From My Hospice Journal: Saturday Morning, 9/23/2000
Zen Hospice Guest House, San Francisco
I got up early to go out for my usual morning hike and am sitting at Cave Point near Mt. Diablo in the San Francisco East Bay area making this journal entry.
I have been reflecting for some time this morning on the time I spent with Nancy last night at the hospice. When I first arrived for my Friday night shift (5:00-10:00pm), the social worker told me that she thought Nancy might die that night so I spent nearly my entire shift with her. The two volunteers on shift normally have up to five patients to care for in the Guest House (GH). Fortunately that night, we didn't have a full house, there was a volunteer cook to take care of meals and my shift partner permitted me to focus on Nancy. I ended up staying there until 12:00 midnight, of which about 6 of those hours I could be at Nancy's bedside. She also had 3 visitors that arrived and spent about an hour with her that evening.
Drifting In and Out of Consciousness
When I first went in to see her I was taken aback by how jaundiced she was -- she had lung cancer that had metastasized to her liver. I sat there and held her hand most of the time, doing a little Reiki here and there. As I sat with her I realized that she was only 3 years older than I. She was sleeping, drifting in and out of consciousness until about 10pm and then she woke up and was now aware that I was sitting at her side.
She continued to keep her eyes closed as we spoke -- occasionally she would open her eyes as I talked to her but that was a big effort to do so. I am not sure why but I believe I had another Hildegard (another patient I served at ZHP) experience: Feeling the love of another human being so strongly and doing so with little or no conversation...it was purely a feeling in my body. I was brought to tears several times that night as I sat there with Nancy feeling that intense love.
Nancy was such a sweet woman, I wish perhaps that we could have met when she wasn't ill and on her deathbed. But our time together will be forever treasured, as it is very unlikely I will ever see her again after tonight. She will probably die in the next few days.
Saying Good-bye
As I was preparing to say good-bye, I asked her if I could give her a hug. She said yes and gave me a most heartfelt hug and an extended one at that. It was quite remarkable to feel such warmth expressed so wonderfully by someone who was so weak.
Yesterday will be a day not soon (if ever) forgotten. Nancy, may your journey be one that is gloriously peaceful and loving. Thank you so much.
An afterthought...twice that evening we did some things to keep her comfortable. First we had repositioned her and I asked her if that felt better and she responded "perfect", even though she still appeared to be uncomfortable. Later I gave her some water from a syringe and asked her if she wanted more and she responded "no, that's perfect". It was so admirable to me that someone who was dying and experiencing such apparent discomfort can still manage to see things as being "perfect".
From My Hospice Journal: Thursday Morning, 9/28/2000
Zen Hospice Guest House, San Francisco
I am pleased to say that I had the opportunity to make an unexpected visit to San Francisco yesterday. My nephew, Dustin, had preview tickets to see the hilarious movie "Best in Show" at a theater in the financial district of San Francisco. I used this opportunity to go very early so that I could spend more time with Nancy...if she was still with us.
Anticipation
It was a visit whose emotions stuck with me well into yesterday. When I arrived she was sleeping so I just quietly pulled up a chair, took her hand and placed it into mine. I just sat there waiting for some sign that she was awakening. After about 20 minutes she did try to open her eyes and I said "hello" and told her who I was. She responded "Oh, hi Greg!" As I sat there at her bedside, I began contemplating our shared experience from Friday night. Nancy's jaundiced look was much more prevalent in the daylight -- what struck me most was how yellow the whites of her eyes were. As she lie there silently, our eyes were locked in a gaze. Her eyes were barely open. As we stared into each other's eyes, I began to feel that she was saying to herself "who is this person sitting at my bedside?"
Not Wanting to Remember
Having this sense of uncertainty I chose to ask her directly "Do you know who I am?" She then shook her head "no." I reminded her that I was with her last Friday night. Then she responded with her very weak voice "Should I be ashamed?" (that she didn't remember). I told her "absolutely not, I completely understand that you have had many visitors recently." Then she said "I have met so many people." She thought for a minute and then began to cry. As she did, her eyes opened almost fully for the first time and said, without weakness in her voice, but crying, "I didn't want to remember." I tried to comfort her and said I was sorry for asking and that I wished only that she be at peace, not sad.
I remember last Friday night when I was leaving and gave her a hug that I kissed her on the right cheek. As I moved away from her she lifted both of her hands to my cheeks and then said "Thank you so much." It was such a beautiful and loving response by her -- not something I will forget any time soon. I realized that the loving connection we had made would be another loss that she would have to contemplate as death approached and that is why she "didn't want to remember."
I stayed with her on this day for about an hour and once again kissed her, this time on the forehead and said good-bye, telling her that I hoped I would see her again on Friday. She then grasped my left hand with both of hers for several minutes, silently staring into my eyes. I told her it was very difficult to say good-bye and leave her now. I told her hopefully we will have more time tomorrow.
I would have the opportunity to see her one more time when I arrived for my shift on Friday. She was no longer communicating. The intense bond of love we had created had solidified and I chose to do an overnight vigil at her bedside that night. She died the following Thursday. The image above was a picture of Jesus that Nancy kept close to her bedside as it brought her great comfort.
Replies