In the beginning..

G'morning, everyone.

Instead of playing endless hands of freecell or spider solitaire to unwind from work at night, I thought it might be nice to maybe do something a bit more productive with my time.

The only thing you need to know about this blog to follow it is that I'm a near-middle-aged female who lives in the midwest and I work in heath care. I've done this for many, many years.

That and I'm an animal lover and that I'm married with kids and grandkids.

The only person that could come across this blog and be even slightly offended by anything I write here is someone who probably wouldn't bother. He's got plenty of his own blogging and worrying about others to do.

What's on my mind today is work. Last night at about 7pm a man came out of his room worried. "Minnie is on her way out."

"What's wrong, Joe?"

"She's just staring straight ahead and won't talk to me".

She's just come back from re-hab, she's CHF and has a single kidney.

Indeed, she's staring straight ahead and her expression is a bit fixed. I ask her what's wrong, which sends her (and she's quite a prim little lady) into fits of giggles. Euphoria. This isn't good.

I quickly go and find what substitutes as a "nurse" (or "charge-aide" is what we use where I work) who is a 19 year old fool who I know, is going to be way beyond her depth.

I'm gentle in guiding her through what we need to do here, which is get vitals, contact our DON and the doctor, ASAP.

No, Gabrielle says, she can't reach the DON. I get more firm and tell her to try ALL available nursing staff (ANYONE who can give us permission to ship poor Minnie to the nearest ER), and that I'll stay with Minnie and Joe.

Honestly, I think Gab-the-fool was a little lost at that point. She suggested Hospice, until I reminded her that Minnie and Joe had actually met with Hospice just hours earlier and refused their services.

Minnie is sitting comfortably, peaceful, and cooperative. Joe, trying to hide tears carefully, in his wheelchair, goes to the refrigerator and shakily brings her back a small cup of water. This act, which has taken such effort on his part, out of love and devotion to his dying wife, has broken my heart.

That and the fluid, which her kidneys no longer will remove, which is leaking out of her socks, and even pooling out her tiny shoes.

Minnie, with a odd, strange smile, is asking for a cup of wine, and I, looking deep into her dear, dark eyes tell her I'll have something much better in a moment (morphine). No, she'd really like just "this much" (indicated with her fingers) madeira. "The medicine probably wouldn't be good with wine, sweetheart", I say.

The morphine comes from Gab's shaking hand, and Minnie makes us giggle by sucking it rather comically in an eager way.

Her 02 on 2 liters is between 89 and 92, HR is about 62, blood pressure 86/40. Temp, unfortunately is in celcius and I can't read the stupid thing. Lowish, though, I'm sure.

I wrangle another aide to help me; a good girl named Cass, and we gently dress Minnie is flannel pajamas, a "brief" (some might call this a "diaper", which we do not call them, for dignity's sake), and Cass removes the soaked socks. Minnie's legs have small droplets of fluid collecting, which reminds me of an injured sapling.

The doctor calls and tells us not to ship Minnie, that there is nothing more to be done but supportive care.

Eventually, our very dear DON arrives, calls family to come. The doctor has confirmed Joe's (and all of our) initial thoughts which is that Minnie will not last the night.

I flip through residents, getting those that need help ready for bed, fixing soup for old Dan who's refused to come down for dinner and has been waiting for me. Other's pitch in, though we've all been incredibly taxed this night, when many residents are struggling though difficulty. I'm grateful, and eventually, with head and feet elevated, Minnie is in bed, lying on waterproof pads in the unlikely event that her kidney suddenly decides to work again. "Sleep well", I say, as I turn down lights.

I think of gentle, quiet Joe all night. "I just got her back", he sobs, very, very quietly.