Okay, so today, I’m going to step outside of the hospice and write about AIDS on a broader level. With World AIDS Day approaching December 1st there are some harsh truths and facts about this epidemic that need to be heard.
At last count, there were 33 million people infected with HIV/AIDS according to the UN. Every week AIDS claims as many lives as American fatalities in Vietnam. Again, EVERY WEEK AIDS kills as many people as American deaths in Vietnam. Everyday 6,000 children will be orphaned to AIDS…..Everyday.
Kenneth Cole and amfAR have launched a new campaign themed “We’re Forgetting AIDS.” So true, and so appropriate, AIDS has taken a backseat these last years. People need to understand that even with anti-retroviral drugs the disease still kills. It’s destructive and vicious and there is no cure. The end result of AIDS is always death. The younger generation who did not see the discovery and devastation of AIDS play out on the nightly news (when they actually began to report it) don't comprehend how deadly this disease is. All they know is that “Magic is still alive.” When you’re 18 years old, you think 10, 15, 20, years is a lifetime. You don’t realize that those years are consumed with fighting the disease, leaving little room for much else.
I’ve searched the “hip” boutiques that carry pink and yellow ribbons; I have yet to find a red ribbon among them. 25 plus years and the stigma and ignorance of AIDS is once again permeating through, diminishing the accomplishments of our predecessors who fought hard for facts that we now ignore. Like they don’t pertain to us? “We’re Forgetting AIDS,” and we’re still getting AIDS. The demographics may have shifted, but AIDS still exist and it still kills. It’s one of the leading killers in society and the fourth leading killer of women in America.
World AIDS Day is December 1st; I will be speaking at an event in my community. There are many events taking place to commemorate the day and what it means to those infected and affected. Pick an event, show your support, learn something new and pass it along.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
A Moment
Recently, there was a new patient at the hospice. He was real sick, and we knew he could go at any time. His family was with him the day before, but had not made it to the house yet that morning.
He was sweating, his hospital gown wet, his face wet, his hair slick, so a nurse and I got a damp towel and began to wipe him down. Slowly, gently, we cleaned the sweat from his face and body, put a dry hospital gown on him, combed his hair, and put Vaseline on his dry, chapped lips. His neck and chest were burning hot, his feet were bricks of ice, and he was unresponsive, but still we talked to him. Told him what we were doing as we did it, said his name often, and we hummed, as we always do whenever a task or situation is grim.
I left to get some pillowcases to restock his room. We used the ones in his drawer to replace the sweaty ones from his bed. I was gone for maybe 30 seconds and when I came back in, he was dead. My eyes went directly to his chest; I held my breath and waited for it to rise. Sometimes, they trick you, you think it’s over, but after several long moments, you see and hear that ragged intake of air, and you know they haven’t left yet. Not true on this day. Gray-faced and completely still, he was dead.
Death is just a moment, sometimes captured, sometimes not.
He was sweating, his hospital gown wet, his face wet, his hair slick, so a nurse and I got a damp towel and began to wipe him down. Slowly, gently, we cleaned the sweat from his face and body, put a dry hospital gown on him, combed his hair, and put Vaseline on his dry, chapped lips. His neck and chest were burning hot, his feet were bricks of ice, and he was unresponsive, but still we talked to him. Told him what we were doing as we did it, said his name often, and we hummed, as we always do whenever a task or situation is grim.
I left to get some pillowcases to restock his room. We used the ones in his drawer to replace the sweaty ones from his bed. I was gone for maybe 30 seconds and when I came back in, he was dead. My eyes went directly to his chest; I held my breath and waited for it to rise. Sometimes, they trick you, you think it’s over, but after several long moments, you see and hear that ragged intake of air, and you know they haven’t left yet. Not true on this day. Gray-faced and completely still, he was dead.
Death is just a moment, sometimes captured, sometimes not.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Never Forget
I got the call Friday at one in the morning. I heard my phone ring and knew instantly it was the hospice calling to tell me Ms. died. I held my phone in my hand and stared at the caller ID. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
I’m glad I got a chance to spend time with Ms. this week, I’m glad I got a chance to say goodbye. She held on longer then expected. Like I said she was feisty, she was a fighter. She wasn’t going to leave until she was good and ready.
