Blessed are the sick.
Today I went to visit Helena, a Christian friend from work. Helena has been off work since mid February because her husband, Phil, is dying of cancer. Today, Helena sent me an e-mail saying that Phil was slipping away fast, that he had two weeks to live at the most, but more likely only hours or days.
I took a long lunch and went to visit. I can't even imagine the isolation she must feel, being at home all day. She doesn't dare leave him alone because he falls a lot. He has brain cancer. It has affected his balance, among other things.
I knocked on the door, and she answered, crying very hard. I felt so sorry for her the instant she opened the door. It was a deep, grieving cry, and I couldn't console her. She was reading a book that the hospice nurse had given her that describes the stages of dying. Phil has entered almost all of them, and was now getting to the final stages. It obviously made her sad to see it all written, in black and white, that he was at the end.
I went in and walked over to Phil. I patted him on the arm and asked how he was doing. He tried to say that he was doing fine, but he is very hard to understand. He has lost part of his jaw to the cancer, and his speech is not very good. I strained to hear him, and I think I understood what he was saying for the most part. Helena hugged me. I told her how sorry I was that she was having to go through this. She invited me to sit down.
I sat down and Helena started telling me how bad Phil was. I vowed before I went in that I would not act as if he were dead. I turned to him and asked him if he was in much pain. He said not that much. Helena said that the doctors were really trying to keep him comfortable. That's all that's left to do. I know he's on massive doses of morphine. I would want to be, too. I asked him if he was able to eat anything and he said that he could eat a little. Helena said he had a piece of toast the other day, and it took him six hours to eat it. He has given up all food. Another stage.
I think the thing that was the hardest for me to watch is Helena's having to grieve someone who is not dead. Phil is alive, sitting on the couch, but her mind has already started to grieve for his loss. What else can she do? She has been his primary care giver for two months solid now, and she told me that she feels really guilty because part of her wishes that he would just die so it would be over with. I told her that I would think something was wrong with her if she DIDN'T think that way. I am pretty sure I would if I were her. I'm not her and I think the same way. Phil just kind of sat there most of the time. Once in a while he would mutter something, but sometimes it didn't make sense. Helena said that the other day, Phil was having a long conversation with his mother, who has been dead for many many years. He also had a conversation with a cousin of his that died two weeks ago. She said it's almost like they're sitting right there on the couch, next to him, and he's talking with them as if they were real. That's another stage. I told her to take comfort in the fact that there are loved ones obviously waiting for him, and ready to reach for him when he starts to go.
She said she is just so worried. Worried about his salvation, and worried about WHEN he will die, and worried if it will be painful, worried if she will be ready. She said, "Angie, I just try to remember that there are people out there who have it a lot worse." I said back, "Helena, that's true, but it's also important for you to be able to tell yourself that this is terrible. This happening to you and Phil is a terrible thing, not to be minimized by what "others" may be going through." She needs to feel like it's okay to be angry, and sad, and mad, and whatever other emotions go along with watching a loved one die. I guess I was lucky. I told her the same thing. I never had to see my dad suffer. He was in the hospital, and the next thing we knew, he was gone. He had been joking with the nurses that morning, then was dead a few hours later. But, he didn't suffer.
I tried to tell Helena that it was okay to feel the things she was feeling. I'm no shrink, but I know enough to know what seems normal. She said that the hospice had told her to call Phil's family to let them know the end was near. He has a son that he's estranged from, and he was able to talk to him for a while. Helena said that they just kept telling each other they loved each other. Amazing what a phone call can erase. Phil had several children from his first marriage, and most of them have been to see him.
See, Phil wasn't always a nice guy. He's an alcoholic who has been very mean to not only Helena, but others around him. I think that forgiveness is a long time coming for some people. But, I see him sitting there, a frail, dying man, and I think of how terrible it would be to have regrets. I'm glad his son was able to forgive, if not just for the phone call.
Helena said she's already made most of the arrangements. She just sat in her chair and cried, and I let her. I wasn't going to pooh-pooh it away or say something stupid like, "When the time comes, it'll be for the best." I wasn't going to tell her that time would heal all wounds and that she'll probably be relieved when it's all over. I am not going to tell her those things. Instead, I told her that I have asked my dad to greet Phil in Heaven when the time comes. I reminded her that he will be restored to his vibrant self, and his suffering will be over. I reminded her that she has been doing a wonderful job of taking care of him. Mostly I reminded her that it was okay to cry.
Phil's ankles and feet are very swollen. His body is shutting down. She said he only goes to the bathroom about every three days. He isn't taking anything in, so nothing comes out. Another stage. She told him he should lie down for awhile, or put his feet up, but he kept telling her "later". I think he wanted to maintain some dignity while he had company. I put my hand on his arm and said, "Phil, I'M about ready to lie down for a nap! Go ahead and put your feet up!" But, he wanted to wait. Being polite for the company, I"m sure. He told Helena he had to use the restroom, she she basically carried him to the bathroom. She came back out and said that she was going to leave him there for a few minutes, because sometimes it takes his body a while to decide what it wants to do. I asked her if he seemed to comprehend what was happening, and she said that some days he does, but most days he doesn't seem to understand or know that he's dying. I told her that was probably God's way of saving him from worrying in the last hours of his life. I told her we could all be so lucky, to not sit around and worry if the breath we're taking is going to be our last. I mean, nobody knows for sure the exact minute they're going to die, but I would think that it would be best to not even realize the gravity of it. At least that's the way I feel.
