I was rounding at the nursing home and my day began as it often did. I reviewed the doctor communication book at the nursing station to see which patients I needed to visit and checked in with the floor nurse for any important updates.
A mother waiting for her son to visit
The first patient on my list was Rose. She had become increasingly withdrawn and less mobile. She used to walk the corridors asking when her son, Billy, would visit. We would all remind her that Billy visited her two or three times a week, but she never remembered the visits and blamed him for moving her out of her comfortable home in New Jersey where she’d lived with her husband before his death several years earlier.
Rose was declining, and we were trying to optimize her function and quality of life. She fell frequently while trying to get up at night to use the bathroom. None of our fall-reduction strategies had worked, and she had broken her hip a year prior. She’d fully recovered, but the combination of mental and physical frailty was becoming obvious to everyone, including her son. She had lost another five pounds and was approaching the end of her life.
“Good morning, Rose.” (She had demanded that I use her first name.) “How are you doing today?”
“I am doing okay, doctor. Have you seen Billy? When is he going to visit me?”
“I really can’t say when he’ll visit next, but I saw in a note that he was here yesterday.”
“No, he didn’t come to see me,” she said. “He doesn’t care about me. He spends more time with his wife and family than with his own mother.”
“Well, is there anything special that I can do for you?”
“Yes. Please tell Billy to visit his mother,” she said.
I completed her evaluation and made my way down the hall.
A wife ready to rejoin her husband
Next on my list was a widow named Violet. She reminded me of Whistler’s mother. As was her custom, she was sitting up in her chair reading her Bible when I came in. Her husband had been a minister, and she enjoyed reading the Bible or meditating for several hours each morning. Her bedside table had the most recent devotional and a picture of her husband in his vestments.
Violet was quiet and direct, and she had steely blue eyes that could communicate with your soul. Her nun-like quality was not overpowering; her manner was warm and welcoming.
“Good morning!” I said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Good morning, doctor. It’s always nice to see you.”
“I haven’t been by in a while, and I wanted to check your heart and lungs and make sure everything is going okay for you.”
“Of course; help yourself,” she said. “I feel fine. And as you know, I am ready to join my husband whenever the Lord calls me. I have lived a blessed life and do not wish to prolong it unless it is God’s will.”
“You certainly have made your wishes clear to me, and you are still in excellent health,” I said.
She really was in good health, and I made a quick note to call her daughter – who lived on the other side of the country – with an update.