S….

I spent one full day with him on a day shift. It did not take him long to tell me he almost died, his wife could not handle it, and left him. Beating all odds, he lived. And it was a constant daily struggle. It took him ten minutes often just to muster enough energy to move. He was only 54, and in his early forties when illness struck.

I talked when he talked. When he was silent, I stayed silent. I reckon as sick as he was, the last thing he needed was a talkative woman. We did talk, but most of the time we were silent. It was as though we were able to connect in silence. Neither of us feel the need to talk most of the time. At one point, he told me, “You know, Trudy, this time I feel I am either going to make it or die.”  I assured him since he beat death once, he should beat death again.

I took care of him one more night when he fell and was hospitalized, I did not see him again until he came out of the hospital, thin and gaunt. It was my last shift there. I arrived to find the entire family there. His sister and day time carer told me the abscess in his brain has gotten to him. He had been angry, yelling at them all day. They warned me he will yell at me. I was not the least bit concern. If he does, I will not take it personally. They informed me he was dying and could die anytime.

I saw him laying on the couch and after signing in, went to greet him, he opened his eyes, saw me and smiled. And with that went into a place of peace. He was dying and I know for a dying person, touch is very important. I pulled a chair and sat near him and simply let my hand touch a part of his body. It was like a physical contact assuring him I was there and he was not alone. He opened his eyes a few times, saw me and smiled and slided back into sleep again.  At one point, he woke up and sat, scratching his back. I remember a part of our study book suggested giving residents back rub to calm them down. I knew how to do it. I moved to gently massage his back for quite a while before his girlfriend came and got him to lay down. Gently because he was skeletal.

He actually woke up and wanted to eat. His girlfriend made him English muffin with fried ham. She fed him one half, I slowly fed him the second. His sister came in to check on him and was shocked. She assured us he will throw up. I did not think so and he did not. He kept it down much to her amazement. He had been vomiting everything solid he ate.

I took my station the entire night seated on a chair right next to him and stayed in meditative mode. His sister came out often to check on him. Four hours after I got there, she came out again and almost surprised, confided, “You know since you come here, I have spent more time with him than I had been doing. And I was here since Saturday.” It was Tuesday then.

I told her he opened his eyes and smiled at me a few times. She could not believe it and wanted him to open his eyes to look at her. It did not happen. When he next opened his eyes, I quickly got her to his bedside. She tried to get their brother to sit with him for a few minutes and he declined. After ten years of watching him suffering this way, the family appeared to find it too painful to be with him. They walked by, looked at him and moved to huddle together in a group, socializing with each other.

I stayed the entire night, in meditative silence, meditating, praying for him. He stayed calm and peaceful through the night. The following morning, his sister was surprised and told me she wish I could be there more often. My shift was once a week.

The experience moved me profoundly, the level of trust he had in me where the moment he saw me, he went into a place of peace. It affirmed to me that the calling I experienced to help with the dying is real and concrete. I was not afraid of him dying and in turn it appeared to help his sister.