i. hate. cancer.

I. Hate. Cancer. (and every other illness out there)

I hate watching it tear people's lives apart and yet together all at the same time.

I hate that every single one of us says that we live each day like it's our last, but we don't....

We still take our lives for granted....

I hate that I know what it feels like to be at someone's side when they pass away....

I hate that i know that feeling, but that i am thankful for knowing it....

i am thankful for knowing that feeling, because not many people get to experience being "THE ONE" at someone's dying side.... not even someone's dying side, but someone's ill side....

I am grateful for the experiences I have shared with individuals who have given me an amazing way of seeing life....

a way that forever changes the way i see life....

i mean, the ENTIRE outlook....

even IIII am guilty of taking the small things for granted.

it is hard not to.

i wake up every morning next to jason.

i can text him anytime i want.

i can call him anytime i want.

i even give him a hard sometimes if he doesn't call me right back.

but none of that is life-threatening....

how ENTIRELY different my WHOLE world would be if i couldn't just pick up my phone to call him whenever i wanted....

how ENTIRELY different my WHOLE world would be if i rolled over in the morning, and he wasn't there.... or if i reached over to rub my fingers through his hair and he wasn't there....

how EMPTY my heart would feel, if 6 pm rolled around, and he didn't pull into the driveway....

or saturday came around, and i didn't have his work pants pockets to check for money,

or his work shirts for pens,

right before washing them.....

or if every morning, when i woke up, his pajamas weren't thrown about the room for me to pick up, fold and put away....

how sad i would feel, if the lingering scent of his shaving cream wasn't in the bathroom sink when i brushed my teeth....

how much i would cry, if his black hat sat on the shelf in the closet, unworn.....

how much i know i would give anything to have his whiskerss all over the countertop long after he's gone for work.... like they are now....

you know, there are mornings when he rolls over and wraps his arms around me and my eyes fill with tears....

because his whiskery face tickles the middle of my upper back, and his right arm wraps over my right arm, and holds onto my left as he snuggles me just about as tight as he can.... and i think about the rhythm of his breathing....

i take in the way his arms wrap me tight....

the way his hands feel....

his arms....

i can't imagine my world without him....

and yet there are so many people who lose their loved ones every single day....

i don't experience loss every single day.....

but when i do, it touches my heart in a way that only i can see....

for they are MY feelings....

and they live inside me.....

however, do you know what i would give to stand on a stage.... with a microphone....

kind of like Forrest Gump did in his movie.... in front of everyone talking about Vietnam.... (only i'd want my microphone to not be ripped out of the speaker)....

i'd want to stand in front of that many people.... multiple times....

and tell them about what it's like to be on an oncology floor.

i want to tell them all the things that everyone told me when they knew they were dying....

they all said the same things, but they all said them so differently....

the couples who were married for many decades....

they all said the same things.....

about the way they loved each other....

they were each other's best friends....

family came before anything else did....

they couldn't imagine anyone else at their side other than that person....

that coworkers didn't matter.

friends helped, but they weren't nearly as great as their loved ones.....

they all said to let the petty stuff go....

and that if you weren't dying, chances are, it was petty....

always let the other one think they're right....

never go to bed angry....

always kiss good night.

and good morning.....

today my heart was heavy,

because although this man, i did not know, was dying,

he was still dying.....

and he is young....

and only married for 2 short months, but together for so many years....

he has fought an incredibly long and hard battle with cancer,

and i know the pain that their family is about to feel....

so when someone asks me time and time again, "why did you choose oncology?"....

this is exactly why....

because there is so much more to learn from these people than anyone else will ever get to see....

because one day, i dream of standing before tons and tons of people and sharing these messages with them....

touching their hearts in a way that someone has touched mine....

it is so much easier said than done, but unless you're going to go work directly with these people, take my word for it....

i chose oncology because of the people who fight like hell to survive.....

for the ones who can't change what they were handed,

but they accept it....

with positive attitudes, and do everything they can to stay alive....

so that they can continue loving.....

i chose oncology because there is so much more to life than my own problems and hang ups....

i chose oncology because if i wasn't there....

who else would take my place?

mr. crossword.

it's been a long while since i have written about the medical days....

and i guess because so many other things have come up in my life,

like school,

and a whole bunch of other stuff that i'm trying to keep under control and not go nuts like i normally do....

getting all wrapped up in EVERYTHING and forgetting about what i need to do at the moment....

which is school.

quick update:

-we've passed the halfway point for this history class. after 4 discussion board posts and 2 exams (1 midterm), i am currently at a 93.75%.... rockin' an A for a class i knew absolutely NOTHING about. i'm excited. i hope this good stuff continues.

-i cancelled my eye surgery last week. i was supposed to have it done this friday (the 25th).... there were a few small errors that they had made, which was not very comforting considering all i have left is very poor vision.... i can't go WITHOUT that.... i don't want to go without that.... so i stirred around in a bit of discomfort and uneasiness, and thought, "i'll just do it. this surgeon is really good," until his office called to "confirm" my surgery. they had me down for the wrong surgery on the wrong date. i told them, "no, that's not right. i changed the date, and the dr changed the procedure." so the guy rescheduled it for the RIGHT surgery and the RIGHT date, and then i called him back about 2 minutes later and cancelled. i figured it might be a sign that i'm just not supposed to get my eyes done right now.... alll the little errors they had made and then the biggest one of all.... i was done, for now. i'll look into other doctors after school is done. i don't have the time or energy to do all of that again. i was REALLY disappointed at first, but i'm okay with it at the moment.

now back to my medical days stuff....

i have been thinking about this one patient that i had who was diagnosed with AIDS. most of the time, i had only had patients with cancer, and this was the very first time i had a patient with aids.... i didn't know how to be. i felt all choked up and like i was seeing a cancer patient for the first time... what do you say? do you say you're sorry? will that offend them? how do you act? i felt pretty knowledgeable about the disease, but still felt like i didn't know enough. i feel like i blanked and started questioning the proper practices and such.

and then it hit me.... (like things normally do)....

i walked into his room, and he sat at the edge of his bed.

he was so skinny.

i had a big smile and introduced myself to him.

i honestly got that same feeling that i alllllways do with my patients.

i just wanted to hug him.

i just wanted to throw my arms around him and say, "it's gonna be all right!!!"

but i'm pretty certain he would have just thought i was crazy.

so i smiled.

he smiled.

we small talked a bit.

he asked to borrow a pen.

and i let him.

it was amazing to me, the things that the other nurses had said.

