When I was married, I used to joke with my husband that when I was old and incapable, he would have to put my make up on for me. The deal was that I would have to remove his nose and ear hair so it seemed pretty fair. I guess we are both off the hook now since the divorce, which also seems pretty fair! As I've gotten older though, putting on makeup has become the least of my concerns when I think about the aging process. Working in a hospital has made it so clear to me that there are more important things to ask a partner to do for you when you can no longer take care of yourself.
To me, one of the most heartbreaking situations I see regularly is when people, especially older people, are alone. A while ago when I was registering patients for surgery it was sometimes frustrating to have an entire posse of family and friends taking up space in the waiting areas for hours at a time, for minor procedures, but in my heart, it was far better than registering a patient for surgery and seeing them come in alone, wait alone, and ultimately leave, alone. Often they wouldn't even have an emergency contact to list. My heart always felt raw after registering those ones. It gave me a chance to offer up a prayer for them, and I was glad to do that one small thing, but the awareness that so many people go through so many experiences in life, alone, pinches my soul.
A patient on my floor died this morning. Alone. Last night I went home and cried about her situation. She was deaf, and blind, and in the process of dying. It wasn't easy and she was alone and I hurt for her. I am hugely grateful for, and in awe of, the nursing staff who advocated mightily on her behalf to make that process easier. I saw them working hard and caring hard and using their hearts as well as their best skills to see that this patient was free from anxiety and pain last night. She did have a husband, but he was also elderly and not able to come often or stay long. The back and forth of getting to the hospital, the long walk from the parking garage to our unit, the hard chairs. It was a lot for him. He would come once a day and sit for as long as he could. He held her hand. He adjusted her blankets. He patted her pillows. He folded a small handmade blanket from home over her chest and tucked it under her chin. He was stoic and expressionless, but he was here. He would check in at the desk when he arrived and would say goodbye when he left. Late last night a nurse called him to let him know her status was changing and that he might want to try and come back. He came with some additional visitors around 7 pm. I'm not sure how long he was able to stay, but I do know that she was alone when she finally passed early this morning.
I often joke about what it will be like when I am unable to care for myself. I joke that my oldest daughter will foot the bill, my oldest son will show up with a secret stash of alcohol, my youngest daughter will be the one actually putting in the work of caring for me, and my youngest son? He'll pop in every once in a while and cause a ruckus before disappearing again. But its not really all that funny. Being single and aging isn't funny at all.
If I am in a hospital, if it's at the end, I wonder if anyone will pat my pillows, hold my hand, or tuck a blanket over me before they leave... I wonder if I will die alone. I'm single and while I know I have a lot of living left to do, I think about the future a lot. Recently I had to assign a health care proxy before I went in for a small medical procedure. I assigned my 21 year old daughter who still lives at home. I'm pretty independent and not worried about being alone right this moment, but it was a little unnerving to ask my 21 year old child to act in my best medical interests in case I was unable to do so. I guess maybe I'll have to tell her to bring me a blanket and hold my hand if it comes to that. She's not the sentimental one of my crew and I might have to leave explicit instructions if I want something like that! And I do - I do want someone to hold my hand and to bring me a blanket. I'd like it to be someone other than whichever nurse is on duty. I'd like it to be someone who loves me. I don't want to die alone, but the reality is that I might. It makes me sad to think about, but I'm willing to lean into this life I have, as it is, and have gratitude for it, as it is. I can pray that when my time comes, I will at least have nurses that are as wonderful as the ones I currently work with and who will advocate for me as fiercely as I watched them advocate for the patient last night. And I can pray that someone will bring me a blanket...
