A Bomb Goes Off...
After a two year struggle with triple-negative breast cancer, my wife - then 32 - was referred to the palliative ward at the Grey Nuns hospital in Edmonton. She had been admitted to Emergency a few days before with pleural effusion and difficulty breathing due to the many metastases in her lungs. We both knew that she would someday wind up in Unit43, but the sting of those words hit us both. The doctors were very kind, patient, and understanding. The first doc explained that the goal was not to keep her there until the end, but to relieve her symptoms so that she could return home, and come back again when she next needed relief. Sadly, she never made it home and passed less than a week after being admitted.
In reflection, I am so touched by the compassion and humanity that the doctors and nurses showed us in those days. From letting me sleep in the room next to her, letting me bring our dog in to say goodbye, to quietly moving her into a private room when they knew the end was near (not that they admitted that, but in reflection I know that's why).
The night before my wife succumbed I asked one of the nurses what it was going to be like - for me. She said that death was just the same as having a baby - you can never be prepared no matter how much you've read, imagined, or worried... a bomb goes off in your life and you'll never quite be the same again and you will spend a lot of time trying to put all the pieces back together again.
She was so right.
The staff that choose this line of work deserve all the respect in the world. And the concessions that are made to make patients and caregivers/loved-ones comfortable are admirable and should be an example to the rest of the health care system.
If I could make suggestions for improvement, however, I would like to ask for more private rooms. Watching your loved one wither away, or trying to help them out of bed to use a commode, with strangers looking over your shoulder is very dehumanizing. I'm grateful that she was moved to a fully private room in her final hours, but it would have made a difference for her dignity had it happened sooner. And, for patients who are imminently terminal, it would be nice if there was something more comfortable for loved-ones to sleep in than a bedside chair. Some of us just aren't going to leave and let go until the final breath slips away. It would be nice if there was a way we could sleep by their sides just one last time.
On the whole though, and based on this sample size of one, the Palliative ward at Edmonton's Grey Nuns hospital is a wonderful environment and I'm forever grateful for the compassionate care that was provided to her (and to me) in her final hours.
Whenever I manage to put the pieces back together well enough to have the courage to walk through those doors again I will thank them in person.
