A 'work moment'---for my mama

I'm not really sure of the point of the story I want to share; whether it's just a thank-you type for my mama for helping remind me of the little things that can make big impacts, or if it's about the pain that accompanies motherhood, or about the importance of taking a moment to just listen...or just a small little story about a little moment that made an impact in my life...or maybe it's just a little bit of all of the above....

The other day at work I had one of those moments that you hear about, or that reminds you of a story someone told you where they had a moment, or something really stayed with them through their life. It was one of the first real times since I've started working where I was really really moved, almost to tears, and I had the thought, "This is what 'they' talk about happening. I can do this. I am a good nurse. God did know what He was doing when he lead me here...at least today anway :)"

My parents and I have had a repeated conversation about parents with a child in the hospital, especially parents facing their child's own mortality...no matter what that child's age. They know first hand from their experience with Marie, my sister who was given a small chance of survival after her stroke. My parents were given little hope and very little sympathy. Compassion was hard to come by throughout their experience. They have many touching stories that I can not retell in their words. Maybe I'll have my mom be a guest blogger some day and share those moments in her life. I've also learned my emotional pains come hardest with the parents caring for the kids, and the older kids who are aware of their losses...aware of the meaning of their illnesses. Of course there is heartache with the littlest babes as well but I find some comfort in their naive minds...they don't know anything different exists, at least not to the extent that their parents and loved ones understand.

On Tuesday at work I had a patient whose care team I am signed up to be a part of. She is an older patient and a new diagnosis. Her strength and character is amazing and the humor she carries with her on most days is remarkable. The seriousness of her situation was really hitting her on this day and she was having a hard time verbalizing her frustration. She just wanted to leave, to go home with her family, her very close family, and see her visiting relatives. She wanted to be able to go to her prom that was coming up and she wanted to see that her bald head really was beautiful...just like everyone had been telling her (and it truly is). She assured me she did not feel like herself...something was wrong, different, and she didn't know how to explain it, but she said, "I don't even feel like this is my skin, I can't explain it...it's weird. I'm not myself." I know there were two factors going on here. One, I had just given her a new med that she had never received before and it was probably making her feel quite strange or 'loopy', and two, I imagine it would feel like it wasn't even your skin anymore---losing all of your control, searching for a new faith, looking at the realness of life and with it comes death, not knowing your future, having insane toxins being directly inserted into your blood stream...literally into your heart...it would be overwhelming...and I can understand the loss of self in there somewhere. All I could do was sit on the bed and just listen and encourage and understand---try to understand.

Leaving her room, I saw her mom in the hallway on her way in to see her. She stopped me and asked how her daughter was doing--already knowing it had been a hard day for her because they'd talked on the phone several times. I talked to 'mom' for a little bit and I felt like I could literally see her helplessness and frustration for her 'baby'oozing from her presence...her 17 year old baby was here, sick, with cancer, lonely, afraid...and she had no answers for her, she could not make it better no matter what she did. As a mom, I now understand how intense and overwhelming it might be facing that reality. Her mom started crying and telling me what she tells her, "stay strong" "hang in there" and what she knows to be true about the importance of the plan of care for her. I listened, of course, and then I just hugged her while she cried and said, "You're an amazing mom....this is so hard for you, too, not just her, but you, too. Moms fix and you can't fix this. Everything about this just sucks, I'm sorry." As I hugged her and acknowleged her helplessness and loss of control I felt her relax a little and say, "yes! it is hard! it does [suck]..."
I usually wouldn't use the word 'sucks' but I feel like it's the only word that really fits in these cases. Because it does--suck...it sucks the life and energy and spirit right out of you. I feel that some days and they are not even my children. We talked a little more and we sqeezed hands and I said again, "there's nothing easy about this, and I wish I had more to give than that...but just know I know that this is so hard for you, too, and that's ok to feel that way." I imagine a mom might have guilt about feeling a personal sadness and frustrations, and personal fear.

I wanted to offer more but I sensed she was trying to shut off the tears before she went into her daughter's room. So we changed the talk a little to me suggesting she take her daughter and leave the floor for awhile,just walk around and get her out of the room, etc. Offering the only bit of advice I knew that might make her daughter's night a little better, offering at least one answer, one 'fix' she could offer her--at least for one night.

Later, on my way out for the night, I saw my patient and her family smiling and talking, while walking through the halls downstairs by the cafeteria, on their way to return to her room. I gave my patient a hug and told her to hang in there, tomorrow was another day and things always look better in the morning. I glanced at her dad who winked and smiled and then to her mom who tearfully mouthed the words, "thank you".

I share this story mostly to thank my mom for sharing a story of her own with me when I first started this job. It's a story, similar in nature, from when she was in the ICU with my sister who was in a coma, where a nurse touched her shoulder and told her, "You are a good mom." and just stood there with her for a moment allowing her to cry. This small gesture of touch and reassurance allowed my mom to be heard and understood and allowed her a 'moment' of her own...allowed her to say nothing yet so much all at once with just an acknowledgement of this life of her's, and this beautiful daughter of her's, and the pain and the loss and grief, and faith that she would carry with her for her lifetime.

Her story is a story that I think of before everyday of work. Every single day I walk into work I say a prayer that "God may guide me to make some positive impact today in the life of at least one person--at least for this day--no matter how small. And in that I will have had a Purpose to be exactly where I am in this beautiful, crazy, and so fragile life."