"don't take the pen back. just let him keep it."

"only go in there when you have to."

blah blah blah....

i felt like i wanted to go in there extra.

i felt like i wanted to keep popping in there to check on him.

give him extra company, because no one else was there.

and no one else was going in to check on him.

was it because i wanted to watch the nurses squirm?

maybe.

but even more so, it was because he was MY patient...

he was MY patient and he was going to be taken care of to my best ability on MY shift....

you know, when you work with lousy people, it just pushes you that much harder to do a better job.

i never understand why people are in jobs that they hate....

if you don't like what you do, then don't do it.

but i'll let you know,

that when you work in a HOSPITAL, it's because people need you!!!!

people are at an extremely vulnerable time,

and they. need. you.

yes you.

they need their family.

they need the staff.

they need compassion.

and human contact.

that young man needed someone to talk to about his crossword puzzle.

he needed a pen to do his crossword puzzle,

because no one came to visit him.

no one was there to BRING him a pen,

for his crossword puzzle.

he was sick.

he wasn't contagious....

i am glad i was there that day.

i feel so blessed that i was his person for those days....

one of your own.

what happens when the one you're taking care of happens to be one of your own?

no, not a family member, but it almost feels like it.

one of our charge nurses had breast cancer many years before.

she was cancer free for so many years.

but then she started getting sick again.

and going for exams.

and mammograms, and scans and then it hit us....

it was back.

she was now a patient.

usually the charge nurses were the only ones that took care of her.

she had her own room in the back.

by herself.

she didn't want any of us going in there.

she didn't want to be seen that way.

but one day, towards the end of her illness (and life),

she was my patient.

i looked over my list of patients and her name was there.

wait, what?!

how?

who?

her?

me?

i thought....

i thought only the best took care of her....

i was so nervous.

she had allllways watched over me and my care for the patients.

i remember her telling me that sometimes i was too sympathetic and i needed to be empathetic and harder on them.

i remember one day i was trying to get a patient to walk (after surgery) and she just kept crying and saying "but it hurts. i just wanna lay here. i don't wanna move." and i was just letting her stay there. (i was still new. i didn't know how to put my foot down yet.)

and then Anne came in and said, "now, i know that it hurts you, but if you keep nursing it like a baby, it's not going to get any better. you need to walk. and go against your pain and get yourself better. it's going to heal just like that. with you lying in bed, and when you go to stand up, it's going to hurt worse, because that's how you let it heal, with you in a ball."

that woman got up and we walked.

wow!

that worked!

and i used Anne's line for the rest of my nursing days.

IT WORKED!

but now here was Anne.

she didn't want company.

she didn't want to eat.

she wanted very little.

didn't want her bed changed.

didn't want to move.

how do you FORCE a terminal patient into something?

i mean, it's like it's their last few days (for all we know),

heck, even if it were there last few months, we wouldn't know any different....

and here we are forcing them to do something that could be so incredibly painful.

i couldn't find it in me to force her to do anything.

because i KNEW that if ANYONE would force themselves to do something,

it would be her.

so i let her rest.

i tried to get her to eat.

she wanted nothing on her tray.

everyday i'd go on morning break, and head down to the cafeteria, i'd ask her if she wanted something from down there.

she usually wanted a plain bagel, not toasted with cream cheese.

so i'd buy it for her and that's all she'd eat.

sometimes she'd get a chocolate milk too, but that was only sometimes.

she was wearing a wig.

all this time she'd worked, she was wearing a wig.

i never knew!

i remember one day i went in and asked her if we could get her cleaned up and changed and make her bed up.

she didn't really want to move.

and i pulled up a chair next to her.

all of my other patients were good for the moment.

she was bald.

her dark, dark skin was bald (and dry).

i asked her if she wanted me to rub lotion on her hands.

i'd brought a basin of warm water and soap over for her to wash her face and hands....

and i rubbed lotion all over her hands.

she fell asleep when i'd massaged her other hand and forearms.

she looked so peaceful.

that's what i remember the most about her.

her hands.

she was a very tall woman.

her hands were large.

she had a very long face.

and her hands....

they do stand out the most.

her nails were very round and very strong.

Christmas was her very favorite holiday.

it was october.

Christmas was still a few months away,

but her health was deteriorating quickly.

we brought Christmas to her.

we brought in a fake tree and decorated it with lights and bulbs and a tree skirt and presents.

she was fighting to make it to June.

She'd said, "i've gotta make it to June."

her son was graduating high school then.

She made it 2 days past our Christmas celebration for her.

I wasn't there when she passed.

She passed on the night shift.

They said she passed peacefully.

Her viewing was just a few days later....

I remember pulling up and parking at the funeral home.

I tried to pull myself together, but suddenly broke down in my car.

i cried good and hard for a few moments and managed to gather myself.

i walked in and sat to the left.

i could see her profile.

her hair.

her glasses.

and her nose.

her lips.

she wasn't smiling the way that i remember her always smiling.

and i sniffled to myself....

and all the nurses from all of the floors started pouring in.

we were free to walk up and say our final goodbyes.

her funeral would be a closed casket ceremony.

i had to say goodbye now.

i walked up to her, and her hands were crossed on her stomach.

her large hands were crossed on the stomach of her navy blue business suit.

again, i don't know why certain things stick out to me so much, but it was her hands that i remembered the most.

and I held her hands.

they were so cold.

not the way i remembered them when i'd rubbed lotion on them, but there was just a sense of peace that came over me.

I held her hand and said a prayer and the tears began to fall....

I felt someone's hand on my back.

I don't know who it was.

I still don't....

but i knew it was time for me to step to the side before i lost my composure.

I do still think of her often.

I can still hear her voice....

i guess that's what happens.

....especially when it's one of your own....

