I find myself holding my breath when I see an order for a swallowing evaluation in a patient. The inability to swallow properly can be a temporary setback, but sometimes it is not. Unfortunately, once we lose the ability to swallow, our options become limited: a feeding tube (rarely a good choice) or comfort measures and the opportunity to say "goodbye" to those we love.
Similarly, when falls enter into the picture, medical interventions may improve the quality of life for a season, but the majority of elderly patients who fall will have another fall within six months. Some can be serious--even fatal. Like swallowing issues, the circumstances behind frequent falls often herald the beginning of the end for geriatric patients.
"I never thought of it like that," she reflected.
She smiled up at me and said, "I need my strength. I've got work to do."
The transformation in her face was startling. She looked like she was a week into healing from her injury. "Why, Miss Sally, you look marvelous!" I enthused.
She reached out her hand to me, and I took it in mine. "This is my friend, Kay," she said by way of introduction to her family.
"I'm having a good day today," she said when she looked back at me. She squeezed my hand strongly and smiled. "I'm going to have another one again tomorrow, too."
"I am so glad," I replied. After a minute, I took my leave of this happy crowd and closed the door.
*not her real name
I received a call at the front desk one morning from a patient who needed assistance setting up her breakfast tray. The tech and nurse were busy in an isolation room, so I went to see if I could help.
As I entered the room, I met a charming patient in her mid-eighties, who had been hospitalized after a terrible fall. She had a massive contusion and a row of stitches across her forehead. Most of her face was swollen and bruised. I introduced myself and bent over to gently take her frail hand in mine. Tears welled up in her eyes, and I asked her if she was in pain and needed her nurse.
As I entered the room, I met a charming patient in her mid-eighties, who had been hospitalized after a terrible fall. She had a massive contusion and a row of stitches across her forehead. Most of her face was swollen and bruised. I introduced myself and bent over to gently take her frail hand in mine. Tears welled up in her eyes, and I asked her if she was in pain and needed her nurse.
"No," she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I just hate being here and looking like this!"
I smiled at her and said," I understand. But I would give anything to have your beautiful head of hair. It is so thick and such a lovely shade of silver. Not a curl is out of place!" I marveled.
A faint smile passed over her face, revealing a set of flawless dentures that the dental hygienist in me could not help but admire. They were a work of art.
Miss Sally* struggled to sit up, so we worked together for a few moments to get her situated. I began a dialogue about what was on her tray and asked her where she would like to begin.
Discomfort and frustration prompted more tears, so I stopped opening containers and asked what I could do to make things better.
"I'm really alright," she replied. "I'm just so frustrated that I can't do for myself. I've been independent my entire life, and hate asking for help. I've become such a burden." she said with bitterness.
I silently asked the LORD for help and thought for a moment.
"Miss Sally," I said gently, taking her hand again. "I understand what you are saying. It is amazing that you have been able to live alone at home for so long. I know you are proud of that, but your body is getting tired. This is a natural part of life. But instead of thinking about yourself as a burden, I would like for you to consider something else entirely."
She looked up at me expectantly.
"This new season in your life is a blessing. Your circumstances are an opportunity for others to exercise compassion, perform acts of service, and learn how to grow older with dignity. Your sickbed is now a ministry to others. Your family and friends need this experience of caring for you in order to grow."
She did not break eye contact with me as I said this and gripped my hand afresh with hope.
"I never thought of it like that," she reflected.
A few moments later, I resumed preparing her tray and addressing her preferences. By the time I returned with a couple of packets of sugar for her oatmeal, she was tucking into her food.
"Good for you!" I encouraged.
She smiled up at me and said, "I need my strength. I've got work to do."
The next day, I was walking down the hall and heard a chorus of laughter from Miss Sally's room. I poked my head in and looked around. An assortment of pleasant people were gathered around her and visiting. Miss Sally turned to look at me and smiled.
The transformation in her face was startling. She looked like she was a week into healing from her injury. "Why, Miss Sally, you look marvelous!" I enthused.
"Makeup is a wonderful thing," she chortled with a wink at one of her granddaughters.
She reached out her hand to me, and I took it in mine. "This is my friend, Kay," she said by way of introduction to her family.
"I'm having a good day today," she said when she looked back at me. She squeezed my hand strongly and smiled. "I'm going to have another one again tomorrow, too."
"I am so glad," I replied. After a minute, I took my leave of this happy crowd and closed the door.
Thank you, LORD, I thought. And thank you, Miss Sally. You have no idea how much I needed you this week.
*not her real name
