CCU Patient

I found out during Monday morning sign-out that the CCU patient I’d cared for over the weekend had died. We’d rounded on him the previous day, and he’d been making slow but steady progress. We were able to wean his balloon pump, the pressors, and then in combination, his sedation and oxygen requirements. He’d been extubated for over twenty-four hours.

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Hospital Near Dublin

I tiptoed into the slippery hallway of the hospital near Dublin where I’d stayed for three weeks as a baby, trying to find some answers as to why I had been there. I still expected to be reprimanded by sisters—what nurses are still called in Ireland—with raw faces and pursed lips.

The walls were awash in institutional sea-foam green. My boyfriend at the time took a picture of my frightened face, the flash bleaching me out to only dark eyes.

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The Third Wheel

I am trying to move the language from forever to this moment, in the aiport departure lounge. To loosen up on declaring “You’re always” and “You’re never” and instead say “Right now you are …”

I might think I know what’s coming, but I have no idea exactly what it will look like and when it might happen. For now, the “what ifs” are not dormant, but also not dominant. Regardless, an illness becomes an uninvited third person in a two-person marriage. 

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A Moment in Hospice

She is a collector: stamps, coins, wine glasses of various shades and shapes, Donald Duck memorabilia. These are her childhood treasures rediscovered from boxes in the attic. Her mother kept them all, not knowing they would serve a purpose someday. On the nightstand is a recent photograph of this radiant woman with chestnut curls.

The person before me now is an empty vessel and nothing more; her limbs limp, her breaths shallow, her eyes closed, her age: fifty-four. The dressings need to be changed around-the-clock to slow the march of decay. The wound tunnels deep, exposing her sacrum

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Point of Departure

It sounded like a simple question. Do I still have cancer, or not?  

The surgeon got clear margins, and cancer wasn’t in the lymph nodes. But my oncologists strongly recommended chemotherapy in case microscopic cancer cells remained, undetectable by any test.

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Coping with the Present

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. I did my best to get all the information I needed through research and information, but the thought of having cancer scared me. So I listened to everything my doctor had to say–including that I could have either chemotherapy or surgery, but that with surgery, he would be more likely to get all of the cancer, since it had not spread beyond my prostate. I chose surgery.
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An Abyss of Not Knowing

She looked at me with desperation in her eyes. “I just don’t know,” she said.

“What’s wrong? What don’t you know?” I asked. With tears in her eyes and increased urgency in her voice, M insisted, “I just don’t know…I don’t know. I don’t know!” Hands turning white from gripping the armrests of her wheelchair, she slumped over, shut her eyes and shook her head in honest confusion and fear.

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Caregiver Unaware

My Dad is eighty-nine years old and has a glioblastoma, the same as former Sen. John McCain. He’s doing well despite his condition, and my siblings and I are surrounding him with support. Someone lives with him full-time, and we have a weekly check-in meeting so we’re all apprised of his current condition and contributing to his health. Based in our home town, my brother and sister are his primary care team; I live two-and-a-half hours away.

In February I traveled there to work from his home for a week. First thing Monday, I took him to a progress appointment

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The Waiting Game

My first three breast biopsies resulted from self-examinations that revealed a lump in my breast. The fourth—and, so far, final biopsy—came after my surgeon felt a mass in my breast during a routine check-up.
Each biopsy brought its own trauma. For biosies one and two, I had to find sitters to care for my two, young children. For biopsies three and four, I had to arrange lesson plans for my substitute teacher. I had to ensure that a family member would be with me during the out-patient procedures, and I had to gear myself up for the IV and anesthetic, both

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An Editor’s Invitation: Not Knowing

This month’s More Voices theme is Not Knowing.

Not knowing is an uncomfortable state for health professional and patient alike. And it’s striking how often, despite my profession’s reverence for knowledge and certainty, I’m unsure–or simply don’t have the answers.

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