Rest in sweet peace, dear Anne.

james and his poor heart.

now i've told you before, there is something about the smell (and sound) of walking into a patient's room who has an air mattress....

the air mattress is there because they can't turn over themselves and this is supposed to lessen their chances of getting bedsores....

however, many people likely already have bedsores and there's just something about the smell of bedsores on an air mattress when you walk in the room....

the sound of the machine that's attached to the foot of the bed....

it's a constant blowing sound.... like a muffled dustbuster (if you can imagine that)....

that's what it sounds like.... so you walk into the patients room and hear the sound of that machine.... i walked over to the sink to wash my hands, before i put on my gloves.... while washing my hands, i'd wondered what he'd look like...

would he look older than he was? would he look younger than he was? would he be able to talk? did he have his family here? were they nice? hopefully they weren't rude and bossy and mean....

and then i walked in.

"knock knock. can i come in?"

"hello good morning. yes. yes you can come in," i'd heard in the softest sweetest feminine voice ever....

i pulled the curtain back and there was a tall, slim woman with brown shoulder length hair, getting up out of her chair that was pulled up next to james.

she called him jim.

"hello jim," i said as i touched his hand. "my name is ashley, and i'm going to be helping to take care of you today."

he slightly moved his head, as if he was making an attempt to look up at me.

"that's okay. you don't have to get up. i'm just going to take your vitals okay?"

he didn't say anything, just rolled his head back down.

his wife said it was fine. he was just really tired.

so i'd taken his vitals.

i couldn't help but to notice his breathing....

it made the most awful sound when he'd breathe.

it was like he was gurgling water in his throat....

but that was his heart failure.... it wasn't as bad as it would become, but it was still very much noticeable to anyone who'd come in to the room.

i took his vitals, well what i could, and he was stable.... he was okay....

his wife wanted him to get some rest, as he hadn't had much good sleep the night before.

so i let them rest.

i went and cared for a few of my other patients and returned to check on them, as i hadn't been paged or heard from them for a bit.

his eyes were open now....

i'd cleaned him up and changed his clothes....

while cleaning him (and removing his socks), tons of flakes of skin came out of his socks....

he was nice and fresh.... but his skin....

his skin was sooooo dry....

his feet were flaking skin onto the air mattress....

when was the last time anyone had removed his socks?

didn't anyone else see how dry his skin was?

how long had it been like this?

i took extra special care of his feet....

cleaning them thoroughly and in between his toes.

i remember him smiling when i'd dried them and rubbed lotion on them.

i felt like a little lady in the nail salon, giving him a massage like that.... his skin was just sooo dry....

his wife said that was one of his most favorite things....

having his feet rubbed.

he LOVED it.

so i massaged his feet with lotion and wiped off the mattress and he was stylin....

he was fresh, and no more dry skin or flakes!

for the next few weeks, that was my treat for him....

after his bath, i'd massage his feet....

and then one night (while i was sleeping at home),

he'd made a turn for the worse....

i came in and his dear sweet wife, Jan, was there.

his sons were there.

and of course he was there....

his gurgling was the only thing you could hear....

it was so loud and just the most awful sound....

it's one of those sounds that stick with you forever....

he was on a morphine drip....

at this hospital, you could always tell who was on a morphine drip and who was going to pass away at the hospital....

the hospital would wheel in this wooden cabinet with a marble top.

it would have bags of chips, and bottles of juice... things like that on it....

it was as if to make it as comfortable and nice as possible (and usually the patients were too far out of it to know it was there, but their guests could enjoy the treats too)....

i would get that same gut-wrenching feeling when i'd walk into a room with the marble cabinets that i would get when i'd walk into a room with an air mattress....

i knew they wouldn't make it much longer....

and that made me sad....

i'd rubbed and lotioned his feet with his family for the very last time.... he'd passed later that night (during the night).... his family was gone when i'd returned the next day.

i was so sad i didn't get to say goodbye to them for the last time....

and then a few months later, i'd received a personal call on my floor.

i'd answered the phone, having no idea who would possibly be calling for ME personally, but it was Jan. she'd called to ask if she could come by and bring me lunch one day.

i told her she didn't have to, but she wanted to come so badly.

her voice, is still one that i can't ever get out of my head.....

she came one day while i was at the hospital, to have lunch with me.

we went to the cafeteria and this was in january sometime....

she had a small bag (gift) for me and said she'd wanted to see me sometime before Christmas, but she'd been so busy and unable to get ahold of me....

i opened the gift over lunch and it was a beautifully colored, wooden angel ornament.

the card had said "you were jim's angel.... you treated him so wonderfully and i know that he just loved that last foot massage you gave him. i know he was holding on until you were there that last day.... you will forever remain in my heart as having taken the absolute best care of him. thank you ashley."

okay, SOB!!!!

this last Christmas, as we all decorated our tree, i hung that angel, just like i have done every year since, and thought about Jim and Jan. It warmed my heart, just as it always does, to remember her sweet voice, and Jim's soft feet. I know that sounds a bit weird, (about the feet), but it reminds me of my dad, and that was one of his very favorite things for as far back as i can remember.... up until his passing.

when i'd gone out there to see him a few weeks before he'd passed, that's what he wanted me to do all day.... put hot wet washclothes on his feet and then rub them with lotion... he'd fall asleep to me doing that.... funny they both loved their feet rubbed like that.... they both passed of congestive heart failure (my father's being a complication of cancer).... jim's brother was from a small town just next to grand junction, TN, where my father was from.... such a small small world.... maybe it's just me and my overthinking.....

i love my angel ornament, and i'd loved that family.....

such sweet souls, branded my heart....

mr allen

he had the first room on the floor.

he'd been there before.

he just wasn't mine.

but i'd look after him when they'd go on break.

boy was he grumpy.

he was so grumpy.

his room was always overheated.

he'd always be under the sheets and blankets.

his windows were always closed.

the blinds were always pulled.

he always looked dead when you'd walk in.

one day,

he became my patient.

i don't know how that happened, but he just did.

i normally didn't get that side of the floor, but i did today.

and he was my patient.

i went in and "woke him up."

he was mad at me for that.

i said, "i'm sorry mr allen. this is the 3rd time i've come in. i let you sleep the first two times. you can even go back to sleep as soon as i'm done."

he said, "no i can't. i'm awake now."

