Karen was my patient
in the hospital for about three weeks. She had
received a heart transplant in 1997, and had
contracted Hepatitis C from the infected
heart. When
I received report about her the first day I met her.
There was a mention of how ill tempered she had been,
and how she was a needy patient, one who would be
hitting the call light often. "Great" I thought to
myself, "just what I needed to start off my work
week".
So I went
in
to meet and greet her get some idea of who she was,
take her vital signs, and get on with my day.
She
was indeed needy, with frequent calls to her room for
little things, "would you close my blinds", "could
you
turn the heat up" (or down), "could you move my table
closer to the bed". She was also on
isolation
for the Hepatitis C and it was a little more trouble
to go into her room, gloves etc. But this is my job,
and I was cheeful, letting her know she was not bothering me.
I
also had to get her up and walk her three to four
times a day. It was like pulling teeth to get her
up. Karen was a tall woman, I am 5'9" and she
was a bit taller than me. Her skin reflected her ill
health. Her skin was sallow, her face gaunt. She
was
relatively young, 43 years old I believe. Her
stomach
was swollen and her legs and
feet were puffy from her enlarged liver. "I have this
slight pain,"
pointing to her right side, using the most wheedling
voice I had ever heard. Whining is not a
trait I particularly like, and wouldn't let my own
children get
away with it for very long. But she was a patient, so
I had to look pleasant, and keep moving along...even
though I was grumbling in my
mind.
By the
second
week I had made peace with the parts of her
personality that irritated me. I would help her with
her bath, made sure she got her medications at the
proper time (this is important for transplant
patients). I genuinely like
caring for
others. It
is the one part of my life where I can make things
better....if only for a little
while.
I left
for 3
days
off...and thought of her a time or two, thinking she
was probably better, that she might even be
discharged by the time I got back. But as I
walked down the hall on my first day, I saw the
familiar isolation cart outside of her door When
I
received report, the nurse said she (
Karen) had not
had a
good night, that her abdomen was more swollen, and
that she was more lethargic. I peeked in the door
to
say good morning, and I inwardly gasped when I saw
her.She looked dead laying there in her bed. "Oh
no", I thought to myself, "she is
dying"!!
When you have been nursing for awhile, you can see
the life ebbing out of someone. It is so heart
wrenching for me, and while I try to keep my distance
from these emotions, more often than not I feel them
acutely.
So I bathed Karen that day, talking to her about her
life while I worked. I found out she had 5 children,
none of whom I had seen. She spoke of a life of
chronic ill health in a tired, resigned voice. I
chatted with her about how many children I had,
my
husband, our dogs, ordinary things that kept my
mind (and I hoped hers) off of her worsening
condition. I checked
her
room a little more frequently, ..... while she
pushed
the
call light a little less often.
In the afternoon,
I shampooed her hair, because she had been
complaining about it since I had been taking care of
her. I blew it dry with a hair dryer that we
keep
on our unit. She had a curling iron and I curled
her blond hair into ringlets. "Your hair looks so
pretty" I told her, while she thanked me for taking
the time to do this for her. "It is no trouble", I
told her..."that is what I am here for".
She
appeared even weaker that evening, and for the first
time I saw a few of her children. They were grown,
maybe a teenager or two. I found out that three of
the children were her husband's from a first
marriage, and two were hers from a previous marriage
also.
They brought a poster
that had a
collage of
pictures on it, with the words 'We Love You' written
in glitter. I looked over the pictures as she
slept. I saw her hugging her husband, a big smile on
her face, makeup on and hair all fluffy. Different
pictures of her with different children. Always
lots
of smiles, she looked good in these pictures, she
looked healthy. Tears welled in my eyes as I
looked over
at her lying death-like in the bed. "It's not fair" I
furiously whispered to myself.
I left
work that
night hoping that she would be better in the morning,
but knowing I was denying reality. The next morning,
she
was worse. I
bathed her and touched up her hair with the curling
wand. She looked like an angel. She was only barely
responsive, her eyes would flutter open when I would
call her, then close again. The doctor arrived,
and there was a flurry of activity, as we moved her
to critical care. As I helped her over onto the
critical care bed, her eyes opened, and she looked
around confused. "
Karen" I said, "You are here
in
critical care, you are going to be fine". Her eyes
closed again.I didn't want her to be afraid. I have
been afraid in my life, and I wanted her to feel safe
and secure....
She died two days
later.
I
had
come to know her as a person, she was not "a
patient", and now I
miss her. I think of
her often. She never knew that I cared, that she had
touched my heart. Taking care of Karen made me more
aware of the gossamer thread that we hold onto life
with. I learned not to listen to others personal bias
of someone. I have learned these lessons many times
in my life. This was just another refresher for
me.
Karen, If you are looking down and reading this
from heaven. I know your body and heart are whole and
well now......
