As you go...

I start a new rigorous work schedule this month: 7 days a week. Every week. Four days off this month. Can anyone say burnout? But I love what I'm doing :) It's worth it to keep the time flying by (and it keeps me from having to socialize like a normal human being too, which is always a bonus!) But I've been really tired lately, going to work has been a bit harder recently. I had lost sight of why I do what I do, but Heavenly Father always seems to find little ways to remind me, as He did this week.

I was med tech for a Sunday graveyard, and I was tired. When I arrived I was told that one of our patients had refused food and water all day, and just been sleeping. Her time was coming. The patients always seem to know, and the decline usually happens rapidly. She wasn't expected to last more than a day or two, if she survived the night. The problem was that since her decline had happened so rapidly, we had no E-kit for her, (a kit of liquid Lorazepam and Morphine to squirt into the patients mouth as they are in the process of dying to keep them calm and as pain-free as possible) and no way to keep her comfortable, medicinally anyway. She was also developing bad bedsores on her bottom and heels, so we needed to roll her Q2 (every two hrs) to prevent them from worsening. I started the shift with all of this on my mind.

I went in to check on her around 1:30am, rolled her, and could see in her face that she was in bad pain. I asked her a couple questions, but could get no response, she couldn't, or wouldn't, talk. I adjusted her until her face reflected as much relief as possible, then started swabbing out her mouth with water, making sure to wet her lips so they wouldn't chap. As I finished I watched her for a minute: She looked so fragile and miserable, trapped on this earth, just waiting for her Master to call her home. I did the only thing for her that I could think to do, I started running my fingers through her hair and talking to her softly. They say that hearing is the last sense to go, so I whispered to her what I would want to hear were our roles reversed. As I played with her hair, I saw her respond! Her eyelids started to relax, and then flutter, as if she were being lulled into a comfortable sleep. I stood there for a moment beside her bed massaging her scalp, and just felt the happiness that comes with finding the one thing you can do for someone dying that helps them in any way.

In that moment I was reminded of the beauty of death. Many people fear death, do whatever they can to avoid it, but I have been blessed to see it in a different light. Death is as welcome as an old friend. We travel on to a beautiful world where our Savior awaits us. I'm so blessed to help these patients comfortably return to their Father. It is by far the best part of my job.