Her name notwithstanding in case any relatives should read this, she was a long-time resident of the nursing home I work occasional nightshifts in. She was really very demented, and even before dementia had set in, she had suffered a history of mental illness. The closest she’d ever been to coherence in my experiences was to ask me “How can I get out of this?” Otherwise she sat and screamed, or once put in bed, lay still and screamed. Many nurses had quietly wished that she’d slip away, but she constantly hung on to life. I think she was something like 93.
Anyway a couple of days before I last went in, she was hit by some kind of fever, and medicated for it. She was utterly incontinent so when I had to change her, I expected her to wake, but she didn’t - she just shouted, even in her sleep. Then the next night, as she lay still hanging on to life, I was asked to go and sit with her briefly. She was so thin and frail that I could see her pulse rise and fall in her neck as she slept.
And then, as naturally as breathing, I felt words rise up in me. I didn’t know what they’d be until I spoke them. I thought it was a psalm or something, but when I spoke it, it turned out to be
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
And she went. As God is my witness, the vein in her neck slowed and stopped, and she flew. No more pain, no more torment, no more fog of insanity. Just clarity and freedom - or rest, at any rate. I feel really privileged, and humbled. I went and looked at her case notes after that, and found an old photo. For the first time since I’d met her, she smiled at me.
Ross; I know from where you come. I have had this wonderful experience two times in my life. The first was a lady in the emergency room where I worked at the time. The second was a gentle kind lady who would have been my mother-in-law, had she lived. I feel truly blessed for being the last person each of these people saw, and to have those precious seconds to hopefully ease their journey, with kind, caring words. The images of their faces will stay in my memories and my heart as long as I live. It makes me hope that, when my time comes, there would be at least one caring person with me, to hold my hand, and gently send me into eternal rest. I hope this experience has touched you in a good way Ross, I firmly believe it was meant to do so.
I watched my Dad die last week. He had gone into the hospital for a simple surgery, and then had a pancreatic attack, followed by internal hemmoraghing, a burst spleen, then he died, then he came back, then he had five strokes, then, over a week, the pneumonia slowly killed him. Basically, he drowned.
He lived 2000 miles away, & I got the phone call when he died the first time. We were on the plane in 2 hours. I’m really thankful he held on until I got there. There is a massive hole in my life that will never be filled and I’ll just have to find some way to deal with.
His older brother was in the room with us. Dad stopped breathing for half a minute, & Bob reached over & kissed his forehead, thinking he had passed, & Dad barked, startling everyone. After that, he passed quietly.
Once, when he was in the coma, I held his hand and told him if he didn’t get up, I was going to give him a tattoo. (there’s jailhouse tattooes, why not hospital tattooes?) He opened his eyes, squeezed my hand, and gave me the pattened “Do it & I’ll whoop yr ass” look.
I had to get that off my chest, & cannot afford therapy Thanks for giving me an excuse, Ross. - Pinky
My grandfather was dying of kidney failure. It was no real surprise by the time he started dying; he had been sick for a couple months, after he had to be hospitalized with chest pains and he had just had a triple bypass. The thoracic surgeon came in as he was still in the cardiac care ICU, shaking his head. My mother’s a nurse and was taking the lead in being liason between medical mumbo-jumbo and soft words to the bunch in the waiting room. He just wandered in, teared up, looked completely frustrated and said ‘I really thought he was going to make it. He was so strong before all this started.’
Thanks Dr. Adesia. I really appreciated him being genuine, and even he could see that the wasted man in front of him was the same guy who was my recovered alcoholic grandfather; father of 8 children, each of whom loved him so much; policeman who was proud to wear his uniform and serve his city, even when he had to give up active duty and act as staff mechanic because his health was failing; and dedicated husband to my grandmother.
Anyhow, I had walked over to the hospital (a short jaunt from university, it’s our med school here as well) to check out the situation… didn’t know why. I had never visited before, but it so happened that I showed up as they were recommending turning off life support. Since I’m a big fan of quality of life rather than quantity of life, I agreed with the decision and went into the ICU to be with him while he died (not that he knew… he never woke up from the triple bypass a few days earlier). I felt like one of his 30+ grandchildren should be there when he died. There were other people there too, of course - a couple of his daughters, and a couple daughter/son-in-laws (even his children-in-laws thought he was a great guy). He didnt’ really look himself, since his kidneys were failing and his liver was going as well he had a yellow-pale pallor and his tongue was distended due to the medications and whatnot. He was still my grandfather, though, and it felt very surreal to hear the heart monitors beep for the final time and hear the whoosh of the respirator stop.
I think I was there more for my benefit than his; he always was strong enough to handle himself. It was good for me. Made me think a lot about how sheltered my 19 years on earth had been, and they still are 3 years later. Some of us are just lucky, and it’s important to appreciate it. Sorry if this was something of a hijack, but it felt good to vent.
My dad died of lung cancer that spread to his brain. He was at home and the docs kept saying it was going to be a couple of weeks, but the folks from hospice were a bit more realistic. He was either going to die on Thursday 12 May or Friday 13 May. In either case it was goin to be bad, but my little brother who has Down’s Syndrome had his birthday on the 12th. He was already having a very hard time comprehending why people were so sad on his birthday, and so we talked to my dad.
He was in coma that was partly drug maintained. I was giving him shots a couple of times a day to keep him comfortable. We (my mom and I) went in and talked to him and told him that he had to hold on because it was Chris’ birthday, and that we were trying to make things as normal and pleasant for the event as we could. Right after we told him, his breathing became stronger. The hospice nurse said that it’s amazing what the unconscious can do when it is open to direct communication.
The next day dad’s condition deteriorated rapidly, but he was still fighting. We all sat around the bed almost all day, and he just kept fighting. I finally realized that we never told him that it was no longer Chris’ birthday. I told him that he had made it through the birthday, and that he should let go and rest. Not more than 10 seconds later did he stop breathing.
…Damn, this is cathartic. I hadn’t really spoken of this since he died in '94.
ya know, watching someone die is the one part of my job I have not gotten used to, and I hope that I never will. I’ve watched 4 people die, and I can remember each one like it was yesterday.
The most difficult are the patients that I know I can do something to help, but they have made the decision that they want no one to make any measures to save their life…
My Dad died of cancer last year wih my Mum holding one hand and the Priest holding the other. It was time for him to go after holding on for much longer than anyone expected him to do. Not too bad a death really for a man who I realised was much more religious,in a quiet way, than most people knew.
Thanks for giving me an excuse, Ross. - Pinky