Most of us are familiar with the five stages of grieving.

Denial. 

“But I feel fine!!!”  “He was just working two days ago, now you’re telling me he’s not going to be alive a year from now?  How is that possible?  The tests must be wrong.  You’re wrong.  You’re just… Wrong.”

Anger.

“This is just not fair!  How can this be happening?  You took vows.  You said in front of everyone that you’d love me forever, that we would get eachother through the tough parts…How could you do this to me and the kids?”

Bargaining.

“God, are you there?  I’m sorry I wasn’t the perfect husband.  I’m sorry that I didn’t go to Church.  If you just keep her alive long enough to see our Son get married I’ll give my entire life savings to the Church.  I’ll go to church every Sunday until I die.  She’s been a wonderful wife, just let her see him get married…”

Depression.

“What’s the point.  Why do I bother with anything.  Nothing is normal anymore.  I’m not normal.  Maybe that’s why I’m not eating or sleeping.  What’s the point if he’s not here with me?”

Acceptance.

“What will be, will be.  My best friend is gone, and I can’t change it.  I’m going to survive this.”

**********

In the last week I’ve done five times the amount of Hospice runs that I’ve done in as many years. They are definitely taking their toll on me.  I want to take a second to thank a few people who have listened to me cry, who have talked me through it, and pushed through their sometimes rough exterior to really take care of me.  Ya’ll know who you are.

A few days ago,  I met a wonderful woman.  An intelligent, well spoken, kind, woman.  A woman who had no idea what was going on as far as the condition or prognosis of her best friend.  Her confidante.  Her husband of 50+ years.

She was in complete and total denial.

As we packaged him up (it is kind of cold here…) and moved him to the stretcher… Her adult children were stricken.  While they dealt with what they we’re feeling, I watched his wife.  I realize that everyone deals with grief in their own way.  I get that.  But she looked positively shell shocked.  It was as if nothing was registering with her.  The kids knew that he wasn’t coming back home.  He wasn’t coming back to the house they grew up in.  The home that held so many memories.  Their Daddy wasn’t even really there anymore.  Cancer had ravaged his brain, his pancreas, his intestines, his stomach, and God knows what else.  He didn’t say a word the entire time I had him under my care.  He just moaned.  I just did what I could do for him to keep him warm and comfortable.

While we were sitting in the back of the truck his wife leaned over and whispered to me.  “He’s just having a bad day.  He runs in 10K’s you know…”

“He ran 10K’s?  That’s fantastic!  That’s a great way to stay in shape,” I sat next to her on the bench seat, counting his respirations.  Each time be inhaled he would groan.  The ride was proving less than smooth thanks to the combination of potholes, snow and ice on the ground, and a new EMT behind the wheel.  I caught his eye in the rear view mirror and gave him a look that said “Slow down or so help me GOD I’ll come up there and whip your ass.”

“Yes, he has quite a few ribbons,” the Wife continued.  “He’s registered to run in another in March.  I hope he’s feeling better by then.”

Uhm… What?

What’s the right response to this?  I’m not a Hospice volunteer.  I really don’t know.

I really didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to shake her and say “MA’AM… Your husband is about to die.  He’s not going to be running any more 10K’s.  I’m really sorry for that, but you wake up and accept that as fact…For his and your Children’s sake.”

I’m sorry, I’m sitting here rubbing my temples as I type this out.  I realize that this wasn’t one of those fascinating, life threatening 911 runs, but to me, it was just as nerve wracking.  It was emotionally draining.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.  I wish I had known what to say or do.  I was just at a loss.

When we got to the inpatient Hospice center, she tried to pay me in cash for the run.  She had over a thousand dollars in cash in her pocket book.  I put my arm around her tiny shoulders and told her that she wouldn’t see a bill for this transport, that Hospice would pay for it.  “No Ma’am, put your money away.  Hospice will be paying any time he needs to go by ambulance from now on,” I told her.  I made a mental note to tell her children about the amount of cash she was carrying and that they need to be sure to keep an eye on her.

“Oh that’s wonderful, thank you, young lady.  Let me just give you a tip, here…” She held two twenty dollar bills, one for me and one for my partner.

*sigh*

“No, Ma’am, I can’t take your money.  You just go take care of your husband.”

**********

To anyone out there who finds themselves doing similiar runs… Just remember that sometimes you have more than one patient.  Sometimes the patient who needs to most attention isn’t the one whose name is on the run report.