Tuesday, October 20, 2009
One thing I hate about my job is the fact that I would be dealing with death on a regular basis.
The problem is that I get overly attached to some of my patients, like Bernard.
He was 92 years old, married for 67 years to his beautiful wife, a WWII Veteran, and worked for one of the Big Three automakers for 43 years. He recently passed away.
When I first met him, almost a year ago, I immediately took a shine to him and him to me. Due to throat cancer he no longer had a voice but that didn't matter because we had our own form of communication. My favorite form of his "communication" was hearing him laugh hysterically at my funny stories.
I kept a constant watch on the schedule so when he was in for an appointment I could be the one to care for him. He became my "buddy". On the rare occasions where I was not available to handle his care I would seek him out and poke my head into his exam room. He never failed me. Not once. His whole body lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree everytime he saw my face. He'd laugh and slap his knee and we would exchange a huge hug. What a very dear man he was.
The week before he passed away he had been in the hospital and I visited him several times. His son and Bernard's wife, who always brought Bernard in for his appointments, would be there and we would sit and talk while Bernard slept.
Bernard definitely had a full life and I will miss him dearly.
Godspeed, Bernard.
The problem is that I get overly attached to some of my patients, like Bernard.
He was 92 years old, married for 67 years to his beautiful wife, a WWII Veteran, and worked for one of the Big Three automakers for 43 years. He recently passed away.
When I first met him, almost a year ago, I immediately took a shine to him and him to me. Due to throat cancer he no longer had a voice but that didn't matter because we had our own form of communication. My favorite form of his "communication" was hearing him laugh hysterically at my funny stories.
I kept a constant watch on the schedule so when he was in for an appointment I could be the one to care for him. He became my "buddy". On the rare occasions where I was not available to handle his care I would seek him out and poke my head into his exam room. He never failed me. Not once. His whole body lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree everytime he saw my face. He'd laugh and slap his knee and we would exchange a huge hug. What a very dear man he was.
The week before he passed away he had been in the hospital and I visited him several times. His son and Bernard's wife, who always brought Bernard in for his appointments, would be there and we would sit and talk while Bernard slept.
Bernard definitely had a full life and I will miss him dearly.
Godspeed, Bernard.
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