First Anniversary

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

It was during this week a year ago that I began my weekly gig as a ward volunteer at the Marie Curie Hospice. My most important function, at least as I’ve seen it, is when I’m not serving them lunch or tea, to talk to them if they’re able to respond, and to help them forget for just a few moments that their lives don’t have much longer to go. With one current patient, that involves telling him a joke, something which I usually don’t do when the request is put at me, but in his case, he’s terminal, and while he still has all his senses, as well as his sense of humor, he truly enjoys it. It’s been a challenge to remember the few clean jokes that have resonated with me, since about 90% of my favorites are dirty, but since his wife is usually there, I’m more compelled to go clean.

Another reason for doing that is I don’t need any further complaints about my way of doing things there. I’ve been cautioned by staff twice over this past year, and while I can’t spell out too many details, I can say that one was definitely my bad, the other was a case of a doctor reporting me for inappropriate behavior, which to a casual observer may have looked that way, but both the patient and I knew it was not. The situation is currently one more strike and I’m out, so a joke in any kind of questionable taste could easily be that final strike.

But apart from those little side steps, I’ve met some wonderful people, and such a shame I met so many of them in the last weeks of their lives. One in particular that loomed with me was a 45-year-old man who was a big fan of stand-up comedy, and his likes and dislikes were pretty much the same as mine. Except for the time he said, “You know what comedy I hate? When the guy gets up there with a guitar and changes a few lyrics to someone else’s song! What a waste of time that is!” I let him vent, then said, “Well, that’s exactly what I do.” I was happy he didn’t back track, but instead said, “Well, you seem a smart and witty guy, someday you can piss on that guitar.” I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to do that, plus there’s that chance of getting electrocuted if it’s plugged in.

One of the other things that intrigued me about him, and we discussed this, too, was he suffered from the same form of cancer (colon) that took Eileen away. He liked me enough that when I told him in late May that I’d be going to the US for three weeks, he asked me to come see him before I left. I did that, but the day I came, I waited an hour for him to be well enough to chat, and it didn’t happen, so I went to reception and bought a greeting card expressing my sympathies as well as my regrets that I wasn’t able to wait around longer to see him. The happy ending to this story is that when I returned from America three weeks later, he was still alive, and the day I came in, he was surrounded by friends and family who, upon seeing me, asked, “Are you Brian?” When I said yes, they said he’d talked a lot about me. He couldn’t speak as I held his hand, but as I said “Thank you for waiting for me, Man,” he smiled, and I turned away to shed a brief tear. He passed away two days later, and I received an e-mail inviting me to his funeral.

That was one of two funerals I attended over the summer for hospice patients. The other was for a woman a few months older than me who had been a soap opera actress in the 70’s. What always gets me is when I introduce myself to a new patient and ask if I can get them anything, and they suggest I just sit and talk to them. In my first encounter with this woman, not only did that happen, but as I left her and her son after about 15 minutes to tend to some other patients, I heard her say, “What a nice man.” That’s as good a feeling as any standing ovation or encore I’ve ever gotten. Her condition deteriorated pretty rapidly, and after the third week, she couldn’t function without her oxygen being on full time. I received an e-mail from her son a day later telling me she’d died, and was inviting me to her funeral, which would wind up being the day after Robin Williams’s suicide.

One other patient I had a great time with was this bitchy old man who, rather than use the buzzer to call for nurses, would just bellow out, “Little help please,” and then complain more if they weren’t there after the first call. He was in his late 60’s, and had plenty of children and grandchildren to carry on his legacy, but still bitter that cancer was taking him away. On one particular day when he was being a moany git, I sat down with him and started talking about god-knows-what. A few moments later, one of the nurses walked in, and seeing me there, did a complete 180 degree turn with body language that said, “Oh good, I don’t have to deal with him.” But once you got him calmed down, he was truly a sweet man. This was further evidenced when his cancer had progressed to the point of him being asleep about 18 hours a day. The last time I saw him, there were NINE people in his room, still a record from my tallying, all partying heartily while he slept. As I finished my shift that day, I wandered back into his room where there were still six people, and he was awake. He couldn’t speak, but recognizing me, he smiled and waved, and once again I had to turn my head to cry a bit.

While those three patients were the most memorable, there were also a few who passed away while I was there, and whose families allowed me to come in and say whatever would be my equivalent of a blessing. In my entire life, I’d only seen two dead bodies, one at an open-casket funeral, the other being Eileen as she breathed her last. In the past year, I’ve seen about ten, and while I had those misgivings when I first started this volunteer work, I’ve found that I’m not as squeamish as I thought I was.

Will I carry on for another year or two? Probably not, but I only hope that when I do leave, it’s of my own volition. Some of my ways of communicating with the patients may be unorthodox, but as long as I hear people saying “Bless you” or “How kind you are,” then I know I’m on the right track. If karma really exists, perhaps someone will do the same for me if I’m ever in a similar situation.

December 6th, 2014



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