me: "well then great, let's get you cleaned up and change your sheets and get you eating and all that good stuff."

mr allen: "no. i don't want to. i don't want to do any of that."

i was a bit of a pushover the first day i'd had him.

i'd pleaded a little bit, but he was as straight faced as they come and he wanted NOTHING to do with me or my ideas or assistance.

okay, fine.

but then he was my patient again the next day.

this morning when i went in to check on him, he was sleeping of course.

i didn't let him sleep through his vitals today.

nope.

for all i knew, he was faking it.

he just wanted to be left alone.

so i turned the light on and took his vitals....

he grumbled.

i fixed his breakfast tray.

and he ate. (although not much, he still ate)

there was no bargaining today.

this is what you were GOING to do.

i was not asking.

i was not suggesting.

yes, in fact, i was TELLING you this is how it was going to be.

he wasn't the happiest camper for sure.

i set up his tray halfway across the room

away from his bed and next to a chair.

we moved him to the chair.

it was all nice and cozy for him.

i pulled back the blinds,

let some sun in.

and i went to change his bedding.

i noticed a brown paper grocery bag next to his bed and a picture with him and a woman.

in his paper bag were some clean socks and underwear and an empty KFC container.

i asked who was in the picture with him.

it was his wife.

funny.

i didn't know he was married.

where was she?

she certainly wasn't there.

and if she were working,

then how come i'd never seen her before?

certainly she'd get weekends off? or SOME day during the week....

or at least nights....

certainly she had SOME free time,

but she was NEVER there....

the paper bag...

that was when she was there.

she came to give him a paper bag with clean socks and clean underwear and some KFC.

did she even bother staying with him to eat it?

nope.

just dropped it off and left.

REALLY lady?!

REALLY?!

was it too emotionally difficult for her to stay and watch him like this?

i don't know.

i wasn't in her head.

i wasn't in her heart.

but i'm married now.

i know what our vows were.

i remember them like i just vowed them yesterday....

i remember our vows...

in sickness and in health....

he was sick.

she was not there.....

and i (being the codependent person that i am)

decided he was my mission.

i was going to tackle this bitterness he carried, if it took all of me....

the next day he had a fever.

it wasn't just a little bit of a fever.

it was a lot a bit.

wife?

nope, not there.

i'd filled up his basin with some cold water.

i'd filled up some gloves with ice.

i sat there for a good 35 minutes wiping his forehead, neck, chest, and arms down.

we were going to FIGHT that damned fever....

he hated me for the coldness of all of that.

but that's fine.

he could hate me all he wanted to.

i turned the heater off and i took the blanket off of his bed.

he despised me by now....

he wanted his blanket.

he wanted the heat.

he didn't want the blinds drawn

and he didn't want the cold.

OHHHH WELL MR ALLEN!!!!

i didn't say that, of course, but i was DETERMINED to fight his fever.

(he'd had it since the night before, but they hadn't been able to break it even after medication)....

it just amazed me that no one really took any extra effort to do anything else besides meds....

i mean, i'm no DOCTOR, but sitting there those extra clumps of 30 minute increments helped.

he was a long term patient.

he'd go.

he'd come back.

he'd go home.

he'd come back.

one time, i had the lovely opportunity of meeting his wife.

she was just as quiet and grumbly as he....

i talked with her in the waiting lobby for a few brief moments,

and i cannot tell you exactly the words we exchanged.

i don't remember them that well.

but i remember feeling my face get hot,

and my heart racing and wondering if at any time my superior would walk in and catch me talking to her...

i wondered if i was entirely out of place for what i'd asked and for wondering why she was never there.....

mr allen had gone home.

it was a few months before he came back.

i hadn't been disciplined for talking to her,

so maybe she didn't complain....

i'd HOPED she didn't complain.

but i only felt it was right.

you know, mr allen came back.

he was in poor shape, but he was in suuuch better spirits.

he was in one of the last rooms this time.... i think it was 514.

i'd walked in to check on him, and he smiled.

he WELCOMED me in to his room,

and INTRODUCED ME TO HIS WIFE, (who was THERE in the room with him, sitting next to him this time!)

that made me smile....

that made my heart warm....

i remember he'd asked for a piece of paper and a pen....

i didn't know what for, but i got him a piece of paper and a pen....

and i watched him shake as he wrote....

it took allllll of his effort to write out just a few short sentences.

my eyes watered, and as much as i wanted to jump in and write whatever he needed to get out, i just let him write....

he kept smiling at me.

he smiled at her.

he struggled.

and of course, my eyes watered some more.

i walked out.

for whatever reason, i didn't want him to see me soft.

i had fought like hell, and appeared FAR more tough than i really was, but i wanted to get to him.

i wanted to get in to his heart and "un-grumpy" him....

his letter was to the hospital about me.

he said, "i thank Ashley for taking such good care of me. she made it all worth it."

that's it.

(okay, *bawl!*)

i wondered everyday if he was just going to snap at me,

or complain about me,

or just flat out swing his fist at my face.

i was that rough on him.

"okay, i understand you don't want to get out of bed mr allen, but you have to. okay, come on, get up." i'd pull the sheets back.

oh he HATED me, i knew he hated me.

it was no secret....

but deep down inside,

he needed that.

he needed someone to PUSH him to do it,

because his wife wasn't there pushing him,

i did.

i pushed him.

and then i pushed his wife.

and then she was there.

and then to see him write.

i'd never seen him put forth ANY effort to do ANYTHING aside from grumbling at me....

grumble no more.

no more brown paper bags with kfc and clean socks and underwear.....

that warmed my heart, more than you can ever imagine.

folks, where would you be if your loved one ends up sick and in the hospital?

would you bring them food in a paper bag because the emotions would be too much to deal with?

i mean, really....

it's easy to say you'd be there....

would you go home every night smelling of hospital?

would you hold their hand?

would you kiss their face?

what if they couldn't talk anymore?

what if they couldn't clean themselves anymore....

where would you be?

i'd like to believe that whatever raw emotionally driven speech i gave to mrs allen is the reason she was there the next time.

hell, i don't know.

maybe she lost her job and now had the time to be there (if she'd had a job at all)....

whatever it was, they were together.

exactly where they should have been to begin with.

