I remember standing over the casket of a very dear family friend, Louis Trujillo, when I was in the eighth grade vowing to myself and my sweet father that I would someday become an oncology nurse. At that time, cancer had become a word that was all too familiar in my life, as well as those around me who I so dearly cherished. I told my dad that I wanted to help people – people who were sick, who were dying. People who so desperately needed healing. I think some people are just born to be “helpers.” Maybe it was the fact that I am the typical oldest child who helped care for a brother 5 years younger than me. Maybe it’s that I watched my parents model servant hood by spending their entire lives giving themselves to others in any way that they could. Maybe it’s just that the Lord designed my heart the way he did. At any rate, I have always known that I was made to help people – and naturally, for me, nursing became my thing.
After nursing school, I worked on a med-surg/oncology unit for almost a year – I will never be able to repay my precept, Cindy Duffy, or the other ladies I worked with for everything that I learned in that time fram (I do not, on the other hand, miss working nights). While working there, I was able to take care of numerous patients, but mainly asked to be placed caring for any of the oncology or end of life patients. There is something truly humbling about caring for someone who is dying – about giving them dignity up until their last moments here on earth. By doing this, I was able to get to know these patients’ physicians, Dr. Lee and Dr. Corum. I was always in awe of those men – their gracious bedside manor, their knowledge of (literally) everything, even their beautiful handwriting intrigued me. I always wanted to do well taking care of my patients, but even more so I wanted them to know that I was doing a good job taking care of and loving THEIR patients, too. I always hoped that they knew how much I truly enjoyed caring for their peeps; not just that they knew it, but that they could SEE it. And then one day I got a call from Dr. Lee – there was an opening at his office and he wanted me to come. I could not believe it. I had often thought how wonderful it would be to work under them, and I finally had a chance to do so.
I struggled and tugged along at the clinic that first year. Talk about learning curve – between learning all the new drugs, regimens and mixing chemo, I was drowning. The nurses who I worked with were so patient with me and I feel like I asked the same questions over and over again until I would get it right. And they were so gracious to me. The patients were also gracious with me. I was the new nurse who looked like she was 16 and they were terrified that I was allowed to come near them with a needle (which, fortunately, is something I am naturally gifted at – thank you, Lord!).
When you work in a long term clinic setting, you develop relationships with your patients. In oncology, you do have to learn to put up certain barriers to protect your heart – many people survive, but unfortunately, not everyone makes it. But there are times when you do expose a certain part of your heart and let people in. All of us have done it – we all have had our own people. Teresa had Kirk and Benita, Bonnie had Bill, Jessie had Patti and HAS Christian (rockstar!), we all had Pam; gosh I miss her. The point is, we all have or have had people who we love deeply and bond with in unexplainable ways. It’s like God created us knowing that one day we would be their nurses during one of the most difficult times of their life. One of mine was Dorothy; my sweet Dorothy who went to be with Jesus today. Dorothy and I connected on many levels. One of them, and probably the most important, was our love for Long John Silvers. Odd, yes. Deeply bonding, even more so. Dorothy and her husband, Lloyd, have permanently stolen a place in my heart over the years. They have no children of their own, and when they found out I was pregnant with Nora, they were ecstatic! She bought me five different outfits for her, for heaven’s sake. Dorothy was one of the only people who knew Eleanor’s name before she came into this world. And she was one of the first people to come visit me in the hospital after she was born. We spent many days talking about family, work, the turn of emotions that came along with life’s changes. We talked about the fear of knowing her cancer was worsening, the fear of labor and what it would feel like. Many hours we just shared life together. She always loved feeling my tummy when Nora would move and she would giggle when she would see my basketball stomach kick and roll. I will always remember Dorothy standing at the window of her room, looking out at the parking lot, out at the world. I asked her once why she never sat during her treatments. “I’m just looking at all that beautiful life going on out there.” All that beautiful life.
Another reason she has a deep place in my heart is that she is my “last patient.” All of my patients have touched my heart in one way or another, but I have had a handful who became dear friends. I left my job full time after having Nora knowing that at some point or time, of those who I held the closest, they would eventually lose their battles. And Dorothy was the last one of those people. It almost feels like a closing of a large chapter in my life; a part buried deep in my heart. And such a special place in my soul.
So, to Vivian, Alex, Mary Carolyn, Don E, Don R, Eric, Pam, Kathy, Jim, Patty, Colleen, Roy and Dorothy – my peeps: Thank you. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Thank you for letting me live out my God given calling by caring for you. Thank you for sharing your precious families with me. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to sing and dance in your rooms when you got good scan news and sit and cry and hold you close when they were bad. Thank you for letting me hold the trash can up to your face when you were sick and go and get you cookies from the snack basket when you felt good. Thank you for allowing me to serve you – for letting me pray with you and show you Jesus, whether in word or in action. Thank you for letting me be the one to walk you through that hard conversation of moving to hospice. Thank you for showing me what living your life to the fullest and truly loving other people looked like. You have undeniably blessed me more than you will ever know and I will never be able to repay you or your families for what you have given to me. I went into this job with the expectation of giving all of myself to you, but I came out instead more love and friendship than I ever thought possible all because of you giving yourself to me. For this, I can never thank you enough. It was truly and honor and privilege to be your nurse and your friend. And I miss all of you more than you know.