One of the sweetest patients I had the pleasure of caring for was set to be discharge to hospice. The first day of four in a row I cared for him was the first time he was allowed to eat in three weeks. Most of the shift he was non-verbal. I could see his bed from the nurses’ station and he was fidgety. He didn't want to sleep. I went in his room frequently to check on him and he kept gesturing like he was eating. I went and got a fruit ice for him and proceeded to feed it to him. With the first bite, his face lit up and he said "Thank you." I proceeded to sit and feed him the rest of that fruit ice and another along with some ice cream.
Next started the sock incident. He continually was kicking the blankets off. He kept saying something that sounded like sex. It was so confusing. I couldn't figure out what he was saying. He kept saying the sex-sounding word over and over louder and louder. Eventually people were sticking their heads in the room as he was right by the nurses station. After the fifteenth time, I realized he was saying socks. I replaced his socks he settled down.
After his snack and socks, I rolled a workstation into his room so I could chart and keep a better eye on him because he kept throwing his legs over the edges of the bed. He laid there and kept trying to pat my arm to make sure I didn't leave. He eventually drifted off to sleep.
These nights are the ones that help me feel like what I do is meaningful. They are hard and emotionally messy but at the end of the night when I drive home I reflect on the fact that I made a difference.
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