Obituary

Ever since I started working in healthcare, I have read the obituaries. I used to make fun of my parents for doing the same thing, but I have certainly developed an appreciation for taking a look each day to see if someone I know has kicked the bucket. Mostly I’m looking to see if any former patients have died. At least once a week I see a familiar name. Sometimes I can place the face, sometimes it’s just the name that I remember. Every once in awhile I will vividly remember the patient and the circumstances surrounding their hospital stay. This was the case when I read the obituaries late last week.

Her name was Sue. She was in her early 30’s, though she looked at least 10 years older; her body and face ravaged by many years of drug and alcohol abuse. She was what we refer to as a “frequent flyer”. They are those patients that always seem to find their way back to our unit. Some of these patients you truly grow to love. You feel their pain and want nothing more but for them to get better so that they can enjoy life. Others make you cringe. You see their names on your assignment and you just sigh, knowing that it’s going to be a rough shift. You want them to get better just they will leave the unit and give the entire staff a break. Sue was one of the later varieties.

I had cared for Sue several times. It was always the same thing: her blood sugar got out of control, she got sick, she would stop taking her insulin and other medications and would end up in the emergency room. On top of her uncontrolled diabetes, Sue also suffered from liver failure brought on by many years of alcoholism. This left her body unable to rid itself of many toxins which in turn would turn her into a vegetable. The chemicals invaded her brain and would leave her unable to talk, walk, or in any way care for herself. Of course, all this could be prevented if she checked her blood sugar regularly and took all her medications. This however was not what Sue did.

I remember one particular night caring for Sue. We were giving her drugs which caused severe, watery diarrhea in order to help rid her body of the chemicals that had built up inside. At this point, she was able to talk and walk. The previous shift had reported to me that they were making her get out of bed to use the toilet and encouraging activity. When I went into her room, Sue asked me for a bedpan.

“I was told you were getting up to the bathroom,” I said.

“I can’t. I’m too tired,” Sue replied.

“Why don’t we try getting out of bed? I think you’ll be more comfortably using the toilet.”

“Please! I can’t!”

“I know you can. Let’s go.” I motioned for her to get up. I raised the head of her bed and started to ease her legs towards the edge of the bed. I could tell she was going to put up some resistance, but I was going to push her. This was what she needed. She needed to remain active. She gradually relented and moved into a sitting position. I put a walker in front of her.

“Ok. When you’re ready use the walker to help yourself stand.” I try not to pull people up out of bed too much. Not only is it bad for my back, but I really think that when given the opportunity most of our patients are capable of much more than we give them credit for. She positioned her feet flat on the floor, steadied her hands on the walker and slowly raised herself into a standing position.

“Good! Alright let’s move into the bathroom,” I said.

As she walked slowly towards the open bathroom door, I heard Sue pass a small amount of gas. Unfortunately, it was more than gas. The drugs that I had given her were doing their job, but at a most inopportune moment. Liquid stool was seeping out of Sue’s backside. I tried in desperation to speed Sue along to the bathroom, but it didn’t help. She left a brown trail behind her from the edge of the bed to the toilet. While I imagine most nurses would have thought about the mess they now had to clean up all I could think was “My god, she’s only a few years older than me and she’s shitting all over the floor.”

One of the thing that I found so depressing about Sue was her age. Here was a woman who should have been in the prime of her life and she was in the hospital, barely able to walk and not able to clean herself up after using the bathroom. On top of this, she had a small child that her mother cared for. The little girl would visit Sue from time to time in the hospital. I felt so sad for her, having to see her mother in such a position. Having a mother who would never be able to care for her properly. Truthfully, I knew Sue loved her daughter very much and I believe that it pained her quite a bit to not be able to take care of her.

After her last hospital stay, Sue was transferred to a nursing home (Living in a nursing home while in your 30’s! Can you imagine?!). I hoped that perhaps this would allow her to get at least marginally better and that we wouldn’t see her as frequently.

I never saw Sue again. Her obituary in the paper didn’t say where she died or how. I don’t know if she was at another hospital or back at her nursing home. Perhaps she just went to sleep one night and her heart stopped. While our bodies are resilient machines, there is a limit on the abuse they’ll take before they give up completely. However Sue died, I hope it was peaceful and I hope that her daughter was there with her. I remember late one night, giving Sue some pain medication and talking with her.

“My daughter is coming in tomorrow morning,” she said with a glint of joy in her voice.

“That’s nice. You must be looking forward to seeing her,” I replied as I pushed the morphine into her IV.

“I am. I really am. I do love my little girl,” she said.

I know you did Sue. I know you did.