest of the story. Their love story.

I mentioned how beautiful she was and he proceeded to tell me how beautiful she was on the inside. He said everything she touched turned to gold - she could do it all. Her paintings hung in their home, she was an athlete and a natural at every sport she tried, her cooking was no less than gourmet, she had the voice of an angel, she sang and he played the guitar. They served in church together and she worked as the seceratary there. All of this with just a high school education. He couldn't count the number of times whe was out serving someone - cleaning a house or cooking a meal, and he said everyone in their congregation said she was the first person who greeted them and made them feel welcome. I watched therapists, doctors and nursing aides enter the room and they walked out with a joyful, lit up face as they left.  She was still working her magic - she spread the light of Christ to all those she met even without words to communicate.  She was still an incredible woman.  His tears began to flow as he told me of her diagnosis and how hard the first few years were when she understood what was happening to her and what it would entail for him. How sleepless nights with her sobbing contributed to his chronic fatigue syndrome. How the last two weeks had gotten so difficult for him, emotionally and physically. How he was working with a nursing home to transfer her there and called 6 neighbors for help getting her in the car to no avail. The nursing home finally advised him to call an ambulance to take to here to Sky Ridge and how after the ambulance drove away with his love he couldn't stop sobbing. But he told all this to me in the hall away from her ears that probably understand more than we know. He said he'd waited as long as he could to take this next step he'd been dreading. I could only cry with him.

He sat at her bedside and opened Christmas cards with her - they laughed and joked about each one together. He made sure she would be given a snack that night, as "we were late night snackers - usually popcorn. Or homemade cookies - she made the best." I didn't doubt that - of course she did. I thought of the popcorn Steve and I had shared the night before. He ordered her favorite food for dinner - shrimp, garlic pasta and asparagus - and sat by her side cutting it and joyfully feeding each bite to her. I walked in during dinner and was audience to him serenading his girl with tears in his eyes. I vaguely recognized the tune and looked at the TV screen to see the title - "Be My Life's Companion." He knew every word, but the words certainly took on new meaning for me at that moment, as they had for him over the last 7 years.

I started this post yesterday (Friday) and now it is Saturday. For her husband, the past two days have been filled with insurance obstacles, determining level of care and all those other unfair details situations like this entail. The time came today to transfer her to the nursing home. As the medics loaded her on the stretcher and wheeled her out of the room, my nurses aide, her husband and I stood in the empty room together. Then the sobs began. He stepped to the other side of the room and heaved with heartache. I can usually maintain some degree of professional control, but I lost it. I covered my mouth to hide my gasps for air and mouthed to my aide, "I can't do this." Why not? Is it because I have been loved to that depth or because I love that deeply? Either way I felt blessed to have experienced love that would bring that level of heartache. He held me or I held him, crying together and he whispered in my ear, "It wouldn't be so hard if she weren't so wonderful."

I think my nurses aide put it into words for me, "They have completely changed my outlook on life. That is what true love is."

I suppose it was more than just another day at work - if you made it to the end, thanks for letting me share.