Time with the dying.
Some of you may know, I recently had to take on another job as a caregiver. Finances were tight due to some medical bills (another story) and I had completely drained my emergency funds. Enter this position.
Through an odd series of events, I found a company that does in-home caregiving, and they had an overnight position open. I know this sounds crazy because, ya know, sleep. However, it's one of those positions that as long as my client is asleep, I can sleep. So I was pretty excited because not only was it going to be the financial provision I needed, but I was going to be able to help people as well.
So the first month or so of this job went well. Super easy, my client is a sweetheart. She's under hospice care, which means her time in this world is coming to a close. The past week especially, her family has noticed she's declined rapidly. So I prepare myself emotionally for the time to come.
Tonight I walk in and we have our typical conversation about how beautiful and lovely she is, and she'll ask me about my day. At about 3 in the morning, I awoke to her crying out in pain. The thing about dying is that a person's organs are slowly shutting down, so intense pain isn't particularly surprising.
After giving her some strong medication I was sitting and observing her, taking the necessary notes.
-labored breathing
-muscle twitches in her face
-only using one half of her body
And so on.
She's very family-oriented, so I was going to be surprised if she passed away with just me there. I called one of her kids and we talked about what to do, but unfortunately they were out of town.
I sat and watched as she was in pain with each breath. The thing you need to know, is that she's been under hospice care for about 9 months now. She's ready to die.
As she continued to cry out in pain, I held her hand and stroked her hair and took her through a breathing meditation that eventually helped her to fall asleep.
I sit here now, typing this.
My time with the dying has me reflecting on my life.
Very few of you know, but this past year or so, I've been fighting a fierce battle with mental illness. Suicidal thoughts ran rampant until my doctor and I found the right balance of medication. I remember the desire to die. It was intense and persistent. The thing that kept me alive was that my psychotherapist and I were doing some intense, hard work, and I wanted to see how things turned out. I wanted to see what it was like to no longer live as if I were half-alive...and half-dead. This season was terrifying in every which way. As I sit here tonight with the dying, I watch her as she's still in intense pain, waiting for the medication to set in. She wants to be left alone and not be touched. The pain is ferocious and intense, and she's in tears. Shes not the person I was laughing and chatting with just 8 hours ago...yet, she's almost to a new life.
The thing about the hard emotional work of going through therapy, doing mindful self-care, surrounding yourself with people that believe in you and are consistent in your life while cutting those that aren't out, is that it hurts. Blow-by-blow, I feel the intense pains. As I watch my client writhe in pain, I am able to empathize completely with her. I feel her pain, and I also know her pain. I know what it's like to not be yourself in the intense pain as you look forward to a new life. You feel bad for snapping at loved ones. You just want to be left alone, yet you don't. Each time it feels like the pain is subsiding, another hit comes.
So you brace for the pain. You put your gloves up and get ready to deliver some hits on trauma. You don't do this alone, however. You have an army in your corner, ready to hold up your arms whenever you're too tired to keep fighting.
Because at the end of the fight is a new life. I'm nearing the end of my round, and I'm tired, but boy am I excited to see who I become.
Although my client is at the end of her physical life on this earth and I'm at the end of my life that's defined by trauma, we have one thing in common: we know that this fight isn't for nothing.
It's now nearing 5 in the morning. The sun will rise soon. Darkness did not, and will not win.
Through an odd series of events, I found a company that does in-home caregiving, and they had an overnight position open. I know this sounds crazy because, ya know, sleep. However, it's one of those positions that as long as my client is asleep, I can sleep. So I was pretty excited because not only was it going to be the financial provision I needed, but I was going to be able to help people as well.
So the first month or so of this job went well. Super easy, my client is a sweetheart. She's under hospice care, which means her time in this world is coming to a close. The past week especially, her family has noticed she's declined rapidly. So I prepare myself emotionally for the time to come.
Tonight I walk in and we have our typical conversation about how beautiful and lovely she is, and she'll ask me about my day. At about 3 in the morning, I awoke to her crying out in pain. The thing about dying is that a person's organs are slowly shutting down, so intense pain isn't particularly surprising.
After giving her some strong medication I was sitting and observing her, taking the necessary notes.
-labored breathing
-muscle twitches in her face
-only using one half of her body
And so on.
She's very family-oriented, so I was going to be surprised if she passed away with just me there. I called one of her kids and we talked about what to do, but unfortunately they were out of town.
I sat and watched as she was in pain with each breath. The thing you need to know, is that she's been under hospice care for about 9 months now. She's ready to die.
As she continued to cry out in pain, I held her hand and stroked her hair and took her through a breathing meditation that eventually helped her to fall asleep.
I sit here now, typing this.
My time with the dying has me reflecting on my life.
Very few of you know, but this past year or so, I've been fighting a fierce battle with mental illness. Suicidal thoughts ran rampant until my doctor and I found the right balance of medication. I remember the desire to die. It was intense and persistent. The thing that kept me alive was that my psychotherapist and I were doing some intense, hard work, and I wanted to see how things turned out. I wanted to see what it was like to no longer live as if I were half-alive...and half-dead. This season was terrifying in every which way. As I sit here tonight with the dying, I watch her as she's still in intense pain, waiting for the medication to set in. She wants to be left alone and not be touched. The pain is ferocious and intense, and she's in tears. Shes not the person I was laughing and chatting with just 8 hours ago...yet, she's almost to a new life.
The thing about the hard emotional work of going through therapy, doing mindful self-care, surrounding yourself with people that believe in you and are consistent in your life while cutting those that aren't out, is that it hurts. Blow-by-blow, I feel the intense pains. As I watch my client writhe in pain, I am able to empathize completely with her. I feel her pain, and I also know her pain. I know what it's like to not be yourself in the intense pain as you look forward to a new life. You feel bad for snapping at loved ones. You just want to be left alone, yet you don't. Each time it feels like the pain is subsiding, another hit comes.
So you brace for the pain. You put your gloves up and get ready to deliver some hits on trauma. You don't do this alone, however. You have an army in your corner, ready to hold up your arms whenever you're too tired to keep fighting.
Because at the end of the fight is a new life. I'm nearing the end of my round, and I'm tired, but boy am I excited to see who I become.
Although my client is at the end of her physical life on this earth and I'm at the end of my life that's defined by trauma, we have one thing in common: we know that this fight isn't for nothing.
It's now nearing 5 in the morning. The sun will rise soon. Darkness did not, and will not win.
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