Mrs. F.

Sometimes there's a part of me that turns into a child.  A little boy.  Just for a second.  Sometimes just a flash of a moment.  Like a flash of hurt; like losing a board game on the floor of some childhood friends house.  And then I want to go home. One of the nicest ladies I've ever met died on Monday.  She was one of our cancer patients (breast cancer).  We diagnosed her on the floor several months ago.  A wound that didn't look right.  A biopsy.  A talk with the physician.  A game plan.  A surgery.  A dose of chemotherapy.  Then another.  The hair loss.  The nausea.  The pain.  The discharge.  The readmission.  The discharge.  The readmission.  The discharge.  The readmission.  The turn for the worse.  The ICU.  The DNR.  The family.  The pain medicine.  The unconsciousness.  The pauses between breaths.  The suddenly slow heart rate.  The slowing. The friend... Husband... Wife.... Partner..... Mother..... Father.... Sister..... Brother..... Son..... Daughter..... sitting beside the bed.  The slowing.   The call from cardiac monitors.  The slowing. The family's concern that somethings not right.  Something has changed.  And finally the slowing to a stop.  This is the way it almost always goes. The lady I knew was a body full of Joy.  She once grabbed the ass of one of my male nurse aides in a narcotic stupor.  And then she apologized like a lady when the medicine wore off. Cancer didn't defeat her.  It took her body but it never took her spirit.  That's the beauty of the blues of this world.  It can never take your spirit. God Bless one of my favorite patients.  May you dance with angels while you and the rest of this universe await the promised kingdom to come.