i never thought i’d say it, but last night, i did.
as always, i’m sort of beating myself up for saying it, but what can i do, i can’t take my words back.

one of my patients was having DT, and by far, he has exceeded every encounter i had with expletives. he has called me every unacceptable name in the book, including fat face and pig face. he started, ended, and elaborated his every sentence with the F word, i just got tired of cringing.

at 2000, his repeat potassium was still low, so the doctor ordered two doses of potassium tablets. if you have taken or seen those things, they are humongous! i cut two in halves and offered it to him after convincing him that he badly needed it. he did take the tablets in between cursing and yelling for me to get the f#*k out of there. he started chewing the tablets, and i imagined how bitter it was, so i offered him apple juice, which, to my surprise, he sipped without argument.

when he started gargling the juice, i should have taken the hint, but sometimes, to my disadvantage, i have too much trust in humanity, even for people like him who was logically out of logic. he looked away, i breathed a sigh of relief, expecting he was swallowing. it was too late when i realized that he was aiming his lips directly at my face. with all the strength he could muster, he spit the chewed KCl and apple juice mixture. most of it went to my scrub, but my face wasn’t spared. he then belted out a devilish laugh and said ” i told you to get the f#*k out of here, didn’t i?” then he started kicking, missing the doctor’s chest by an inch, because she pulled away by instinct.

giving in to the frustration that had been building up in the past hours, i wiped the goo off my face, stopped myself from crying out of frustration, and said “i am not paid enough to do this job!”

words, that in a million years, i have never imagined i will ever ever say for real. you know, like i really mean it. and last night, i really meant it.

i did, and though i hate to admit that i am one of those stereotypical guilt ridden christians, i would be lying if i say i do not regret saying it.

anyway, it’s past now, and there is no way i can take it back. it made me wonder if this sudden change in behavior is a sign that  i am not cut for the bedside nursing challenges anymore. if my patience quotient has reached it limits and i am now devoid of compassion that i should seriously consider other nursing options, those that do not involve dealing with confused patients.

i’m just reflecting, just wondering outloud.

she eyed me with a look that made me feel uncomfortable.

i felt like running out of the room, but unfortunately, her husband was not finished embarassing me. he continued elaborating on how great i was, and how i really took care of him.

she tried to stop him mid sentence and asked him if he needed this or that. unfortunately, her husband won’t stop. he continued by enumerating the list of specific things i’ve done that just made his night.

finally, i saw a window of a very short and awkward silence. i said my goodbye very softly, and left the room.

i have been in too many awkward situations as a nurse. nothing beats being praised to the roof like you’re some angel from heaven, while the patient’s spouse is silent, sitting there with a look that speaks volumes. i know the look of gratitude, i’m too familiar with it. there is the other look though, i do not know exactly what it is, but sometimes, it almost looks like jealousy, although i could be wrong. who knows?

male patients especially. their partners/wives/girlfriends get so hyped up about the whole thing like they feel guilty or something for leaving their man to be taken care of my some total stranger. or they feel threatened because their men is taken care of by another woman. i do understand the awkward feeling, but sometimes, it gets way too uncomfortable. they don’t say it, but silence speaks louder. or when they say something, it makes matters worse and maginifies the already awkward situation.

i remember one wife actually asked her husband ”why didn’t you call me?” when he was telling her, in front of me, how  gentle i was when i placed the foley catheter, in the middle of the night, and he finally felt relief after seeing one liter of urine filling up the bag. like i am this husband stealing nurse who can’t keep my hands off her man, at his weakest moments. i was thrown this look that seemed to ask ”why do you have to be so gentle?”

i wish i have the guts to spit it out and tell these women that really, it’s not about me taking their place. i do not change their husband’s gown in the middle of the night so i can get his attention and win his heart. i am totally aware i do not have that charisma, and i am completely conscious of the fact that this is just one of those things i do in my job. 

if you ask me, most of the times it’s just the dilaudid. their men are high on drugs that make them think their nurses should be worshipped. they go on and on and on because they are under the influence.

