Sharing this journal when I was a Hospice Massage Therapist...
Today I attended a wake, a life-celebration, for
a young man who died at the young age of 27 years old.
I first met Decarlo in a nursing home. I was
very reluctant when I saw the Hospice Order requesting massage to help his
muscle spasms and depression. A feeling of discomfort in my stomach came over
me because I have a son that age.
I didn’t know I would have the strength to
comfort someone who is dying so young.
My apprehension came true when I walked into the
room and found a young man laying in bed, immobile, noticing a TV, a form of
entertainment perched on a stand next to his bed keeping him company.
His
diagnosis left his young body lying in his bed, not able to move; his eyes could only move. He and I didn’t know what to expect when I introduced myself, why I was there.
He was frustrated. He wasn’t able to communicate,
the call-button securely in his hand, wondering how he would ever be able to use it.
I stood there not knowing what to do. All my
experiences led me here but I felt paralyzed with the thought of not knowing
where to begin. Was I able to help him?
God only knows.
I recognized the patients that were there in the
facility; the wheelchairs in the hallway, the sounds of patients moaning,
realizing days gone by, wishing their life was different. The room he was in
had a few more beds reminiscing of how diseases could affect a person’s body at
the end of their lives.
So I began to help him find some comfort for his
young body where anxiety has nestled in for quite some time. I was armed with the
knowledge of what I was capable of doing and also grateful for the humility of
needing God’s help.
It was a moment where my feelings could have gotten the
best of me, easily could have cried but I had a job to do. I left after giving
a heartfelt massage, not thinking I made a difference but knowing I surely
tried.
I just wasn’t sure how I can help him.
So weeks went by, bringing in music to soothe
his spirit with the hopes of comforting his anxiety. His body lay motionless. No
words were spoken.
Our communication grew. Over time, the music seemed to
console his roommate, as well, and eventually the staff came in more often, drawn
in by an oasis of peacefulness. My
patient seemed to be getting more comfortable.
As time went by, I understood more of what I could do to help,
reassuring him and comforting him.
He began to look forward to our visits. And
so was I.
Decarlo would patiently show me what was working
for him like motioning with his eyes that his neck was bothering him and we
found that removing his pillow for our sessions gave him an opportunity to
stretch his neck. We started to learn how to communicate. I discovered that I
didn’t need the alphabet sign to spell out his words; his eyes were working
nicely to help him communicate. Moving his eyes upward to adjust the head of
his bed or his eyes turning in different directions so I can make the
adjustments for him to watch TV, making him more and more comfortable.
We were
making progress.
Every Wednesday, I would look forward to our
visits, compressing his worn joints, improving circulation the best I could. I
would end the session with cleaning his eye glasses, repositioning him to watch
TV and returning his call-button to his hand, just in case he needed it. I
realized that it was a comfort measure for him giving him that security that
help was close, even if he wasn’t able to use it.
I was beginning to wonder how he spent his time
in quiet and in solitude. I soon realized that it is possible to have serenity when you’re all alone. That it doesn’t
take material things to find your inner happiness. How much we take for
granted! That at some point in your life, all you have is yourself and God. And
the serenity you will find is found within.
Weeks turned into months, and patience showed me
how it helped our visits to ease anxiety and gain comfort. We had a routine
that was really working. My patient liked jazz music, strawberry shakes, and a
favorite prayer. There were days I joked
with him when he was giving me a hard time just like my son does.
- I have
learned patience is important.
- I have learned to be grateful in my capabilities
to live a full life, that I do have all I need to fulfill a Purposeful life. We
all do.
- I have learned that a person can
find peace even when they cannot move.
- I have learned that you can communicate
without talking.
- And touch is a fundamental need for everyone.
- That it may be the
simple things that truly make you happy.
Then the sad news came one day. His mother died.
It was devastating and heartbreaking news.
As days grew into months, Decarlo started to
decline. He didn’t look the same, having lost weight and refusing food. I
understand it is our business caring for someone near the end of their life,
and I thought I kept that in prospective.
I was sad for what was coming.
Understanding that I am only with my
patients a short time at the end of their lives, but this time I felt very
close to this dear young man. In my heart, I foolishly thought I could make it
all better.
But it is not about me. Was it ever?
I have learned that my best
efforts could not control what God’s plan is.
And then I realized what a special
opportunity this was to experience love on a core level!
Helping Decarlo really
gave me a sense of deep spiritual giving.
For that I am grateful. And this lesson
came unexpectedly.
It came through the eyes of a young man.