Ten-Finger Exercises

Prelude to a conversation

I’m ready to go to sleep, now that the kids are quietly snoozing, but I want to record this incident. My reason for writing about my patients and my work is not so that people will tell me what a hard job I have, or what a difference I make, etc. Honestly. I’m not out for pats on the back. I write about these things because not everyone has an opportunity to experience them. Death is not an everyday thing any more.

I also write about the people because they are so interesting. Maybe it’s crazy, but it fascinates me that people are all so different, so very unlike me in so many ways. And of course they’re probably like me in other ways, some that I don’t want to recognize. Ahem. That’s about to be a chicken, right?

Today’s incident is interesting to me because of the language. I know I can’t get it verbatim. I was fishing around for a pencil and pad when another visitor came into the patient’s room, and I didn’t want to have someone see me transcribing a conversation. Then, further interruptions kept me from being able to write down the words. Being nonsensical in context, they don’t come back easily.

The patient I was visiting is a woman I’ve known for about fifteen years or more, but never well, by choice. She worked at the hospital for some time, then became a patient I saw occasionally as she battled with back problems and then cancer. I don’t know why I never really liked her. That’s possibly some of the shadow likeness I don’t see or admit to, I suppose. But not this part: she is not a truthful person. She whines, blames and refuses to see that much of what has happened to her was a result of her own actions. Life sucks, as far as she’s concerned, and no one has ever done right by her.

It seldom happens that a truly righteous person is disowned by all her family and shunned by friend after friend who try over and over to help before giving up. I hope it seldom happens. I’m sure this is not a case of it. This woman has a mean streak in her, just plain danged mean. There’s something shifty about her too.

Now after saying all this bad stuff, you’re probably wondering how I could possibly be of any help to her now that she is dying. Me too, but she asked for me. She even asked if I’d do her eulogy, although I think she means her entire memorial service from what she said. She was suggesting hymns and readings, although she couldn’t remember what The Lord’s Prayer or the 23rd Psalm sounded like and had them confused.

Another chicken. I’m off the track again. I must really need to write this down.

She wanted to be cremated and have her ashes put into the grave with her father, but her sister won’t allow it.She has no money for a burial plot, or even the cremation, and she told me her children don’t want her ashes anyway. From their conversations with the nurse, that statement sounded accurate. So when I got some information on donations of bodies for science that include a cremation, all free of charge, I mentioned it to her. She wandered off onto the poor-me trail, and so I didn’t press it.

I did call and give the information to her daughter, who told me to tell her that she loved her. (Patient does not have a phone in her nursing home room. The daughter had just that day found her paternal grandmother, for whom she had been caregiver, dead. She was not in shape to make the five hour trip to see her own mother again, especially after a brutal visit last week.)

There. That’s long enough for one blog. Probably too long, but it’s background. I’ll try again later in the week for record the conversations here.

Thanks for listening, and good night.


One quick funny first.

The twins went shopping with me yesterday, and were exceedingly good and well behaved. There was no whining, no begging for this toy or that dessert. I told them as we were getting in the car how proud I was of them. Jackson said, "We did it for you. We aren't like this at home."