Death

I work in a fast-paced, hospital environment. In hospitals, death is around every corner at any minute – whether it be looming over a patient in the ICU, or hovering over you yourself, unbeknownst to you. So far, I can recall a few occasions where I have actually spoken with a patient and then sometime later the patient had either suddenly, or expectedly, died for whatever reason. In the hospital, it is never easy to confront the issue of death but, when it does occur, one employed there is expected to resume their duties and continue caring for those whom are still living that day. There are constant reminders of life’s fragility, at a fast pace, whether we want to be reminded or not. Some of us push aside these reminders, while others dwell upon them as they lay in bed at night.

Earlier this week, I learned one of my coworkers and friends passed away. After work on Tuesday, she walked into her home, told her husband she wasn’t feeling well, and then had a massive heart attack and died instantly. I had been up on one of my units, multitasking on several cases at once, when one of my coworkers came up and told me the terrible news. I had about five minutes to process it before I had to return pages, answer phone calls, talk to patients’ family members, etc. In a seemingly conditioned manner, I did not give myself much time to process what had happened. Actually, it wasn’t until the end of the week before I was really able to do so.

As I set down at my desk late Friday and gathered all I would need to be on call Monday, Memorial Day, I looked up at the top shelf on my desk and noticed two figurines. My coworker had given these to me on two different occasions over the past few months. One was an angel and the other a devil. She had taken them both off of her desk during times when I sat and visited with her in her office and said, “Here you go. I want you to have this.” She was always giving me, and others, random little things like that – a thoughtful and selfless person who truly cared for the well-being of others.

I’ve thought off and on about seeing her on Tuesday, only a short time before she was to leave this earth. My coworker and I were eating lunch in the conference room when she knocked on the door to notify my coworker that a patient’s family member was outside the door needing to speak with him. She kept apologizing for interrupting our lunch and I simply told her it was no big deal. She looked perfectly healthy at that moment. I myself was all relaxed and carefree in that moment. Had I known she’d soon be in the ground, I would have panicked and, in the end, I would have said, “Thank you,” to her for all she was.

So, since I didn’t say it then, I can only say it now… “Thank you.”