My privilege

As you may know, I work at Roswell Park Cancer Institute in downtown Buffalo. It's a research center, not dissimilar to the National Institute of Health, that has essentially three wings to it - 1) research, 2) testing and 3) patient care. Roswell Park actually was listed in the top 5 cancer centers in America the year I started working there ~ now we're wayyyy down on the list. We had a problem with our accreditation as a cancer institute a few years ago and that's really screwed up our rank. Roswell was actually one of the first research institutes in America dedicated to cancer issues. Since I know I'm called to work with the dying, and those living with cancer, I love it there.

I meet a lot of really special people. I'm often asked how I can stand to work with people who are, in general, dying. (I know plenty of patients who would argue that they're not dying, they're living with cancer.) I've found that people who are battling cancer can be incredibly refreshing. Since they've received a harsh wake-up call that the end may be very near, they tend to not play games any longer. They tend to be brutally honest. They are, most often, more real, living life to the fullest, putting things in order, and grappling with the terror of the unknown.

I fell in love with cancer patients the day I began caring for MD, a 43 year-old New Englander who loved God and his family. He was dying from kidney cancer that had spread to his bones 8 years before I had the privilege of being his nurse. The first thing I remember seeing when I walked into his house was a picture of him, his wife, and two small children. This rendered me virtually useless. I could barely look him in the eye during our visit because I was so upset that this young father and husband was dying a terrible death. I was so flustered when I left, MD later told me that his comment to his wife after I left was, "Wow! I sure upset that young lady!" MD was a professional fisherman-turned associate pastor. We became dear friends. I signed over his case to another nurse so that my husband would have the privilege of knowing him and his family as friends. We attended church with him. My daughter's name is his daughter's name. We attended his wife's remarriage several years after MD passed away. We knew him one year.

I was pulled deeper into the world of oncology by WH, a 50-some year old man who had Stage 4 sinus cancer. He had undergone surgery to remove the tumor and in the process had lost his left eye, upper jaw/ hard and soft palate, and sinuses. I could literally look into the hole that used to be his eye and see down his throat. I visited WH in his home twice a day for months to change the packing in the hole in his head. It was perhaps, one of the most gruesome things I've ever had to do. I remember after I changed his dressing for the first time I had to go into the bathroom and put my head between my knees so I wouldn't faint. WH had the most amazing sense of humor. When I told him to be sure to be "good to (himself)", he took that as a cue to buy a laser scope for his BB gun. He was then able to shoot squirrels from his bathroom window again, a feat greatly hampered by the loss of his depth perception. He was tickled pink. I knew WH one year.

Just a few months ago I met an outstanding young woman in the ICU. LE was my age, mother of twins, and was dependent on the ventilator. Her cancer had destroyed her lung function. She was coherent, mouthing words around her ET tube, and writing a fury on her grease board. She had a fantastic sense of humor, even a bit of sarcasm. She had been diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with her twins. She delayed treatment until after they were born. They are 3 years old now. I was 9 months pregnant while caring for her, and we would have long "conversations" about the ailments of pregnancy. I cared for her the day we had to talk with her about having a surgery for long-term ventilator use (tracheostomy), the truth of her failing condition becoming clear, and the chances that she would return home again fading. We were all crying when she wrote on the board, "I want to see my kids." The hospital was eventually able to arrange for her children to visit. LE was a Christian. She listened to praise music in her room all day long, even having moments of private worship, moving her lips to the words, swinging her toes back and forth to the beat. I was so blessed the days I cared for her because I was able to listen to my favorite tunes and hum along all day. We prayed together at the end of our days together. I visited her when she was moved to a different floor, we shared CD's and pictures of our kids. We laughed and cried together. I went out on maternity leave unexpectedly without saying goodbye. She passed away May 30th. I knew her 3 months. Her death is the hardest to swallow. But she was the most inspirational person yet.

I can't wait to get back to work on Monday!