in sickness,

they were together.....

bed B

bed A was closest to the door, and the first patient i'd see. i pulled his curtain back.

he was the very first patient i'd take vitals on, alone.

there was no one to oversee me.

i remember trying to swallow a lump in my throat when i pulled the curtain back.

he looked just.

like.

my.

dad.

he had lung cancer.

he wasn't very positive about it.

told me it was going to take his life.

i told him about my dad.

my dad was still alive at the time,

and he wasn't doing poorly either.

in fact, he was fighting it.

he was clean of cancer at the time,

or so they thought.

or at least that's what i told bed A.

i remember holding his thin wrist in my hand for 60 whole seconds,

because that's what i did.

i wanted to make sure i didn't just round up or down.

i wanted to give the correct pulse.

after all, i was charting now.

and i didn't have any one else's initials beside the vitals, but mine.

his vitals were good, in fact they were great.

he was just so negative.

i remember while holding his wrist, bed B's life changed.... forever.....

those 60 seconds changed bed B's life (and mine) forever....

the dr walked in while i was with bed A.

he pulled the curtain back for bed B and i could hear every.... single... word being spoken.

dr said. "mr littlejohn, the results are in. there is cancer in your liver and your pancreas. it is inoperable, but we will be referring you to another...." that was all i'd heard from the dr.... i was still trying to count A's pulse.

i heard mr. littlejohn ask, "what does that mean? how long do i have? dr, will i make it to my next birthday?"

i swallowed.

and then swallowed again.

i was still counting the beats in A's wrist.

dr: "patients with cancer in their liver and pancreas, have anywhere from 6 to 12 months."

mr littlejohn: "but will i make it to my next birthday?"

dr: "unfortunately mr littlejohn, there's no way to tell that. i'll be back in later on today to discuss further options with you and your family."

the dr walked out....

how was i supposed to go over there and take his vitals? REALLY?! i am supposed to go over there and say what?

"um hi, i know you just found out that you're terminal, but can i go ahead and take your temperature and blood pressure?"

yeah, that wasn't going to happen, but my legs (and heart) for whatever reason, still felt compelled enough to walk the rest of my body over there.

i left the machine outside his curtain.

i wasn't going to do that to him.

i pulled his curtain back.

introduced myself as taking care of him for the day.

i walked over to him and he just looked at me, with tears in his eyes.

i just looked at him, and there were NO other words exchanged.

i just leaned in and hugged him

and he reached up and just hugged me back, and began weeping on my shoulder.

yes, he was sobbing.

and through the tears and the sniffles, he asked, "how am i going to tell my wife and my daughter? i can't call them and tell them. will you call them?"

my brain automatically FREAKS!!!! "what? me? call them? what the hell am iiii supposed to say?! i don't know them!"

but i swallowed. i said, "sure. what would you like me to say?"

he said, "i don't know."

i said, "why don't we ask them to come in and we can call for the dr when they are here, and the doctor can help you tell them."

that was our best bet.

he agreed.

and that's what i did.

he couldn't even take the phone to talk to his wife.

but she came.

she came and we called the dr and the dr came back and broke the horrible news to his wife.

they cried together.

they called in their daughter, and near the end of my shift, mr littlejohn's entire family was there.

how quickly his room filled with people who loved him dearly.

children, and grandchildren came.

sisters, brothers.

it was amazing....

(poor A, he couldn't rest that day)....

i was off the next day, but when i came back the day after, mr littlejohn had gone home.

he left the hospital, to go home and pass peacefully.

that was what he decided.

he didn't want his last time alive to be spent miserably....

i prayed that he would make it to his next birthday.

i never got to say goodbye.

i thought for sure he'd be there when i got back.

----------

2 months later, i'd been floated to another floor.

i saw his dr.

i asked "hey dr! whatever happened to mr littlejohn. he'd left on my day off, and i was sad i didn't get to say goodbye."

he'd told me, "he went home. he went home and passed away 5 days later...."

WHAT?!

my mind went a million miles a minute....

FIVE DAYS LATER?!

"but you'd said 6 to 12 months.... how misleading....." (i didn't say that, but i did think it)....

i am glad he went home.

i am glad he'd had all his family there that day....

even though mr A didn't get any rest that day,

dear sweet mr littlejohn had his family surround him just days before he passed.

i wonder if he knew he wasn't going to make it much longer....

i really wonder if he knew....

what would you do if you got a call that your spouse (or anyone you care about for that matter) only had 5 days left to live?....

everyone thinks they live each day like it's their last, but i promise you, you don't.

you may think you do, but you don't.

yesterday, i'd stumbled across this lady's blog... she had started it just 1 month before her husband passed away tragically and untimely. he died at work. in a work related accident. it TURNED my stomach, and i probably shouldn't have read it, but i couldn't stop.

i thought about jason, and if he were to just not come home one night.

i am not entirely sure i'd be able to go on.....

i have made every attempt to tell him and SHOW him daily how much i love, adore and appreciate him and all his hard work....

what have you done lately?

again, people, i know it's like me beating a dead horse.

i say it all the time.

hold on tightly and lovingly to the ones you love most....

they aren't going to be here forever.

so long mr littlejohn.

i will forever remember your embrace and your tears....

but even more than that i'll remember your strength.

you held it together for your wife and your family SO amazingly well....

i will forever remember you....

mr. higashi.

so i remember him putting his hand up in our faces.

he didn't want to eat.

he'd turn his head.

he didn't want to talk.

he wasn't rude.

he was Japanese.

he had cancer.

in his throat.

of COURSE he didn't want to talk.

it was in his esophagus too.

ugh.

it turns my stomach when i think back to him.

but i loved that man and his family.

he wouldn't eat for anyone.

