The Never Ending Last Straw

When  was  the  last  time  you  suffered

T H E       L A S T       S T R A W ?

When  was  the  worst  time  you  endured

T H E      L A S T      S T R A W ?

When  was  the  last  time  you  were  an  Actual

New   Straw   G I V E R?

I could hear him down the hallway long before I reached his room.

He wasn’t the patient I had planned to see that afternoon.

He was a new hospice patient,

who had just come in shortly after lunch.         .         .

He was loud

He was screaming out

for what sounded like a life raft.

There was a lot of activity in the hall way

with someone pushing a food cart;

nurses changing shifts,

visitors and families walking behind patients,

aids serving  patients  needs

but he might as well have been on deserted island.       .       .

and maybe that was his

 last   straw.       .       .

When I walked into the room,

he literally didn’t notice me

for all of his screaming.       .          .

The source of his   LAST STRAW   moment,

literally involved a straw.

It was on the floor.

In reaching for his glass of water,

he obviously misjudged his aim and knocked the glass off his tray.

There wasn’t a lot of water on the floor,

maybe a healthy sip,

but his last straw just wasn’t merely that his cup and straw were on the floor,

but he screaming and yelling

brought no one to retrieve it.

Alone again.

Forgotten again.

Ignored again.

Unheard again.

Angry at his life (or lack thereof),

his predicament,

his illness,

his lack of control,

his isolation.       .       .

he bellowed out!

His face was red and wet with sweat

from screaming out.          .          .

His eyes damp

and his heart empty and broken.

“Here, let me help,”

I said bending down to pick up his cup and straw.

I threw both away in the nearby waste basket

and went down the hall

and got him another cup,

some ice water

 and   yes,

a soon-to-be-another—

L   A   S  T       S  T  R  A  W.

As he was sipping loudly,

I went and dampened a wash cloth with some cool water

and wiped the top of his head, his forehead and cheeks.

I filled up his cup again.     .     .

He drank.      .      .

 He   stopped   slurping.  .  .

as the straw made the sound

 it does

as he sucked up the last few sips

at the bottom.     .     .

Thirst   Q U E N C H E D.          .          .       

He put his hand over top of mine as I held his cup,

extended toward him.

We didn’t exchanged words.     .     .

didn’t have to, either.

He didn’t ask me who I was

or why I was there

and I didn’t tell him

Funny isn’t it.         .         .

the greatest way to eliminate

The Last Straw is.        .        .

.        .         . is just to make sure

T     H     E     R     E          I     S     N ‘  T          O     N     E !

When was the last time you

Suffered  The   LAST   STRAW?

When was the worst time you endured

The  LAST   STRAW?

W     h     e     n,

when was the Last Time

you   actually   were   a

New     Straw     Giver?

Maybe the Hmmmmmmmm of the Day

is realizing that when you are a Straw Provider,

you not only eliminate the Last Straw Syndrome.       .      .

you’ll never have to tolerate a  

Last   Straw   Moment

yourself—-E V E R!

Well now.       .       .

that kind of ceases to,

uhhh, forgive me.      .      .

Suck Like A STRAW.         .         .         .