Friday Afternoon in a nursing home.
Lots of activity for most, but not for her.
She had said often, maybe too often, because of her vascular dementia, that she was an old clock with not many ticks left.
It seemed on this Friday afternoon, she was right.
I received a call mid-afternoon from her Hospice Nurse telling me that she was actively dying; that she was mottled on her hands and feet and up her legs to her knees. She reported that she was having periods of apnea as well, up to fifteen seconds of not breathing at a time.
She called me because she knew that we had a special relationship over the past eight months and felt that the patient would have liked to have me there.
I let the nurse know that I was on my way, but still about a half and hour to forty-five minutes away. She told me that she would stay with the patient until I got there and that she already had set up for a Vigil Volunteer to be there later in the evening if necessary.
The nurse and I had worked together with many previous patients. She was good. She was very competent, caring, compassionate and ATHEIST.
I didn’t think that believing or not believing or anything in between made a difference when it came to bringing compassionate care.
We had many discussions about “The whole God thing,” mostly brought up by her. I never forced those discussions or any of my beliefs. I had much admiration and respect for her and knew the care she brought to the bedside.