The last time I wrote about dying, it was because of long nights spent
with a patient. Again, I've spent the last few nights caring for
someone who is dying. She's been married for 50 years. She and her
husband immigrated (emigrated?) to the US in the fifties and started
off with nothing. People shunned them for being interfaith (she
was/is Catholic and he was/is Muslim, in the fifties). They married,
stayed in the US. Visited their extended families overseas. Enjoyed
each other very much.
Her husband is an adorable accented little old man. He's been
sleeping here every second. They've had friends come visit them
occasionally, but they don't have much family left. He is planning to
go back to his home country once she is gone. Last night he slept in
a recliner next to the bed, holding her hand the entire time. Every
time we turn her in the bed she reaches out for his hand until she
finds it again.
I came in early today for a coworker and sat in there with him for
almost an hour, while he talked about her and their life together.
Then he started asking me questions. I told him I was born in
Oklahoma City. Then he brightened and started talking about the
Oklahoma City thunder and how they take their series against the San
Antonio Spurs home tonight and they have such an exciting team. I
promised him I would come in and watch as much of that game tomorrow
as I have time to watch (I am working tomorrow, too). My friend and I
bought this guy dinner and he was so gratified. He hadn't eaten all
day and it seemed I couldn't think of a better way to spend my money.
So if any of you out there could spare a thought for this guy and his
lovely wife, please do so.
And GO THUNDER!
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