Tonight I watched a resident very dear to me almost suffer to death in front of my own eyes. After I gave him spoonful after spoonful of the medicine/applesauce concoction and water afterwards, he began to cough but I could hear an ocean forming in his chest. He continued wallowing in this ocean just coughing and coughing, but barely inhaling. It is good when someone coughs because you know they are still getting oxygen, however this sounded like he was drowning, drowning in an ocean of applesauce, crushed pills, water, phlegm, mucous, and other fluids, overflowing and flooding the spaces in the lungs, preventing the expansion and exchanges of gases, requiring force and pressure for the lungs to do their job. I felt so helpless. I just wanted to free him of everything that was building up in his poor chest. His head was back as he struggled and struggled, bobbing back and forth, chest crackling, rolling and rippling with thick fluids.
My coworker came in and soon after, my supervisor. She flopped him forward and started patting his back, his head tossing side, back, and forward.... "He's not gonna make it."- she said. All I could do was take his hand and say "Bob, it's okay. You're okay buddy. Cough, cough it up. Get it all out, come on Bob." He looked more and more discolored and so distant. I knew he was gonna die, I just knew it. And earlier that evening I had gone in his room and sat by him just to talk to him, hoping he'd say something to make me laugh like he always would. He could barely talk because the congestion decided to take over. It made me so sad that for him to be so miserable. Bob was so goofy, mostly appropriate but sometimes inappropriate, would call you "kid" or "hun", and would treat you like his bud. When you'd say "Hey Bob!", he'd say "Hey hey!" He loved hunting, fishing, and his black Labrador dog. He was like a country boy, and you could smell it in his room.
When I had gone in his room to feed him dinner, I began to get tears in my eyes 'cause it didn't seem fair for him to suffer like this. I fed him one bite at a time, one sip of water at a time, and encouraged him to chew thoroughly and then swallow. He did quite well and even looked over and smiled at me with his gorgeous, piercing blue eyes. When I was done feeding him, I left him to rest a while and whenever I'd pass his room, his head would be back, mouth wide open...just looking so uncomfortable, breaking my heart.
My supervisor continued patting his back. "I feel like it's my fault,"- I said. The tears poured down my face as I ran out of the room, an ocean coming out of my eyes. After a few moments, I gathered myself together and went back in to be with him for his last moments. I took his hand again. "You're doing good Bob, keep coughing, come on bud." We kept encouraging him, pounding his back, wiping a cool washcloth all over his face to cool him down. His shirt was drenched, and he looked like he was gone. It took three of us to get him safely into his bed, propped up so he could breath as much as he could. We still weren't sure if he would make it. We got him as comfortable as possible and my supervisor left to take care of some things.
We decided to continue our work and frequently check on Bob. Each time I checked on him he was breathing, slow and crackly but still breathing. I couldn't wait to finish passing meds so I could just sit by him. I finally did finish, got some chocolate milk and sat next to Bob. I said "Bob, I miss your goofiness." and he struggled to say "My goofiness?" He never seemed to think he was funny, which made it more funny. He'd always say "You think this is funny?" (and maybe sometimes he was a little upset....but the slight grin or expression on his face always made me think he was being humorous). I said, "Remember when I'd say 'Hey Bob!' and you'd always say 'Hey hey!'?" I didn't expect a response but then he said it, "Hey hey!", letting his head fall to the side, looking at me with those gorgeous eyes and a slight grin. In that moment, I knew that he remembered who I was, even if he didn't know my name amongst all the care givers that work there, he recognized me in some way, and knew that I truly cared for him.
People always say they could never do my job or they laugh and say "You take care of old people, ugh." To be honest, I never thought it would affect me as much as it has lately. It truly is more than just toileting them, changing their clothes, feeding them, showering them. You have to have the heart for it. You have to actually care for them to be able to give them the care they deserve. Yes, they may be old, have wrinkly skin, gray hair, and be slow to move but their hearts do not change. They are still amazing people that are capable of loving and feeling, even if they cannot show you in words. You can see it in their eyes or their facial expression, or a small touch, or even "Hey hey!" When I reflect on my life right now, I can say that the residents I take care of are the most unique and special friends I will ever have in a lifetime.
Before leaving work, I said "I love you Bob," and kissed his cheek. I never know who will be next to leave this Earth.