half of the time, it’s the fact that men and their private parts and body fluids being seen and touched by other women is something very new to them, they don’t know how to react to the whole idea. i personally think it is nothing personal or phycsical. it’s just that he gets to see this person who cleaned his behind and  penis, and he is grateful and has nothing but respect towards her, but doesn’t really know how to say it in a way that won’t sound uncomfortable.

i am not taking the whole situation lightly. i’m pretty sure my husband wouldn’t know how to react around women he only knew by name touching his private parts because he needed help. but as a nurse, i think nothing of it. i seriously have not touched and cleaned a man’s body and private parts and thought “wow we should get together when he’s better”.

seriously. it’s nothing personal/sexual to me. after 15 years of being a nurse, more than 10 years of it spent at the bedside, it’s probably safe for me to say that i have seen/touched/cleaned maybe hundreds of penises, and not even once have i done that task beyond the definition of professionalism. i can’t speak for patients who have erections during the process, but for my own benefit, i consider it as an involuntary physiological reaction. end of story. and i don’t get in trouble.

i’ve been going on and on. too long that this post is almost getting pointless.

i guess what i’m just trying to say is this: men, do not place your wives/girlfriends in an awkward position. it is okay to say thank you, but to linger and elaborate on the tiniest details of what happened during the night was between you and me, and keeping it that way will make things much more uncomplicated. not that it should be kept a secret, but let’s put it this way: your significant other doesn’t really have to know how gentle i was when i was cleaning your private parts. for us ladies, that is way too much information.

and ladies, i understand where you’re coming from with the glaring or uncomfortable glances, i really do. i just hope you find peace in the fact that i have no personal or romantic intentions with your man, and i am just doing my job. i know that sounds unreal when he is constantly talking about how i gently washed his vomit off his chest or rubbed his back to give him a little comfort. those acts may feel way too personal for you to picture, but believe me, i treat your man as a patient who is a human being, in a professional way.

nothing more. nothing less.

this is not a complaint. just a statement.

my back hurt when i helped, twice, with our 518 pounds patient a few nights ago. the six of us, to place the bedpan underneath her, and the six of us to take it out and clean her.

in all honesty, i do not hate morbidly obese patients. i have two very specific feelings everytime i help them or take care of them myself. the first is sadness, the second is fear, never hatred. sadness because i cannot imagine how these patients live their lives productively and independently. fear because what if i continue to fail in my weight loss efforts, never lose that extra 40 pounds, and i end up being one of them, dependent and embarassed, because of my weight?

she was pleasant and very appreciative, but as we wipe our sweat after helping her, words were not needed to express her shame. as she thanked us profusely, looking away embarassed, i just wanted to hug her.

i am not being overly dramatic. i don’t know why i am not immuned from falling into one of my ponder moments everytime i encounter patients like her, considering i see them quite often. i think it makes my job harder, that i always go home feeling heavy after a shift like that, and it doesn’t make matters easier when i finally notice that my back hurts.

so much for work. this is not supposed to be a post of whine.

anyway, last saturday, i turned 39. when i was a teenager, i thought of people who were 39 as people who were really really ancient and were supposed to be displayed in a museum. well, look who’s talking now.

my coworkers thought i was being sarcastic when they greeted me and i answered: “one more year and my life will begin!” i don’t know if i am repressing depressive thoughts because i am growing old, but i do look forward to turning 40 next year just to see if that old line “life begins at 40″ is true.  they said my optimism is sickening because i am happily ignoring the fact that that line is totally untrue, and the real deal is “it’s all downhill from 40″.

i don’t know, i’ve always been a “the glass is half full” kind of gal. which reminds me…sincere thanks to those who expressed positive comments on my fictional stories. in my dream i am a writer. too bad i always wake up

okay, i’m off to have a massage, pamper my old creaking bones, rejuvenate my battered body. you’ll agree with me when i say i totally deserve it, right?

i don’t know if she even knew she was talking to me.

“i don’t remember the exact time the phone rang…what i remember was that i picked it up right away, which was unusual, because i always let the machine pick up when the number’s unfamiliar.”

she sighed, looked away, wiped her tears. i was uncomfortable, but leaving at this time was awkward.

