This nurse's tale is a minor miracle

National Nurses Week runs through May 12 (Florence Nightingale’s birthday). In honor of Rochester’s caregivers, we gathered several stories about and from local nurses. This one will leave you in awe:

Being there, being amazed

My patient Ruth was dying of congestive heart failure. As a hospice nurse, I was assigned to take care of Ruth in her final days; managing symptoms, administering care, generally assisting with her daily life. Her family included Michael, an adult son and a successful businessman who was close with his mother but had a busy career and family life.

Ruth was a gracious lady. She asked to be dressed every day in her lovely clothes and even wore high heels! Every evening she asked for a ginger ale and whiskey before dinner and asked for company while she had her cocktail. Ruth would chat about her life and talk about her husband, Dick, the love of her life who had died several years before. Ruth never finished her drink, it was more of a ceremony. You see, she and Dick would have a drink before dinner each night when he came home from work. Ruth would always dress nicely for him and wear her heels. Her time in hospice allowed her to relive those memories.

One day Ruth did not get out of bed; she became more confused and had changes in her breathing. She became unresponsive and Michael was called. This is the time when hospice nurses use all their skills, assessing the patient closely for signs of distress, administering prescribed medications, repositioning the patient. And we look out for the family as well.

Ruth was comfortable, laying peacefully but Michael was another story. He sat by the bedside and wept. He was suffering, feeling helpless and alone. I stayed with Michael and asked him what the hardest thing was for him. He replied, “All she wanted was to be with my father, and I don’t know if that will happen.” I told Michael that Ruth had spoken often of Dick and she felt sure she would “see him again.” Michael smiled and said, “She always had a faith in heaven and the afterlife, and I guess I just don't believe in that stuff.”

I tended to Ruth, watching her closely but also being aware of Michael’s distress and grief. As Ruth showed signs of imminent death, I talked to Michael, gently explaining what was happening and assuring him she was not suffering. We sat quietly at the bedside and I glanced out the window and saw a dove in a tree branch. I pointed out this bird to Michael and he smiled and said, “My mother and father called each other their Love Dove. I always thought it was corny.” We stayed with Ruth and she quietly, graciously died.

A few moments passed and Michael remained, quiet and pensive. I got up to leave and glanced out the window and saw not one but two doves on the tree branch. “Michael, look,” I said and I pointed to the birds. I watched his resigned, sad expression change to wonder and amazement as he saw the two doves together. 

When I went into nursing, I wanted to be a superhero who had skills to heal and set things right. What I get from my job as a hospice and palliative care nurse is far more powerful. I have the honor of caring for people and being there for them when they are most vulnerable and weak. “The power of presence” is the term a wise friend named this skill. We all have it as humans, but nurses bring it to their jobs every day. And when our day is done and our shift is over, we take home with us the grace that power gives us — the gifts from Being There.

For more essays by and about remarkable nurses, go to DemocratandChronicle.com/HealthyLife