When you work in healthcare, especially with terminal patients, it’s important that you remove yourself from the subject of your day-to-day conversations, or else the day-to-day will rip you apart.
I was reminded of that very fact today, when I learned that my absolute favorite patient, and one of my favorite people, period, passed away last night. I make it a point not to cry at work, but today, I seemed to do little else. I also make it a point to not become involved with patients in any way, but I just couldn’t help it with this one; he was the nicest person I think I’ve ever met. My job involves scheduling medication refills for high risk patients, so I would talk to him once a month to set up his deliveries, but there were days where he would just call me to say “Hi,” because he wanted to hear a cheerful voice. When I saw his phone number pop up on my phone at work, I would always take the call, and for the same reason: he was a friendly voice, a real person instead of a patient ID and an address. At one point he offered to set me up with his son, and I honestly think he was somewhat serious when he mentioned it. He was just that kind of man.
About a week and a half ago, I noticed that I hadn’t heard from him in a while, so I called to check in on him and to see if he was ready to order some more medication. Two days later I received a phone call from his very kind wife, who told me that he had been in the hospital for the past two weeks. My heart fell; I knew that he hadn’t much longer, but the news came as such a shock. His wife spoke with me for several minutes, and paid me the sweetest compliment I think I’ll ever hear: she told me that her husband would talk about me at home, that he was always so happy to hear from me, and that he spoke about me as if everyone knew who I was. After hearing the news of his hospitalization, I immediately asked two of my supervisors if I could, for this patient only, send a card to let him know that I was thinking of him. After jumping through some hoops, they allowed me to do just that. The card was simple; it had a flower on its cover, and the inside read, “How’s my favorite person today? Better I hope.”
Due to weather and holiday delays, his wife didn’t receive the card until yesterday morning. I found out that he passed away this afternoon.
It was at least two hours before I could return his wife’s call. It took that long to compose myself enough that I was confident that I wouldn’t start crying while on the phone with a very sweet, newly widowed woman. I told her that she and the rest of her family would always be in my thoughts, she told me that her husband had been so, so happy to know that I had been thinking of him, I told her that I was sorry for her loss, and she apologized for giving me bad news. She knew that, even though I’d never met her husband before, he was very dear to me. It’s amazing how you can form a bond like that with a complete stranger, when all you know is their name and the sound of their voice. I still have the voicemail that he left me when I first took over his account, thanking me for being so helpful and for “letting an old man get some frustration out of his system.” I don’t think I’ll ever delete it now.
Mr. P___ , whatever there is after this life, whether it be an eternal heaven or reincarnation or just the sleep of death, I’m so very sad to know that there will be no more random phone calls from you, to brighten a dreary Wednesday. I’m sorry for your loss – because it is as much of a loss to you as it is to your family. And, sir, I’m so very sorry that I didn’t get to say goodbye properly. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life for such a short time, and thank you for all the smiles that you brought into my life.
Selah