Don’t forget her. Don’t ever forget.
I’m glad I got a chance to spend time with Ms. this week, I’m glad I got a chance to say goodbye. She held on longer then expected. Like I said she was feisty, she was a fighter. She wasn’t going to leave until she was good and ready.
Don’t forget her. Don’t ever forget.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Unanswered Questions
The hardest thing is the people that you don’t get a chance to know, the ones who come already at death’s door, who barely make it through the day and succumb to the “dying of the light.” The ones who you take care of for that shift, and you know that you won’t see again. They’re the ones who sneak up on you, the ones who haunt you. Their faces stay, long after their names start to fade from the list in your mind. The list of the dead people you knew and cared for that you carry with you. I think everyone who works there has that list, some longer then others.
Recently, there was a new patient that had been admitted. We were told of his condition during the shift meeting. I always think that I’m used to the dying. I mean, it’s a hospice, they’re here to die. They’re in such agony that death is their only option, their only release. I’ve sat beside patients in the past and asked for their suffering to end. I’ve asked death to come and take them.
I was in the hallway about to get another resident in the shower when I was asked me to help reposition him. It was the first time I had seen him. His family had been in the room with him all morning so I gave them their privacy.
I knew the instant I saw him he wouldn’t last long, the wasted body, the sunken eyes that rolled back, the shallow breathing that seemed such an effort. I know what death looks like now and I knew he didn’t have far to go. I helped turn his body, move his pillows, adjust his bed. I felt his skin, waxy and cold, already dead, and avoided the expectant eyes of his family. They had hope, they thought he seemed better. “Maybe this will pass.” I kept hearing from all the brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, that descended on the house. They wanted him to live, even though he was trapped in that useless body that was already dead. They wanted him to hang on, they weren’t ready to let go yet. Thankfully he was ready. He died shortly after my shift ended.
I may have spent all of 30 minutes with him. I didn’t know him or his family and yet for some strange damn reason he haunted me all night long. It makes no sense, I don’t understand. Why him?
I found out that two other patients had died as well. Them I knew, had taken care of, sat with. They had been at the hospice longer, and yet, their deaths didn’t hover in my eyelids at night. I didn’t see them in my dreams.
Where do you put it? What do you do with all that death at the end of the day? How do you let go so you don’t become consumed by it? A social outcast unable to connect because everything seems so silly, every goddamn thing is so silly and trivial. It pisses me off to even have to entertain the stupidity of it all.
Maybe I’ll just go to the gym………..
Recently, there was a new patient that had been admitted. We were told of his condition during the shift meeting. I always think that I’m used to the dying. I mean, it’s a hospice, they’re here to die. They’re in such agony that death is their only option, their only release. I’ve sat beside patients in the past and asked for their suffering to end. I’ve asked death to come and take them.
I was in the hallway about to get another resident in the shower when I was asked me to help reposition him. It was the first time I had seen him. His family had been in the room with him all morning so I gave them their privacy.
I knew the instant I saw him he wouldn’t last long, the wasted body, the sunken eyes that rolled back, the shallow breathing that seemed such an effort. I know what death looks like now and I knew he didn’t have far to go. I helped turn his body, move his pillows, adjust his bed. I felt his skin, waxy and cold, already dead, and avoided the expectant eyes of his family. They had hope, they thought he seemed better. “Maybe this will pass.” I kept hearing from all the brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, that descended on the house. They wanted him to live, even though he was trapped in that useless body that was already dead. They wanted him to hang on, they weren’t ready to let go yet. Thankfully he was ready. He died shortly after my shift ended.
I may have spent all of 30 minutes with him. I didn’t know him or his family and yet for some strange damn reason he haunted me all night long. It makes no sense, I don’t understand. Why him?
I found out that two other patients had died as well. Them I knew, had taken care of, sat with. They had been at the hospice longer, and yet, their deaths didn’t hover in my eyelids at night. I didn’t see them in my dreams.
Where do you put it? What do you do with all that death at the end of the day? How do you let go so you don’t become consumed by it? A social outcast unable to connect because everything seems so silly, every goddamn thing is so silly and trivial. It pisses me off to even have to entertain the stupidity of it all.
Maybe I’ll just go to the gym………..
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