How Far Would You Go For A Patient?

I had never met him before, and here he was in the hospital with terminal cancer. As I introduced myself, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation. Yet, duty called, and I began my assessment, scanning the patient's wristsband like a box of scalloped potatoes in a grocery store.

After swiftly checking his medications, I reached for the nebulizer from the bag hanging on the flowmeter. With practiced hands, I prepared the medicine and started the nebulizer. Then, I carefully positioned the mask over the patient's nose and mouth, securing it with the strap as I gently slipped it over his face.

The TV in his room was tuned to the Tigers game, adding a touch of familiarity to the sterile environment. With the assessment completed and the nebulizer doing its job, I pulled up a chair beside him, and together we watched the game. Despite our brief acquaintance, we sat there like old friends.

I did not mention that the game was a rerun. I've learned not to spoil such moments for patients, especially when they believe they are watching a live game. Stuck in a hospital, sometimes it's comforting to cherish what you have access to—especially if it brings you joy and happiness. Despite it being 10 am, the timing didn't diminish the significance of the moment for him.

Then, he broke the silence. "So, you're a Tigers fan?" he asked.

"Yes, a big Tigers fan," I replied with a smile.

As he struggled to speak through labored breaths, he shared a story with me. His words were punctuated by gasps as he inhaled from the large cannula under his mask. He reminisced about his first time attending a Tigers game, recalling how the price of a ticket was only 35 cents."

A few days had passed, and I found myself becoming quite familiar with him. It's a common occurrence in our line of work - you meet someone, and in just a few days, you learn about their entire life story. On the fourth day, my coworker took over caring for this patient. She came downstairs to the RT Cave, trying to maintain composure as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

"He's not doing well, John," she said softly. "He and his friend have decided to transition him to hospice care. He expressed a wish to have all the medical interventions removed so that nature can take its course."

He said, 'But I have one last wish: I want to go outside and have a beer.' With determination in his eyes, he requested to have the high-flow cannula removed after this wish was complete once this was done. My coworker shared with me the nurse's concerns about the feasibility of fulfilling his wish, given his high oxygen requirements and deteriorating condition.

However, my friend was resolute. She declared, 'I will do it. I will make his wish come true.'

He was so happy," my friend recounted later. "He said to me, 'You are an amazing person.'"

Several hours later, I found myself back in the patient's room, alongside my coworker, ready to fulfill this man's final wish. The nurse assisted the patient in pivoting from the bed to the wheelchair, while we wrapped a blanket around him to ward off the chill of the 55-degree weather. Despite the relatively mild temperature, ensuring his comfort remained a priority given his condition.

As the moment arrived, my friend swiftly set up one oxygen tank behind the wheelchair, while I carried the second tank, ensuring we were fully prepared for any eventuality.

At that moment, his friend arrived, carrying his Tigers hat and a 16-ounce Bush Light, ready to accompany him on this memorable journey. She tenderly placed the hat on his head, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the beer. Carefully, he placed it on his lap, a symbol of comfort and camaraderie in his final moments.

A second nurse held the door while we wheeled this dying man and his tanks out onto the back deck of the intensive care unit. As he reached for his beer, the sound of the can opening echoed through the air. With trembling hands and labored breaths, he struggled to hold the can, his skin glistening with moisture from the exertion of breathing. Ignoring all this, he smiled. 

"I love beer. I love the Tigers. I love being outside. I love life" he declared between sips, pausing to take in the moment. "And I think you guys are so special for doing this for me. You guys are great."

There he sat, drinking his beer and relishing the outdoor air. I stood by, silently witnessing him enjoy his last wish. It was a moment filled with both happiness and sadness, like tasting something both sweet and salty simultaneously. 

And finally, the time had come. My friend, who was leading this expedition, gently announced, "Okay, we have to go inside now." With a sense of reverence, we wheeled the man and his oxygen tanks back into the hospital and to his room. His friend grabbed his beer so she wouldn't spill it, and the nurse assisted him in pivoting from the chair to the bed, while we each lent a hand, ensuring he was settled and his pillows fluffed for maximum comfort given his grim situation.

As we worked to make him as comfortable as possible, I noticed something remarkable. Amidst the flurry of activity, he quietly asked, "Can I have my beer?" His friend, ever attentive, handed him the beer she had taken from him just before the nurse helped him onto the bed.

A few hours later, he peacefully slipped into Heaven's embrace, surrounded by the love and care of those who had become his guardians in his final moments.