I wrote this on Friday, March 29th...
The man in Bed #49 passed away this morning.
It was bound to happen, something that I certainly was expecting, but until that moment I didn't know how I would respond. Not that it is about me, it obviously wasn't, but it was my experience, something that I witnessed and participated in and it was bound to have an effect on me.
He came in on Wednesday. I think they found him at one of the large train stations, as they often do. He was not a very big man, quite small actually. He was probably in his mid-late 60s. He had very big, expressive eyes and was missing several teeth. He was quite thin, probably weighted 80-90 ponds. I happen to be at the right place at the right moment and was asked to help bathe him and put into the standard "pajamas," and then asked to help get him to the infirmary and up onto the examination table. It is what happened next that created what I felt was a special bond between us. He was so freighted and in so much pain. His feet were bare and the left one was completely black, well not completely as there was some fresh red blood oozing from a few places, and his heel was almost non existent, as if something had taken a bite out of him. Also, he had a very large protuberance on the left side of his chest the size of a large orange, right over his heart.
I stayed with him and spoke softly into his ear and squeezed his hand and he squeezed my hand back as the doctor (an older women from France who, in my opinion, doesn't have the best bedside manner) tried her best to dress the entire foot. But she knew from the first moment that gangrene had already set in and would continue to move up the leg and kill him if the foot wasn't amputated within the next 48 hours. We moved him off the table and to his bed, #49. I sat with him holding his hand and telling him everything would be fine, thinking that they would take him to a hospital and amputate the foot. While he didn't understand English, he did smile and shake his head and started to relax. I gave him some water and he even ate a little. The morning shift was ending, so I said goodbye and that I would see him in the afternoon.
I was back at 3pm and went over to check on him and saw the bandages were all off of his foot. A very nice, young French guy, another volunteer, started to spend some time with him too. One of the nuns tried several times to get an IV drip into his arm, but his veins were so bad it took quite some time to finally get it in. I spoke with her after to ask when he would be going to the hospital. She told me he wouldn't be going. The surgery is expensive and at his age and the condition he was in, they wouldn't be able to find a hospital to do it. That's when I knew he was going to die there. I asked her how long and she said two days at the most. I spent as much time with him as I could as did a few of the other volunteers and nuns.
The next day was Thursday, yesterday, and that is the day off for volunteers. So I didn't see him again until this morning, Good Friday. He looked much worse. One of the staff workers asked me to change him. I had to be so careful moving his legs as he was in so much pain (he was no longer connected to the IV drip). I got him into clean pants and top and then one of the head nuns handed me a cup with some liquified food and asked me to feed him. I slowly tried to get small spoonfuls of the liquid into his mouth but he did not want it. I successfully got about three spoonfuls in and then it was clear he wasn't going to take any more, so they told me I could stop. I cleaned up his face and sat with him for a few minutes and then went on to take care of other patients. A short time later, I would say not more than 15 minutes, I noticed two of the nuns and a few other people standing over his bed. I went over just as they were bringing an oxygen tank. A great volunteer from Hong Kong named Walter (a nurse back home) put the small tubes into his nose. The nuns began a series of prayers and his breaths became further and further apart. The nuns continued to pray. Walter slowly closed the man's eyes and started to massage his temples. The head nun took the tubes out of his nose and closed his mouth. His breathing became so slow that a few times I thought he had died and the he'd take a breath, but it only lasted a few minutes more and then he was gone. I stood there over him and started to fight back tears. The nuns started to go back to their other duties. The rest of the staff did as well. His body just stayed there. Walter laid a blue and white checked towel over his hands. I asked him how long he would stay there. He thought it would be a little while longer. The sisters and the rest of the staff started reciting The Stations of The Cross as it was Good Friday. I said my goodbyes to him, touched his hands and forehead and wished him well now that he was in a better place and no longer in pain. A few minutes later I saw a white curtain was drawn by his bed, so I went around to see two of the employees taking him out of the pajamas and putting street clothes on his body and wrapping him tightly in a large white cloth and putting the body on a stretcher. I walked with them as they took the body and placed it in the mortuary.
I started to wander around a bit and the head nun said, "Sweetheart, come with me." I followed her up the stairs and she asked me my name and where I was from. When we got to the top of the stairs she asked me to wait. There were some volunteers sitting around a table on break and one of them, a woman from Miami who is here with here with her elderly mother for a month of volunteering, looked at me and asked, "Is he gone?" And all I could do was shake my head yes...I couldn't even get that one word out. The Sister appeared with three packages of biscuits and asked me to give three to each of the men. This is something the men look forward to and it gave me something enjoyable to do. She had just said prayers over a dying man, said the Stations of The Cross and then looked out for me in a simple, kind way.
After thinking about what had happened today, I realize how lucky I was to be there when this man came in and to be there when he died this morning. There was no way he was ever going to get better and a small group of people helped him to pass on - not alone on the street, but with as much comfort and dignity as possible. This is ultimately what this work is all about and why I'm here. All in all, an amazing emotional experience I was humbled to be a witness to.