NO ONE.

they told him he was going to have to have a G-Tube put into his stomach (feeding tube).

he didn't care.

he wasn't going to eat.

i remember going in there and literally pleading with him, trying to bargain with him to get him to eat.

he was slipping away.

much faster than we could even keep up with.

i remember all the different iv's and "vitamins" they'd feed him. they tried.

they really tried.

i remember one day, i cleaned his glasses.

i told him he didn't have to eat, but he was going to be clean.

he didn't have to eat, but he had to be cleaned.

he didn't like to be bathed.

he didn't want to be touched.

he just wanted to lie there.

he didn't want to wear his glasses.

he didn't want to move.

but this day,

we cleaned him up.

we combed his hair.

we cleaned his glasses and even put them on.

he let me.

and he smiled.

his food came in, and i asked what his favorite food on that tray was.

it was the chocolate pudding of course.

i leaned down and whispered in his ear, "i don't blame you. that's my favorite too!"

he smiled.

i told him we'd skip all the other stuff, and we'd eat the chocolate pudding.

he smiled.

and so we did

we skipped the other stuff on the tray....

the beef probably could have gotten up and walked away....

all the other stuff, just sat there. looked gross, i can only imagine how it tasted.

probably.... gross.

i spoon fed him chocolate pudding.

and he ate it.

each bite.

and he swallowed.

painfully, he swallowed.

the way he swallowed made me want to hold my throat and swallow for him.

he would squint his eyes as hard as he could, and SLOWLY gulp each bite....

AHHHH!

if i could have swallowed for him, i would have.

i really would have.

it's the small things we take for granted, you know?

like being able to swallow.

put food in your mouth, chew it up and imagine you can't swallow it.

keep it there in your mouth as it gets even more soggy....

your mouth gets more and more full of saliva....

you just swallow it.

imagine what it would be like if you couldn't....

mr. higashi finally began to talk to me....

he motioned for me to come close to him,

and of course i did.

he said, "mmmm.... it's soooo good."

and he would smile.

this went on for a while.

on my days off, he wouldn't eat.

he just flat out wouldn't eat.

if i was working and someone else had him, he wouldn't eat.

i'd go in and feed him.

his family asked that i take care of him when i worked.

it was a bit flattering, but i wished he'd eat for others too.

he was a funny guy.

he began talking a little bit more with me.

i always asked him about his pain level, even while he was eating.

he'd say "no pain."

i said, "well you just made a face like that REALLY hurt."

he said "it's okay. im just acting."

i loved this man.

i mean i genuinely fell in love with his family.

every single one of them.

i remember the day that came when the dr said a decision needed to be made.

he needed nutrients and either he needed a G-tube placed or he'd be sent home to pass peacefully.

i remember that day his wife pulled me into the hallway and asked me what i would do.

she said she didn't know what to do and she hadn't ever imagined she would have to make a decision like that.

he wouldn't make the decision either.

he just put his hand up anytime anyone would talk to him.

he wouldn't eat.

he wanted all the tubes out of him.

he was trying to take them out himself.

i remember his wife sitting in a chair with a tissue to her nose telling me she never thought she would have to do this.... she was telling me about their life together and the fun things he did before he got sick.

i remember kneeling at her feet with my hands on her knees, crying too....

i found the journal entry from that day....

i kept my journal with me at all times, because sometimes.... sometimes it was just too much.

i was helpless.... again.

i was helpless and didn't know what to tell her, but we talked it through and she decided that he wouldn't have wanted to have the surgery and live that way....

so she took him home....

and he passed away 5 weeks later at home....

peacefully....

i found the card his family sent me with a much younger picture of him.

i cried all over again....

oh mr. higashi....

how you will be missed.

lumpy love.

so.

jason thinks that i think too "morbidly" sometimes....

i am not entirely sure what ever sparked my thinking like this.

i try to go back as far as i can remember having my first thoughts of death and dying and being scared about medical things, and i think my earliest memory was when i was walking in a kmart or a store similar to that, with my father.

he had had a heart attack some time before that, and i remember him telling me that "you know, once you have one heart attack, you're likely to have another one, and you usually don't live through the second one." now, i'm not entirely sure if that was a guilt trip or what the intention was at the time, but whatever it was meant to do, it scared the ba-jeebies out of me.... and i never forgot it...

when i got older and worked in the hospital in oncology (with cancer patients), this fear only grew.... i mean, i LOVED my work, because i helped my patients daily.... it was an amazing job to have.... and i was amazingly blessed to be the one at many people's sides while they passed. i mean, not that i ENJOYED being there, but if i wasn't, i'm not sure who would have been.

one of my patients was a homeless guy. he was a DNR (do not resusitate, (sp?)).... anyway, the nurses called him a "drugseeking patient," and before i'd gone in there, i felt like "oh gosh, this guy just wants drugs.... and then, i saw him.... he couldn't sit still.... he was all over the place, and clearly uncomfortable.... he couldn't lie still. well i worked the next day, and he was my patient again, only this time i was a sitter for him. sitter, being that you just sit and watch them all day for one of many possible reasons. (reasons being: they are a suicidal patient, they are likely to fall and keep attempting to get out of bed, they are having seizures continuously, they are ripping their IV or pulse ox machine off.... whatever the reason, there are many of them.)

so i watched him because he kept pulling on his IV and he kept trying to get out of bed. i was actually a sitter for 2 men this day. i sat in the middle of them both, one was trying to pull off his pulse ox (for those of you who don't know what that is, that's the little machine with the red dot that goes on your fingertip. what it does is it measures the oxygen in your fingertips, which ultimately tells them how much oxygen is getting to your extremities. when this number drops, actions need to be taken), and the other was trying to get out of bed and rip his IV out, but really wasn't too alert to realize what he was doing... he was just mumbling and doing the actions, without even really knowing what he was doing. it was terrible.

so my right, i had this BIG, STRONG man with a LOUD dinging machine (when the pulse ox was off of his finger) and then a smaller, frail man who kept trying to climb out. it was so difficult at times when they were both in action, that i remember looking up at the clock multiple times and thinking how grateful i would be when this day was over.... this poor man. he was soooo antsy.... wasn't there anything in the world they could do for him? he kept saying, "sir, help me." (he was out of it and his eyes were closed) and he would be pulling himself up and i'd say, in a soft voice, "I'm right here. I need you to lie back down for me, okay?" and he'd say, "sorry sir. it hurts sir. please help me ma'am." and he'd hold onto my right arm with his left hand. and he'd lie still for a few moments and i'd cover him up with the sheet, and think he was settled, and right when i'd go to sit down, he'd repeat the same cycle.... ohhh it broke my heart.... i'd wished there was something i could have done for him. HE HAD CANCER IN EVERY PART OF HIS BODY!!!! It was in his back, in his bones, EVERYWHERE!!!! how could anyone stand to watch this man suffer like this, and yet still call him a "drugseeking patient!" i'd be drugseeking too, if i were in that much pain!!!!

