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.”
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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.”
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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.
Oh, Epi, I am so glad I don’t have your job – I honestly don’t know if I could handle it. But gods bless you for your kindness and patient care!
That poor woman may have been in the same place my grandmother was after her husband of almost 60 years died. She kept asking when he was coming home, where he was, etc. It took quite awhile for it to sink in that he was never coming back home. She was never quite the same mentally….
Well said Epi.
Do take care of yourself – glad you’ve got some supportive friends around you :)
A lot of what I do when I’m on a hospice call is for the family members rather than the patient. Often I get called in because the family can’t cope, so I have to go and kind of run the show, so to speak…I explain what’s going on and try to put people’s minds at ease. I have to be the person who keeps their head on their shoulders; I initiate and facilitate the grieving process and sometimes I end up running the show, so to speak, because the family are struggling to cope. I take on all of their emotions about what’s happening and try to somehow lift their burden off of them and take it upon myself.
It’s not easy, but it’s always worth it.
Have you thought about getting involved with hospice on a volunteer basis? I think you’d do wonderfully; you have such a caring heart and gentle manner to you.
I know the toll these can take… but I’m glad you’re the one doing it, Epi. You have a kind soul, and appreciate the situation. There are too many out there who go through the motions on runs like these, either because they have hardened themselves, or sometimes, because they’re just jerks to start with. Hard to say.
Anyhow. The very thing that makes you good at this is what will make it more difficult for you emotionally. Take care of yourself. Cry on your friends.
And maybe call up the hospice, and see if there is someone who could talk to you about what to say? I’m sure they have lots of experience with talking to shell shocked family.
{{{ HUGS }}}
Karen
Seems like there are always multiple patients to deal with when Hospice is involved, doesn’t there? And the survivors are always harder to care for than the patients in situations like this.
Great post, Epi. You are an excellent writer – did anyone ever tell you that?
Thanks for sharing this with the rest of us.
Bless you.
I pray for your strength.
Makes one wonder how any of us would handle things in this situation. We’d all like to believe that we would be logical about death’s progression, but as you say, the many facets of grieving (as you define) seem to grip us at one time or another.
Grieving becomes a bit easier to handle when all parties involved possess an eternal perspective…
I need all of the prayer I can get, David. Thank you. Getting stronger every day.