The Hug That Matters
C is one of my favorite residents. I think a lot of the other aides find her frustrating, as she tends to be somewhat needy (aka uses her call light fairly frequently during the course of a shift) and is kind of overly emotional. I pegged pretty early on in working there that she'd had a stroke sometime in her past (which the nurses confirmed) - her lack of emotional control and tendency for waterworks at the drop of a hat reminded me of my mom (after she had The Stroke she lost all emotional "brakes" and we - all, she used the term for herself too - started calling her "faucet face"). So I've always looked out for C, particularly whenever I'm assigned to the group down her hall (since for some reason even though she changed rooms a few months back she was still considered part of "group 1" which is around the corner, which meant her aide would have to make a special trip around to answer her light, and might not notice if she needed help and couldn't get to her call button for some reason). She used to complain about how I never seemed to be assigned to her group on her shower nights. LOL She was always thrilled to see pictures of the grandbaby, and she was the resident who insisted I take pictures of my daughter's fashion show (and bugged me about it when it was rescheduled due to the snow day we had the first week of March).
Since I started working at Beechwood, C had started using oxygen a bunch (she suffered from congestive heart failure), and had gone from eating in the dining room to mostly staying in her room. She had good days and bad days, days where she was obviously wiped out (and more weepy than usual). This past Wednesday was one of her bad days, and as her aide that night I tried to be as gentle as possible (she was in a lot of pain due to a sore that had developed on her left hip). And checked on her a few extra times, since she wasn't using the call light nearly as much as she usually did. When I did my final check on her that night, she seemed so weepy and miserable, I felt compelled to just give her a big hug and tell her to hang in there, and that I loved her.
The following day (Thursday) when I got to work, I found out she'd been transported to the hospital that morning (though I never got any explanation as to why). It wasn't the first time she'd been sent out since I've worked there, but I was kind of worried about her this time. I thought about her a lot on my day off yesterday (Friday), and had almost put up a "please keep my resident C in your prayers" post up on facebook, but never got around to it.
C died today.
After I found out (another aide gave me the news when I first got to work), I went around and talked about it with the nurse supervisor. She explained they'd sent her out because her labs hadn't looked good Thursday morning (apparently because of the congestive heart issues she was one of the residents they do regular labs on besides checking vital signs per usual), and her kidneys hadn't been in good shape when she left. She went into full blown kidney failure while at the hospital. The nurse told me she'd just gotten the call that they were transporting C to hospice, and about 5 minutes later they called back to say she'd passed - around 2pm today. A mere 45 minutes before I heard the news. The nurse also mentioned how glad she was that C's family was able to throw her a big 75th birthday celebration earlier this month.
And all I keep thinking is how glad I am that I was her aide the last night she was here, and how incredibly glad I am that I followed my instincts and gave her that hug.
I tear up every time I think about it.
Of course, life goes on and work didn't wait for me to take time to really process much. My favorite fellow aide asked me if I was okay when I told him the news. And I was okay, mostly, though I had occasional twinges walking by her room and seeing her family packing up her things. It wasn't until I was driving home that I really let myself think about it much. And I started thinking about my mom, and how I hoped that my compassion and care for C had made up just a little for some of my impatience with my mom back then (because as a teenager, the person who came home from the hospital drove me nuts and I wasn't always pleasant or patient with her emotional outbursts or short-term memory issues). And I "heard" (or rather, "saw" in my mind's eye) my mom in the back of my head like I do all the time (funny the ways your parents find to haunt you after they go, my mom "talks" to me all the time) a conversation between C and my mom. And C let my mom know just how much she loved having me as her aide, and my mom got all teary because she was so proud of me. And I got a pretty strong impression they're gonna be hanging out a bunch, 'cause like I said, C reminded me of my mom and I think they're going to be fast friends.
My turn for the waterworks.
Not that I'm sad, not really. C isn't in pain anymore. It's more this overwhelming sense of feeling grateful that I got to have at least a little part in making her last months a little better. That she liked having me take care of her. That what I do matters.
Goodnight, C.
I love you.
Since I started working at Beechwood, C had started using oxygen a bunch (she suffered from congestive heart failure), and had gone from eating in the dining room to mostly staying in her room. She had good days and bad days, days where she was obviously wiped out (and more weepy than usual). This past Wednesday was one of her bad days, and as her aide that night I tried to be as gentle as possible (she was in a lot of pain due to a sore that had developed on her left hip). And checked on her a few extra times, since she wasn't using the call light nearly as much as she usually did. When I did my final check on her that night, she seemed so weepy and miserable, I felt compelled to just give her a big hug and tell her to hang in there, and that I loved her.
The following day (Thursday) when I got to work, I found out she'd been transported to the hospital that morning (though I never got any explanation as to why). It wasn't the first time she'd been sent out since I've worked there, but I was kind of worried about her this time. I thought about her a lot on my day off yesterday (Friday), and had almost put up a "please keep my resident C in your prayers" post up on facebook, but never got around to it.
C died today.
After I found out (another aide gave me the news when I first got to work), I went around and talked about it with the nurse supervisor. She explained they'd sent her out because her labs hadn't looked good Thursday morning (apparently because of the congestive heart issues she was one of the residents they do regular labs on besides checking vital signs per usual), and her kidneys hadn't been in good shape when she left. She went into full blown kidney failure while at the hospital. The nurse told me she'd just gotten the call that they were transporting C to hospice, and about 5 minutes later they called back to say she'd passed - around 2pm today. A mere 45 minutes before I heard the news. The nurse also mentioned how glad she was that C's family was able to throw her a big 75th birthday celebration earlier this month.
And all I keep thinking is how glad I am that I was her aide the last night she was here, and how incredibly glad I am that I followed my instincts and gave her that hug.
I tear up every time I think about it.
Of course, life goes on and work didn't wait for me to take time to really process much. My favorite fellow aide asked me if I was okay when I told him the news. And I was okay, mostly, though I had occasional twinges walking by her room and seeing her family packing up her things. It wasn't until I was driving home that I really let myself think about it much. And I started thinking about my mom, and how I hoped that my compassion and care for C had made up just a little for some of my impatience with my mom back then (because as a teenager, the person who came home from the hospital drove me nuts and I wasn't always pleasant or patient with her emotional outbursts or short-term memory issues). And I "heard" (or rather, "saw" in my mind's eye) my mom in the back of my head like I do all the time (funny the ways your parents find to haunt you after they go, my mom "talks" to me all the time) a conversation between C and my mom. And C let my mom know just how much she loved having me as her aide, and my mom got all teary because she was so proud of me. And I got a pretty strong impression they're gonna be hanging out a bunch, 'cause like I said, C reminded me of my mom and I think they're going to be fast friends.
My turn for the waterworks.
Not that I'm sad, not really. C isn't in pain anymore. It's more this overwhelming sense of feeling grateful that I got to have at least a little part in making her last months a little better. That she liked having me take care of her. That what I do matters.
Goodnight, C.
I love you.