anyway, i had this fellow the very next day.... again.... only this day, he was content. he was nearly out of it. wasn't fighting to get out of bed anymore.... he just lie still most of the day. i wasn't his sitter, for he no longer needed one. nurse giving report said that he was likely to pass at some time today.... and that he was a DNR so I didn't need to take vitals anymore, not after the first batch.... my insides felt like, "how could you just give up on someone like that?" i mean, I KNOW he was sick, and i KNOW he wasn't going to make it, but can't you monitor his oxygen level? give him more if you could.... i don't know.... i battled this one for a while. i took his vitals anyway.... and they were horrible... i knew he wasn't going to last through my shift.... i checked on him frequently. made sure he had oxygen.... his vitals were slowly dropping, and i remember just taking a seat..... no one was there. i pulled up a chair and he rolled his head towards me.... he started pulling on my arm... his vitals started going nuts.... heartrate was elevating, and he was clearly in pain.... i remember leaning my face down to him and whispering in his ear.... "it's okay, i'm riight here," just as i had the day before.... i had my cheek pressed against his and i held onto his hand with my left hand and my right hand was on top of his head.... i remember the way he had looked. i remember cleaning him the very best i could every day.... i remember.... the moment my cheek was against his, and i whispered in his ear, him lying still and his heart rate slowly dropping.... it was almost as if you could FEEL the fear lift from him.... it made me sooo sad and yet so much better knowing that he wasn't alone.... i watched his chest rise and fall until it didn't rise again.... i remember staring at his chest, waiting for it to rise again.... and staring at his chest and staring at it.... thinking, "he's gonna breathe again...." it's unreal, watching someone pass.... like, how does one's body just stop? how can ANYONE let ANYONE die alone??? his "girlfriend" came by AFTER he passed and before i had gotten him ready to go to the morgue.... she acted a bit upset, but not much.... she looked like she was loaded and it just sickened me. i felt like, "where were you?!" but i didn't say a word....

there are so many patients that i've had, that i remember nearly everything about... i remember their names, first and last. i remember their look, i remember their personality, their diagnosis. i remember how long they stayed and i remember their families....

it can still turn my stomach at times, watching people battle illnesses.... people fighting JUST TO STAY ALIVE, and here we are fretting the small stuff in life.... complaining to your spouses about who works more, or who makes more money, or who takes care of the kids more.... it turns my stomach....

--------------------------

there's this lump in my armpit.

it started a few days ago.... and has, at minimum, doubled in size....

it hurts to move my right arm.

it hurts to put a shirt on, it hurts to wash.

it just hurts.

i'm sure it's just a swollen lymphnode or something, but it hurts.... and when i looked it up on the internet, it says, "If you are a woman experiencing this lump, CONTACT YOUR DR IMMEDIATELY, as this may also be a sign of breast cancer."

ohhh. nice.

especially nice considering my father passed away from cancer. his brother and sister both passed away from cancer. and he has one other sister who is still alive....

his father passed away from cancer, and all of his siblings, minus one that is still alive (7 or 8 siblings mind you) have all passed away from some type of cancer.

it's clear.

cancer runs on my dad's side....

like i said, i'm sure it's just a swollen lymphnode, i'm nearly certain, but i'm not entirely sure i'd ever forgive myself for dismissing something that could be fatal, knowing i knew my odds before hand.... if it were just me, i would probably say "it's a freakin swollen lymphnode... i'll wait til it goes away." buuuut... it's not just me... it's jason. it's taylor. it's lewie....

my aunt wanda, who passed away most recently of breast cancer, had known she had a lump for a year and a half and by then there was nothing they could do. it was everywhere. they tried, but it was just too far spread to even really help. she passed away after just a few short months of battling it.

so about that lump in my armpit, (that i'm sure is just a swollen lymphnode), it had me awake much of the night because it hurt so bad. all these thoughts started going through my head.... like, what if BAM dr's told me i had cancer? honestly, emotionally, i feel soooo incredibly drained, i'm not even sure i'd have the energy to keep fighting, but then YEAH RIGHT!!!! do you know who i am? i fight everything! i guess that was the attitude i was looking for.... i was thinking of how pathetic my insides sounded thinking that there just wasn't anything else i could fight right now.... that's not ME.... that was that pathetic little voice inside my head throwing a pity party.... cuz whatever it is, cyst, lymphnode.... whatever it is, i just want it to goooo away.... it hurts.

do i think i'm dying?

no.

do i think i have cancer?

no.

do i think i think too much?

yes.

duh.

will i call the dr?

yes.

today.

will i be okay?

i'm sure of it.

anyway, i guess where i was kind of going with this one was, that before you find yourself arguing over the small petty stuff that seems huge at the time, imagine if you were lying at the side of someone you love.... watching them fight to live.... what are those last minute words you'd cram in to say to them? what would you apologize for? would you kiss them and hug them and hold them? well, why don't you try apologizing for those things now... while they're still conscious.... why don't you kiss em, hold em, hug em now.... now, while you have the chance... why don't you let all the petty stuff go... and look at these moments you're given with them now.... they won't be there forever.... go ahead.... love on em.

.....i won't even tell em i told you to. ;)

flight line and teardrops. (originally written on august 14th, 2008)

flight line and teardrops....
rain in the summer.

cars, like ants, we drove on base.
seemingly knew to flock to the same area....
"the food" (for ants), i suppose....
is where we all parked....

herds of families walked in together....
children, children.
so many children.
so many wives.
and hearts.
and welcome home signs....
the ushers at the entrance passing out tiny american flags.
and red, white and blue pom poms....
all for us to cheer our marines in....
to welcome them home....

i kept my shades over my eyes....

we shuffled in and sat in the large room....
a large television overhead and seats everywhere....
vending machines.
tables covered in playdoh for the kids....
and a snack room....
with snacks and drinks covering the tables for anyone who cared to munch.
not i.
i sat uneasy.

i looked around this large room....
everyone here for the same reason as i.
to welcome someone home.
what about the ones who weren't here today?
what about the ones who SHOULD have been here today,
but weren't.....
what about them?
where were they?
what were THEY doing?
it hurt....

this is REALITY....
Man, this is our reality.
this is real life....
and just another normal day in the life of the military....

another group of our men and women coming home....
after being gone for MONTHS!!!!

this blonde woman in a knee length black dress talks over the speaker....
"your marines are about 30 minutes away. i will get on here and let you know when they are about 15 minutes away, and at that time, you will be allowed to head out to the flight line and wait for your marine."

