A Tale From The Boo Boo Bus: Our End of Days Tonight I held a dying man’s hand. I touched his worn, papery skin, and gripped his hand tight so that he might know that he is not alone on our journey. The enormity of our trip hadn’t touched me until the moment I grasped his hand. A man, at the end of his life, going home on hospice care and I have his golden ticket to a peaceful death in hand. How many weeks, days, hours, minutes, moments does he have left? How many more moments of happiness, flashes of a grin, gentle touches from the ones he love will he experience? Of the time he has left, what chunk of that am I taking up right now? Tears started sliding down my cheeks as I gripped his hand a little tighter. I got 30 precious secluded minutes with the kind gentleman. I was going to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, and that I cared for him, and more importantly I cared about him. We brought him inside, placed him gently in his bed, and turned over care to his loving family. I left him with his wife and daughters by his side, and a “thank you” as I walked out the door. Why did I thank him? I thanked him for those 30 precious minutes that he gave me. How often do we have these simple transfers, and just sit on our seat, filling out our paperwork, ignoring our patient in the hopes that they will sleep a little and leave you alone so your paperwork is done by the end of the call? How often do we just say, “You call, we haul” and schlep them from one place to another? What is it going to feel like when my time comes? Will I have a crew that is oblivious to my precious little time left here on earth? Or will I have someone to hold my hand and comfort me? Someone that cares about me? Someone that makes my precious 30 minutes fulfilled and worth it all? I can still feel his hand in mine. -Doc Reaper
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 02:27:22 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015