“when the police asked “is this….”, i wasn’t told to sit down, but it was some kind of instinct. i dried my hand on my skirt, and in slow motion, like acting in a movie, i made those few steps from the kitchen to the dining table. i mechanically pulled his chair out. i didn’t realize it then, but i remember now that my knees started shaking. i felt like i was melting. i heard the police again…”i’m calling about….”

my thoughts drifted, and suddenly, i was at my own wedding. i don’t know why, but that was the scene playing on my head while she conintued to tell me how the police called her. i was there, but wasn’t there. i was way back in time, replaying the scene of my wedding. pathetic, i know.

“i know this sounds confusing, but the whole conversation was both extremely blurred and clear. at the same time. the police officer’s voice was loud and clear. the reception was clear. the news that my husband was in an accident and died on the spot, that was blurred. not because of tears that i didn’t even notice at first, but that the room just started fading away.”

i tried reaching for her arm. it felt weird to say the least, but i thought it was urgent. she tried looking at me, but her gaze was beyond my face. we were both there, but weren’t.

“you know those stories when people die from something unexpected and you automatically say “oh my God. i just talked to him a couple of days ago…” like that makes the news less realistic or traumatic.”

“well, that’s exactly what i said when i heard the police ask “ma’am, are you still there…”

“i told him i just kissed him goodbye about an hour ago”, like that piece of information can change the fact that he was gone, and can turn the police officer into some kind of an incompetent liar. so he will take his words back. so he will take ALL his words back.”

the lump in my throat was getting undeniable. i was suffocating. i felt like telling her that the last time we kissed felt just like an hour ago too. our last kiss…

“after i put the phone down, the house turned. around and around, until i lost track of what was going on. was i swirling on the floor, or the floor was swirling below me? i don’t remember…….what i remember was the pain. the kind that was impossible to describe. ironical, i know. the pain was raw and real, but words were not enough to define it. the pain crushed my heart, but my whole body was numb. does that even make sense? maybe it doesn’t. but that’s where i was…”

“years of living should have prepared me for it. we all die, don’t we? it’s just a matter of time. how arrogant of me to assume that death cannot happen to those i love.”

it sounded like a question, but i knew she wasn’t really asking. i was about to say “yeah, we all die in the end”, but i didn’t, i couldn’t. she was drowning in her sorrow, i was drowning in mine, words were unnecessary.

“how does one get used to sleeping alone again after three years of waking up next to somebody who looks at you with gentle eyes, ignoring your flaws? how does one go through the daily routines without those hands to hold that seem to make everything extraordinary? how does one own and enjoy beauty all alone when it used to be shared with that someone who can’t wait to marvel at the same thing even with a look?”

“how?”

“i don’t know how. i really dont”, i answered. i should have shut up, but i answered. i was going to tell her that i felt exactly the same years ago. that it made me feel so warm when he and i held hands. i remember those walks, when we would giggle about little, unimportant things while holding each other’s hands. i was going to say that, but it was stupid, so i didn’t.

“i know what other people will say. i know they will tell me that time will eventually heal the pain. they will tell me everything’s going to be okay. they will tell me all those things that human beings who mean well say in situations like this. i know all that.”

“i also know that whatever people say, i will not believe.
even if they mean well.”

i didn’t say anything. inside, i was gasping for air, i wanted to disappear. i realized i wasn’t even supposed to be there. i looked away, confused as to why i was there, trying to comfort a woman who literally took my husband away from me years ago. i was mourning, but i wasn’t sure why. because he’s dead, or because he left me to be with her. it’s amazing how a healing wound can open up again just like that. like it was a new kind of pain, all over again.

“i will not believe anything.
not at this time.”

my hand was still on her arm, and it felt odd. i rubbed her arm a little, then pulled away. she was quiet, then she looked at me. this time, i realized she was really looking at me.

“i’m so sorry.”

i didn’t know how to accept that apology. she was sorry for what, i wasn’t sure. at the same, i also didn’t know what to think. there i was, standing in front of a grieving woman. a woman who wasn’t even my friend. a woman who married the man who used to be my husband. a woman who just lost her husband. her husband, not mine. not anymore.

was she sorry that three years ago i lost him?
or was she sorry that like her, i just lost him?