Phil decided to come back to the couch by himself, and Helena jumped up and ran to him. Not only has he been falling, but when he falls, he's been hitting his head and the last time he did that, he bled so much Helena thought she was going to have to call 911. I wish I could avoid saying it, but he is in bad shape. He did remember me, though. He remembered that he has seen Ron and me in the store, and he remembered Ron was a cop. He said he has a nephew that wanted to be a police officer, but has too bad of an "attitude", as he put it. Helena said she couldn't believe that he remembered so much about me. Two days ago, he forgot who SHE was. It must have been a good day for him, in that respect.
I am probably going to go over there this weekend. Helena said she has 14 loads of laundry, and there is so much that she is putting off because she doesn't dare leave him for a moment. Not only is she worried about his falling, but she is worried that the second she goes downstairs to do laundry, he is going to die in that very moment. I know she feels this intense need to stare at him until the moment he dies. She really wants to be there for him when that happens, but he might have other ideas. Perhaps I can help with the housework she wants to do, or maybe I could just sit with Phil while she does some things. She said she has fallen so behind on everything because she can't have him out of her sight. He kept saying, "I'll be okay." I think he hates relying on her so much, when his mind actually lets him know how it is.
So, that is the story of my lunch hour. I felt so helpless, and all day long, I thought about that visit. It wasn't easy for me. I put my personal fears aside and went anyway, and I'm glad I did. Helena needed me. Needed the release of a friend to talk to. As I was leaving, Phil said, "It's terrible to be sick." I told him that I knew that it was. He said, "I'm not very good company." I told him I didn't come over to have him entertain me, I just wanted to visit with my friends. He smiled.
Helena walked me out and hugged me goodbye. She told me I "uplifted" her. I felt glad for that.
As I pulled out of the driveway, I prayed. I prayed that they both find peace here towards the end. I prayed that God didn't make Phil walk too far when the time came for him to go Home. I prayed that Helena can keep up her strength and that God take some of the burden from her. She is a good, Christian woman, and her prayers have gotten her though this. I gave thanks to God for letting me put my fears aside and having me visit them. I asked Him to introduce Phil to my dad when the time came for Phil to die. Mostly I told God thanks. Thanks for letting me be their friend. Thanks for having me visit. And if I made a difference, even for 45 minutes, then I have done my job. Blessed are the sick, and blessed are those who care for them.
I took a long lunch and went to visit. I can't even imagine the isolation she must feel, being at home all day. She doesn't dare leave him alone because he falls a lot. He has brain cancer. It has affected his balance, among other things.
I knocked on the door, and she answered, crying very hard. I felt so sorry for her the instant she opened the door. It was a deep, grieving cry, and I couldn't console her. She was reading a book that the hospice nurse had given her that describes the stages of dying. Phil has entered almost all of them, and was now getting to the final stages. It obviously made her sad to see it all written, in black and white, that he was at the end.
I went in and walked over to Phil. I patted him on the arm and asked how he was doing. He tried to say that he was doing fine, but he is very hard to understand. He has lost part of his jaw to the cancer, and his speech is not very good. I strained to hear him, and I think I understood what he was saying for the most part. Helena hugged me. I told her how sorry I was that she was having to go through this. She invited me to sit down.
I sat down and Helena started telling me how bad Phil was. I vowed before I went in that I would not act as if he were dead. I turned to him and asked him if he was in much pain. He said not that much. Helena said that the doctors were really trying to keep him comfortable. That's all that's left to do. I know he's on massive doses of morphine. I would want to be, too. I asked him if he was able to eat anything and he said that he could eat a little. Helena said he had a piece of toast the other day, and it took him six hours to eat it. He has given up all food. Another stage.
I think the thing that was the hardest for me to watch is Helena's having to grieve someone who is not dead. Phil is alive, sitting on the couch, but her mind has already started to grieve for his loss. What else can she do? She has been his primary care giver for two months solid now, and she told me that she feels really guilty because part of her wishes that he would just die so it would be over with. I told her that I would think something was wrong with her if she DIDN'T think that way. I am pretty sure I would if I were her. I'm not her and I think the same way. Phil just kind of sat there most of the time. Once in a while he would mutter something, but sometimes it didn't make sense. Helena said that the other day, Phil was having a long conversation with his mother, who has been dead for many many years. He also had a conversation with a cousin of his that died two weeks ago. She said it's almost like they're sitting right there on the couch, next to him, and he's talking with them as if they were real. That's another stage. I told her to take comfort in the fact that there are loved ones obviously waiting for him, and ready to reach for him when he starts to go.
