Legendary Sandwich
The Holiest of Hoagies.
Picking up where we left off from Part 1 - Introduction (<- click there to read), I want to share some experiences that I've had the opportunity to encounter, and my personal thoughts on them.
These aren't in any particular order, and names have been changed to protect confidentiality
Normally I wouldn't include any names at all, but as a writer and story-teller, I feel it has a greater impact to include them so the reader has a person to connect the event to.
What you're about to read however is one hundred percent non-fiction.
Take that as you will.
It was there in that dark room that we looked into each others eyes, hers full of tears and uncertainty, and me with as much compassion and sincerity as I could muster. I wasn't sure if the words I spoke were sufficient enough to ease her pain or calm her down, but I did what I could.
Leslie was her name. 50 years old, and widowed recently. Her husband taken by cancer. I forget the strain.
I was walking along the hallway, doing my rounds when I heard her quiet sobbing. I cursed under my breath out of annoyance. There was an Alzheimer's Patient in that room, and she had just fallen asleep. I was concerned Leslie might wake up her not-so-calm roommate.
But swallowing that annoyance, I knocked on the door and stepped in.
"Hello? Ms. Leslie? Is everything alright?"
A meek voice called back in-between the sobs.
I went in further. Leslie was the middle bed. All of our rooms had three beds as opposed to two. All of them were occupied at the time.
Ms. Leslie stared at me, her eyes glistening and her face wet with tears. All at once the annoyance I felt melted and I approached her softly.
"What's wrong dear?"
Let it be known that despite my hard exterior, I really am a soft and gentle man. I do indeed call my patients dear, hun, sweetie, all that mushy stuff. In my experience, it puts people at ease to know they have a caregiver who is indeed sincere.
Anyway Leslie looks up at me and begins to tell her story to me.
Her husband who she loved, was taken from her just this past September by cancer. She was heartbroken and the grief has been heavy on her. Leslie became laid up in our facility due to an accident. Slipped and broke her hip on the floor of a restaurant's bathroom. Having to deal with the surgery, the healing, the stress and frustration of it all on top of losing her husband, it was too much for her.
Then there was the uncertainty of it. She didn't know if she could truly walk again. But to me, this seemed more anxiety than anything, especially after having a look at her information. The doctors did a fine job of patching her up.
So to calm her down, and to let her know I too come from a place of great pain and loss, I told her my own story.
I almost went and did it. Two years prior. Almost took my own life as though it meant nothing because to me it did feel like it meant nothing. I tried twice but something always stopped me from following through.
I told her that we're still here cause we're strong, and that faith in my experience, isn't something we can use at our leisure. Faith is something you have to have even when the road in front of you doesn't seem to have any sunshine ahead. Even in the darkness, when all light is gone, you must have it.
Together we prayed and I simply told her to have faith. Things will be better.
Months later, she's walking again, and tears of joy replaced the tears of her sorrow. She's almost out. Just three more weeks.
I smiled. I've seen her come to our facility, been there since day one of her admittance. She couldn't walk, use the restroom by herself, nothing of the sort. But now here she is, regaining her independence, becoming strong again.
I couldn't have been more proud, and she has thanked me on many occasions for being there for her.
Times like this, things like this, this is why I do what I do. Stay even though it's hard.
But this is just one experience out of many. I have a lot more stories for those interested.
I'll make a mini series detailing them, as well as getting more into medical policies and procedures for those interested.
Until Part 3, have a wonderful night.
These aren't in any particular order, and names have been changed to protect confidentiality
Normally I wouldn't include any names at all, but as a writer and story-teller, I feel it has a greater impact to include them so the reader has a person to connect the event to.
What you're about to read however is one hundred percent non-fiction.
Take that as you will.
"Medicine is only for those who cannot imagine doing anything else." - Dr. Launda Grazette, MD.
It was there in that dark room that we looked into each others eyes, hers full of tears and uncertainty, and me with as much compassion and sincerity as I could muster. I wasn't sure if the words I spoke were sufficient enough to ease her pain or calm her down, but I did what I could.
Leslie was her name. 50 years old, and widowed recently. Her husband taken by cancer. I forget the strain.
I was walking along the hallway, doing my rounds when I heard her quiet sobbing. I cursed under my breath out of annoyance. There was an Alzheimer's Patient in that room, and she had just fallen asleep. I was concerned Leslie might wake up her not-so-calm roommate.
But swallowing that annoyance, I knocked on the door and stepped in.
"Hello? Ms. Leslie? Is everything alright?"
A meek voice called back in-between the sobs.
I went in further. Leslie was the middle bed. All of our rooms had three beds as opposed to two. All of them were occupied at the time.
Ms. Leslie stared at me, her eyes glistening and her face wet with tears. All at once the annoyance I felt melted and I approached her softly.
"What's wrong dear?"
Let it be known that despite my hard exterior, I really am a soft and gentle man. I do indeed call my patients dear, hun, sweetie, all that mushy stuff. In my experience, it puts people at ease to know they have a caregiver who is indeed sincere.
Anyway Leslie looks up at me and begins to tell her story to me.
Her husband who she loved, was taken from her just this past September by cancer. She was heartbroken and the grief has been heavy on her. Leslie became laid up in our facility due to an accident. Slipped and broke her hip on the floor of a restaurant's bathroom. Having to deal with the surgery, the healing, the stress and frustration of it all on top of losing her husband, it was too much for her.
Then there was the uncertainty of it. She didn't know if she could truly walk again. But to me, this seemed more anxiety than anything, especially after having a look at her information. The doctors did a fine job of patching her up.
So to calm her down, and to let her know I too come from a place of great pain and loss, I told her my own story.
I almost went and did it. Two years prior. Almost took my own life as though it meant nothing because to me it did feel like it meant nothing. I tried twice but something always stopped me from following through.
I told her that we're still here cause we're strong, and that faith in my experience, isn't something we can use at our leisure. Faith is something you have to have even when the road in front of you doesn't seem to have any sunshine ahead. Even in the darkness, when all light is gone, you must have it.
Together we prayed and I simply told her to have faith. Things will be better.
Months later, she's walking again, and tears of joy replaced the tears of her sorrow. She's almost out. Just three more weeks.
I smiled. I've seen her come to our facility, been there since day one of her admittance. She couldn't walk, use the restroom by herself, nothing of the sort. But now here she is, regaining her independence, becoming strong again.
I couldn't have been more proud, and she has thanked me on many occasions for being there for her.
Times like this, things like this, this is why I do what I do. Stay even though it's hard.
But this is just one experience out of many. I have a lot more stories for those interested.
I'll make a mini series detailing them, as well as getting more into medical policies and procedures for those interested.
Until Part 3, have a wonderful night.
