The last thing you ever want to hear a doctor say to one of
your patients is, “You have a large mass in your colon that has spread to your
liver. We think it’s cancer.” No one likes the word “cancer,” it’s toxic…
literally. And the word becomes even more
repulsive when you’re hearing it being said to your patient who’s in his early
40s with three young kids.
You knew that as soon as the words, “spread to your liver”
left the doctor’s lips, it was Stage IV cancer; nursing school taught you
this. You also know that this means a
probable death… and soon. Then you meet
the wife and three little kids and their reality hits you like a ton of
bricks. Do they understand the seriousness
of their husband and father’s condition?
Part of you hopes not, because as you see the six year-old daughter
lying her head on her dad’s chest, asking him if the needles hurt and if he’s
being brave like she wants to be when she grows up, you want her to have as
much “normal” time with her dad as possible.
But then the other part of you wants them to understand what the reality
is to soften the blow later.
And then, after all this, you find yourself thinking, “maybe it’s not cancer, maybe they’re just benign masses.” But you know they’re not, and this is confirmed when you ask the provider, “So what is the likelihood that these masses really are Stage IV cancer?” And the response is, “100 percent.” You knew this was the case, but you really thought (or maybe just wishfully hoped) that this guy was the one-in-a-million miracle case. And maybe he still is. Unfortunately though, science is not on his side.
And then, after all this, you find yourself thinking, “maybe it’s not cancer, maybe they’re just benign masses.” But you know they’re not, and this is confirmed when you ask the provider, “So what is the likelihood that these masses really are Stage IV cancer?” And the response is, “100 percent.” You knew this was the case, but you really thought (or maybe just wishfully hoped) that this guy was the one-in-a-million miracle case. And maybe he still is. Unfortunately though, science is not on his side.
I had this patient this week, and only for a day before he
flew back to the States for intense chemotherapy and radiation, that is likely
only going to prolong his life, and even more likely to decrease his quality of
life. My heart breaks for this patient
and his family, bad things happen to good people and it’s not fair. But as a nurse I’m thankful for these
days. They remind me how lucky I am to
wake up every day and have the opportunity to live a normal, healthy life. So yes, days like these are hard, but I think
everyone needs one once in a while as a reminder of just how fragile life is
and everything we have to be grateful for, because in the blink of an eye, it could all be gone.
Thanks for sharing Honey! Life can pass quickly and there is much to be thankful for, including a marvelous daughter like you. God bless you Sweetheart. Heart you, FB2
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