Then There's Thanksgiving

I hate to rush ahead to the next holiday. Actually, I am one who would be happy if there wasn't a single Christmas item in the stores til December 1, so I'm moving things along more quickly than they should. However, I had an experience at work this week that made me so very thankful I had to share.

My paid job is as a registered nurse at the local university hospital, which has one of the best treatment centers for bone cancer in the nation. My unit takes all sorts of orthopedic patients, but those with bone cancer tend to stay longer, return more often, and get a little deeper into my (and everyone's) heart. My patient this week is no exception.

At the beginning of each workday, I get "report" or the latest update on the conditions and needs of the patients I'll be caring for during the shift. I hear that this one patient is a 31 year old woman, on the cancer service, with an inoperable tumor, who is in the hospital trying to get her excruciating pain from the tumor under control. Those facts alone made me pause and sigh. As health care providers, we're taught not to show much of our own emotions. We all try not to feel them so much either. It sounds harsh maybe, but in the end, it is a sort of sad survival mechanism, so that we can keep on caring enough for the rest of our careers. As I was preparing to meet and care for this woman, though, the despair I felt for her was not far below the surface. Simply because we were so close in age, I knew I could identify too well with what she is currently losing to cancer.

I walked into her room and introduced myself. A lovely, kind, and (under the shroud of pain) spunky woman she is. I look around her room and see her many flowers and photos. Oh, the photos. Her little girl turned two last week while she was in the hospital. To avoid crying, I focus my conversation and mental energy on what a wonderful gift kids are and she her face lights up so much I'm thrilled with the glow. She tells me how she hopes to leave soon, so they can get another professional family photo taken now that her daughter is two. Later in the evening I am in her room working with her many tubes running into her body as she is talking on the phone with her daughter. The little girl is hysterical. My patient is trying everything to calm her down over the phone and nothing is working. The toddler wants her mommy and the phone conversation isn't cutting it. The conversation ends in this completely painful fashion, where my patient almost has to hang up on her daughter just because there is really nothing to console her. As she hangs up, I look at her and am absolutely unable to come up with anything remotely comforting to say to her. I am so, so sad for her and her family, and that sadness leaves me speechless.

One of my decided weaknesses is being grateful for what I have. I'm even worse at being joyful for what I have. In the last few days, my thoughts have been consumed with the "stress" of replacing our beloved babysitter, and our basement remodel, and the kids' whining. As I walked away from work last night, I was thankful for every pain-free step my strong body took and rejoiced that my stresses were really so wonderful.