pouring through us, and over us, then, for a moment, we’re flowing with it, then we’re lost.
a man died today. men die every day, women too, but this one we were almost there for. he lost vital signs on the ambulance stretcher a few minutes before his body arrived.
i told his mom. people don’t expect to hear that kind of news, not once a child gets old enough to take care of himself, but there it was.
the bottom of her heart fell open, and the grief painted over me, the nurse, filled that small room until it was heard to breathe. i left to take care of a few pieces of unfinished business, having learned something of the language of sadness, how certain people want to be alone with it for a minute, or didn’t mind if i declared myself as one as long as i came back.
i did some paper work, called the coroner, returned to the quiet room and sat beside her, waited. after a few minutes, she looked up.
i told her about my strange job, the view it offered, hovering near the end. i told her that most often, the last minutes seem so quiet. the mind quells, then the body. when you watch them, you get the taste of a peace we know when returning to a true home. she held my gaze for a second, tears shaking in her eyes, nodded, turned back to her hands.
i didn’t say it because i thought she needed to hear it. i said it because it is the truth, and in those minutes, it counts. like it does in all of them.
after she left, i gathered with the nurses who were there when he arrived. we didn’t talk about what went right, or what we might do better next time, just what had come up. i said i felt a sadness that was going to stick around for a while. i’m glad we tried, someone said. we all nodded.
we’ve started talking about these kind of things at work. it’s good. i’m discovering that it helps to have company more than i knew, not just with the difficult things that can seem yours alone, but in the many joys that seem part of this difficult, worthwhile work, that all humans share, how to live, how to love, how to let go.
7 replies on “the stuff of life.”
that is a phenomenal piece. jmcp
My wif’s dad died recently. Hospice was there at the end. I asked a few of the hospice nurses about what they saw at the end of life. Each was clear, they watched lives pass, not end.
She mentioned one woman she had become close to over some months. There were bird feeders out her window. When the woman was ready, two birds knocked the window with their beaks. She passed, they flew off.
A beautifully written reflection. It’s a gift that you offered to that woman, a moment of your complete presence.
Really resonates with your last two posts. Thanks for putting your experiences to pen. In midwifery circles we talk so much about woman centered / women friendly care, but we are often the least centered and friendly to ourselves. Therefore, burnout crouches at the door, relationships fail, and families fall apart. Lots of emphasis in the “being with women” much less so in “being with yourself” and really practicing self care. That is for the weak ones. It’s important to acknowledge the feelings, the trauma, the crux moments. The times we feel we’ve failed ourselves and others. Thank you for these two reflections. Just had 5 glorious days off call… Really the first chunk of time off call since January training of our staff at our birth centre in Rwanda. I enjoyed every sunset, every starry night in the Aftican Savannah, every animal, every quiet moment, every family dinner, and my children’s laughter. Precious. Breathing. No phone ringing. Rest.
‘how to live, how to love, and how to let go’. Life in a nutshell
Just finished reading “Life on the Ground Floor” – thanks for sharing your thoughts and your story. Your book was heart-warming and heart-breaking and I’m so glad I read it. More doctors need to learn that patients are actually real people. End of life is a complicated time for anyone – young or old.
Written straight up. No holds barred. You have accomplished your goal of writing a book I was unable to put down and so much more. It enables people to see into your soul, James Maskalyk! It is a view as clear as looking across the prairies, and I imagine, an Africa savannah.
I will always carry thoughts of those peoples in far off places with me and wish them well in spite of such terrible odds.