*first I wanted to mention 2 things I've been meaning to say in response to your previous posts: did you get your shift key fixed? Cuz on my computer there is a little keyboard symbol on the bottom right and I just have to switch it back to an English version. and in regards to Murphy needing kennel time, I can't remember if I read this, or if I heard this, but I think dogs (full grown) need something like 13-16 hours of sleep per day, and puppies need more...so that's probably why he goes crazy...over-tiredness. *shrug*
This year has been filled with new experiences (and it's not even an entire month old!). I've had to see an ex, worn a cast, been to a walk-in-clinic, had to kind of save someone in the middle of the street, and gone skating on the Red River instead of the Assiniboine.
I know those new things are really no big deal, but there is one that is a big deal, and I know it's a total mood killer, but I just want to get it out there, and maybe somehow, putting it in cyberspace will get it further away from me.
On Monday I was babysitting B and she had a cold, and I still had my cast, and I felt so bad for the snotty-nosed, froggy voiced cutie pie that I missed a phone call...not that I would have answered it because I didn't recognize the number anyway...but I checked the voicemail and that voicemail told me that one of my coworkers (Heather) had been transferred from one of the smaller hospitals to a larger hospital and was going to be getting palliative radiation because her uterine cancer was out of remission and had spread into her lymph nodes.
I was terrified. I knew it would be best to go visit, but I had no idea how. I had no idea what to expect, what to say, or what to bring with me. It dawned on me that while I spend a lot of time at the bedsides of the dying it has always been in a professional capacity. I have never known any of those people. There are times when the story of a patient touches us.
The 35 year old man who died of cancer.
The 40 year old man who was on the ward for such a very long time while complication after complication tore at his body until he finally died.
The man who was so frustrating and demanding and yet when he unexpectedly died his family came in shocked grief and agreed to tissue donation.
These stories, and many more, have affected me, but none of them have actually prepared me for someone I know and interact with on a regular basis to be the one in the bed.
I found myself in Superstore, after leaving B to snuggle with her mom and watch Yo Gabba Gabba, almost in tears in the flower section trying to figure out what kind of flowers you buy for someone who is dying. Is purple too dark? Is yellow "the dying colour"? Daisy's? Roses? Carnations? Lilies? I mean, I wanna brighten up the room, but I don't want the flowers to be all "sorry you are dying. Eventually I picked some white flowers which I mixed with some bright yellow flowers, trusting that if I would love the flowers, then they'll be able to brighten the room.
In the end, the visit did not go as horribly as I feared. It was difficult to see her looking so much a shadow of herself. This woman is slightly terrifying, but she was very mild, and so quiet. Her voice so much softer than I was used to. She'd lost a lot of weight, and was so tired and pale. It was difficult to see, and I know it is only going to increase in difficulty.
It is my job to know that death is a part of living. That not everyone is cured, and that when someone dies it does not mean that we failed.
Blech. I can't think about this anymore. In other news, I took a picture or 2 of my cast for you, so you could see it, and see the grunge, and then I took a picture of my replacement splint/brace so you can admire how way better it is (minus the rock solid security that nothing was going to hurt my wrist). I shall attempt to have them upload and appear in the space below!
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