....

.... no more than about 7 minutes passed, and she was back.
that blonde in the black dress....

"your marines are about 10 minutes away now. you may head outside to the flight line and wait for their arrival.... CON-GRAT-U-LA-TIONS!!!! You did it!!!!"

man!....
man oh man oh man oh man.....
this is INSAAAAANE!

we all walk out to the flight line.
there are red tents for those who would like to avoid the sun.

and there.
there was the marine corps band.
they are quite a musical group.
i mean, really.
all it took was one song.
no, wait.
just the beginning of one song, to bring tears to my eyes....
the played to the left,
as everyone gathered at the flight line....
what an INTENSE feeling....
on the ground....
a bunch of men and women walking around....
you felt like you were a part of top gun.
the rumbling of the ground....
the vibrations in your chest,
as the planes and jets roared their engines and flew outta there....
what an AMAZING view....
a fantastic one....

but where was OUR jet....
the one that held OUR marines?
the crowd of people searched the skies....
and off to the left.
up in the clouds.
there was a tiny white light....
the front of their plane coming in....
and the light got bigger....
and closer....
and lower.....

and the sound of the jet got louder.
and louder.
and closer.
and this HUUUGE oversized jet
FINALLY
touched down....
speeding past us....
and off to the right....

about 5 minutes later, it comes taxiing back.
and rests to the right....
the stairs are pushed against the plane....
and within a few moments,
the door slides up....
this jet is a BEAST!!!!
it's HUUUUGE!

at this point Taylor is crying uncontrollably!!!!
holy cow.
my right arm is shaking from holding her weight for so long.
I want to put her down, but she can't see if i do...
she's clenching me sooo tightly....
her nerves, probably so much greater than mine....
and mine were stomach turning on a 135 pounder.
i can only imagine what hers were like on a little 55 pounder....
but i tell you this....
when her tears fell....
so did mine....
and when her heart ached....
so did mine....
(it's amazing how that works when you become a parent.....
never before have i been so directly affected by someone else...
but HER.... HER heart is directly attached to mine, i tell you....)

minutes pass, and here they come....
OUR MARINES....
piling off the plane!
i couldn't see Jason, but I knew he was there...
I saw marine after marine....
and so started the tears.....
those men and women,
touching U.S. ground again....
Welcome Home troops....
Welcome Home....

and they hand in their weapon....
and sign in for their rooms.
get their room key....
and wait for their bags.....
their bags that are brought in on this HUGE truck....
green bags just PILED on this truck.
to us.... that's what it looks like.... a bunch of green bags....
but to our troops, these bags are their lives for these past months....
their lives were stuffed into these "green bags."

and like clockwork, all these men, lined up....
shoulder to shoulder.... starting from the back of the truck.
and handed these bags down this file of strong men....
none of them seeming to become tired....
sweat dripping off of every single one of them,
but not one of them slowing down....
the bags made it down the file to the very last man, where he would drop the bag
in no particular order or sequence....
and finally about 15 minutes later all of these hundreds of bags
made up rows and rows of our soldiers lives....

i stood in the middle of all the passing marines,
looking down at their boots....
there was still sand in them....
there was still sand from iraq in their boots....
our troops are home,
but just hours before, stood on war grounds....
it made me overcome with such a wide range of emotions....
a part of me overjoyed they were home safely...
another part of me soooooo disturbed that they were even there to begin with....

one of the marines loud voice, yells over the crowds "LISTEN UP MARINES!!!! DOES ANYONE NEED TRANSPORTATION TO THE BARRACKS?"

I quickly looked up....
and around....
if someone needed transportation to the barracks,
that meant they probably didn't have anyone waiting for them when they arrived.
I looked around....

His voice asked again, "DOES ANYONE NEED TRANSPORTATION TO THE BARRACKS?"

He paused.
once more, "TRANSPORTATION TO THE BARRACKS? ANYONE?"

No one seemed to need transportation at that time....
I exhaled....
to me that meant everyone had somebody....

He smiled....
as did i....

about 5 minutes later, I heard a young man say to another, "where can I get a ride to the barracks?"

I quickly turned around and there was a tall sandy blonde haired gentleman with round glasses on, standing alone holding his pack on his back, and that "green bag" over his shoulder and a black briefcase looking bag in his other hand....

I turned and said, "Thank you for what you've done. I am glad you're home safely.... Welcome Home!!!!"

I just wanted to hug him....
but you don't know what to do.....
you don't know how they are feeling emotionally.
you know?
i found this same exact feeling when I worked in the hospital....
when i'd meet a cancer patient for the very first time....
what do you say to them, you know?
how do you act towards them?
how are THEY feeling?
do you say you are sorry?
what if they aren't sorry?
what if you offend them by saying you're sorry?
i didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was....
and so i just touched his arm and said, "welcome home," again.....

all the while,
my shades never left my nose...
because if they did....
these brave brave troops would see how incredibly weak i really was....
tears unable to stop pouring from my eyes as i walked this flight line....
To see Taylor in Jason's arms was incredible.
It really was.....

but my heart didn't stop there.....
there were so many others as well....
so many reunions....
husbands.
wives.
children.
parents.
newborns.
aunts.
uncles.
grandparents.
godparents....
boyfriends.
girlfriends.
brothers.
sisters.
friends.
fellow troops.
it goes on.
and on.
and on.
and i was just here.....

just another ant....
on another normal day.
in the life of the military.....
wishing i could do more.
say more.
give more.

and yet, all i could do,
was walk this FLIGHT LINE....
with my American Flag.
Pom poms.
AND TEARDROPS.....

Welcoming Home our brave men and women....