It was bound to happen, something that I certainly was expecting, but until that moment I didn't know how I would respond. Not that it is about me, it obviously wasn't, but it was my experience, something that I witnessed and participated in and it was bound to have an effect on me.
He came in on Wednesday. I think they found him at one of the large train stations, as they often do. He was not a very big man, quite small actually. He was probably in his mid-late 60s. He had very big, expressive eyes and was missing several teeth. He was quite thin, probably weighted 80-90 ponds. I happen to be at the right place at the right moment and was asked to help bathe him and put into the standard "pajamas," and then asked to help get him to the infirmary and up onto the examination table. It is what happened next that created what I felt was a special bond between us. He was so freighted and in so much pain. His feet were bare and the left one was completely black, well not completely as there was some fresh red blood oozing from a few places, and his heel was almost non existent, as if something had taken a bite out of him. Also, he had a very large protuberance on the left side of his chest the size of a large orange, right over his heart.
I stayed with him and spoke softly into his ear and squeezed his hand and he squeezed my hand back as the doctor (an older women from France who, in my opinion, doesn't have the best bedside manner) tried her best to dress the entire foot. But she knew from the first moment that gangrene had already set in and would continue to move up the leg and kill him if the foot wasn't amputated within the next 48 hours. We moved him off the table and to his bed, #49. I sat with him holding his hand and telling him everything would be fine, thinking that they would take him to a hospital and amputate the foot. While he didn't understand English, he did smile and shake his head and started to relax. I gave him some water and he even ate a little. The morning shift was ending, so I said goodbye and that I would see him in the afternoon.
I was back at 3pm and went over to check on him and saw the bandages were all off of his foot. A very nice, young French guy, another volunteer, started to spend some time with him too. One of the nuns tried several times to get an IV drip into his arm, but his veins were so bad it took quite some time to finally get it in. I spoke with her after to ask when he would be going to the hospital. She told me he wouldn't be going. The surgery is expensive and at his age and the condition he was in, they wouldn't be able to find a hospital to do it. That's when I knew he was going to die there. I asked her how long and she said two days at the most. I spent as much time with him as I could as did a few of the other volunteers and nuns.
The next day was Thursday, yesterday, and that is the day off for volunteers. So I didn't see him again until this morning, Good Friday. He looked much worse. One of the staff workers asked me to change him. I had to be so careful moving his legs as he was in so much pain (he was no longer connected to the IV drip). I got him into clean pants and top and then one of the head nuns handed me a cup with some liquified food and asked me to feed him. I slowly tried to get small spoonfuls of the liquid into his mouth but he did not want it. I successfully got about three spoonfuls in and then it was clear he wasn't going to take any more, so they told me I could stop. I cleaned up his face and sat with him for a few minutes and then went on to take care of other patients. A short time later, I would say not more than 15 minutes, I noticed two of the nuns and a few other people standing over his bed. I went over just as they were bringing an oxygen tank. A great volunteer from Hong Kong named Walter (a nurse back home) put the small tubes into his nose. The nuns began a series of prayers and his breaths became further and further apart. The nuns continued to pray. Walter slowly closed the man's eyes and started to massage his temples. The head nun took the tubes out of his nose and closed his mouth. His breathing became so slow that a few times I thought he had died and the he'd take a breath, but it only lasted a few minutes more and then he was gone. I stood there over him and started to fight back tears. The nuns started to go back to their other duties. The rest of the staff did as well. His body just stayed there. Walter laid a blue and white checked towel over his hands. I asked him how long he would stay there. He thought it would be a little while longer. The sisters and the rest of the staff started reciting The Stations of The Cross as it was Good Friday. I said my goodbyes to him, touched his hands and forehead and wished him well now that he was in a better place and no longer in pain. A few minutes later I saw a white curtain was drawn by his bed, so I went around to see two of the employees taking him out of the pajamas and putting street clothes on his body and wrapping him tightly in a large white cloth and putting the body on a stretcher. I walked with them as they took the body and placed it in the mortuary.
I started to wander around a bit and the head nun said, "Sweetheart, come with me." I followed her up the stairs and she asked me my name and where I was from. When we got to the top of the stairs she asked me to wait. There were some volunteers sitting around a table on break and one of them, a woman from Miami who is here with here with her elderly mother for a month of volunteering, looked at me and asked, "Is he gone?" And all I could do was shake my head yes...I couldn't even get that one word out. The Sister appeared with three packages of biscuits and asked me to give three to each of the men. This is something the men look forward to and it gave me something enjoyable to do. She had just said prayers over a dying man, said the Stations of The Cross and then looked out for me in a simple, kind way.
After thinking about what had happened today, I realize how lucky I was to be there when this man came in and to be there when he died this morning. There was no way he was ever going to get better and a small group of people helped him to pass on - not alone on the street, but with as much comfort and dignity as possible. This is ultimately what this work is all about and why I'm here. All in all, an amazing emotional experience I was humbled to be a witness to.
Your story of the patient with gangrene was very moving. Many of us don't appreciate what we have and should learn from your experiences.
ReplyDeleteWow...I'm speechless.
ReplyDelete