Current mood:

thoughtful

A light goes out...


The other morning, there was a hospice patient, “Louie,” on my block. I did my best to feed him during breakfast, but he actually wasn’t able to eat—he didn’t even have enough strength to suck on a straw to drink his orange juice. You know that thing that all kids do with feeding themselves soda-pop by putting their finger over the top of their straw, and then lifting the straw into their mouth? I used that technique to feed Louie his orange juice. I only got about 120 ml into him—that’s what, 4 oz?—but I stopped feeding him when he stopped swallowing easily. I didn’t want him to aspirate the juice. But the poor man must have been so thirsty. His tongue didn’t look wet.

Later in the morning, I followed the nurse in to assist her. (Before that sounds too glamorous, I should mention that my “assistance” involved helping turn him and clean him up while the nurse did all the real work.) Even in just the hour or so between when I fed him and that point, Louie’s breathing had become significantly more labored. But the nurse and I cleaned him up and made him as comfortable as we could. By the time we had finished, the man’s wife had arrived, so we left her to have some quiet time with him.

I made some beds, gave a shower, and laid a few people down for naps. I had noticed earlier that Louie had very long fingernails. He had been fairly self-sufficient until about two weeks ago, so I imagine that it didn’t occur to anyone that he would suddenly require nail-care. Anyway, I collected a nail clipper and emery board and wandered in to give Louie a manicure. The poor man was gasping for breath and was completely insensible to his surroundings.

There was a moment when it occurred to me that nail-care at this moment was rather pointless—it didn’t look like he was going to be around long enough to appreciate it. But then again, there was no reason not to perform this simple kindness. If nothing else, it would make his hand more pleasant to hold. His wife looked on as I trimmed his nails and filed them smooth. The whole procedure took about fifteen minutes, and then I left again.

About an hour later, Louie died. I got the news as I was passing out lunch-trays in the dining room. As sad as it was that the man had died, I was glad to hear it. He was clearly in a lot of misery just before the end, and he didn’t deserve to linger in that state for very long. His wife stopped by to speak to me before she left—she wanted to thank me for trimming Louie’s nails. I gave her a hug and my condolences. This woman has been waiting for the end for a very long time—Louie has been in residence here for months—but now she can finally grieve his loss and start to heal. I hope she has a good support network to comfort her in the coming weeks.