She said she is just so worried. Worried about his salvation, and worried about WHEN he will die, and worried if it will be painful, worried if she will be ready. She said, "Angie, I just try to remember that there are people out there who have it a lot worse." I said back, "Helena, that's true, but it's also important for you to be able to tell yourself that this is terrible. This happening to you and Phil is a terrible thing, not to be minimized by what "others" may be going through." She needs to feel like it's okay to be angry, and sad, and mad, and whatever other emotions go along with watching a loved one die. I guess I was lucky. I told her the same thing. I never had to see my dad suffer. He was in the hospital, and the next thing we knew, he was gone. He had been joking with the nurses that morning, then was dead a few hours later. But, he didn't suffer.
I tried to tell Helena that it was okay to feel the things she was feeling. I'm no shrink, but I know enough to know what seems normal. She said that the hospice had told her to call Phil's family to let them know the end was near. He has a son that he's estranged from, and he was able to talk to him for a while. Helena said that they just kept telling each other they loved each other. Amazing what a phone call can erase. Phil had several children from his first marriage, and most of them have been to see him.
See, Phil wasn't always a nice guy. He's an alcoholic who has been very mean to not only Helena, but others around him. I think that forgiveness is a long time coming for some people. But, I see him sitting there, a frail, dying man, and I think of how terrible it would be to have regrets. I'm glad his son was able to forgive, if not just for the phone call.
Helena said she's already made most of the arrangements. She just sat in her chair and cried, and I let her. I wasn't going to pooh-pooh it away or say something stupid like, "When the time comes, it'll be for the best." I wasn't going to tell her that time would heal all wounds and that she'll probably be relieved when it's all over. I am not going to tell her those things. Instead, I told her that I have asked my dad to greet Phil in Heaven when the time comes. I reminded her that he will be restored to his vibrant self, and his suffering will be over. I reminded her that she has been doing a wonderful job of taking care of him. Mostly I reminded her that it was okay to cry.
Phil's ankles and feet are very swollen. His body is shutting down. She said he only goes to the bathroom about every three days. He isn't taking anything in, so nothing comes out. Another stage. She told him he should lie down for awhile, or put his feet up, but he kept telling her "later". I think he wanted to maintain some dignity while he had company. I put my hand on his arm and said, "Phil, I'M about ready to lie down for a nap! Go ahead and put your feet up!" But, he wanted to wait. Being polite for the company, I"m sure. He told Helena he had to use the restroom, she she basically carried him to the bathroom. She came back out and said that she was going to leave him there for a few minutes, because sometimes it takes his body a while to decide what it wants to do. I asked her if he seemed to comprehend what was happening, and she said that some days he does, but most days he doesn't seem to understand or know that he's dying. I told her that was probably God's way of saving him from worrying in the last hours of his life. I told her we could all be so lucky, to not sit around and worry if the breath we're taking is going to be our last. I mean, nobody knows for sure the exact minute they're going to die, but I would think that it would be best to not even realize the gravity of it. At least that's the way I feel.
Phil decided to come back to the couch by himself, and Helena jumped up and ran to him. Not only has he been falling, but when he falls, he's been hitting his head and the last time he did that, he bled so much Helena thought she was going to have to call 911. I wish I could avoid saying it, but he is in bad shape. He did remember me, though. He remembered that he has seen Ron and me in the store, and he remembered Ron was a cop. He said he has a nephew that wanted to be a police officer, but has too bad of an "attitude", as he put it. Helena said she couldn't believe that he remembered so much about me. Two days ago, he forgot who SHE was. It must have been a good day for him, in that respect.
I am probably going to go over there this weekend. Helena said she has 14 loads of laundry, and there is so much that she is putting off because she doesn't dare leave him for a moment. Not only is she worried about his falling, but she is worried that the second she goes downstairs to do laundry, he is going to die in that very moment. I know she feels this intense need to stare at him until the moment he dies. She really wants to be there for him when that happens, but he might have other ideas. Perhaps I can help with the housework she wants to do, or maybe I could just sit with Phil while she does some things. She said she has fallen so behind on everything because she can't have him out of her sight. He kept saying, "I'll be okay." I think he hates relying on her so much, when his mind actually lets him know how it is.
So, that is the story of my lunch hour. I felt so helpless, and all day long, I thought about that visit. It wasn't easy for me. I put my personal fears aside and went anyway, and I'm glad I did. Helena needed me. Needed the release of a friend to talk to. As I was leaving, Phil said, "It's terrible to be sick." I told him that I knew that it was. He said, "I'm not very good company." I told him I didn't come over to have him entertain me, I just wanted to visit with my friends. He smiled.
Helena walked me out and hugged me goodbye. She told me I "uplifted" her. I felt glad for that.
As I pulled out of the driveway, I prayed. I prayed that they both find peace here towards the end. I prayed that God didn't make Phil walk too far when the time came for him to go Home. I prayed that Helena can keep up her strength and that God take some of the burden from her. She is a good, Christian woman, and her prayers have gotten her though this. I gave thanks to God for letting me put my fears aside and having me visit them. I asked Him to introduce Phil to my dad when the time came for Phil to die. Mostly I told God thanks. Thanks for letting me be their friend. Thanks for having me visit. And if I made a difference, even for 45 minutes, then I have done my job. Blessed are the sick, and blessed are those who care for them.
posted by Nebraska Angie @ 10:59 PM
<< Home