Today I attended the funeral for one of my patients. I will call her Rose.
It was a fire and brimstone kind of funeral... granted, the fire and brimstone were alluded to in gentler terms, but it's still the same message. This pastor apparently met Rose years ago and then visited her a month or so before she died. He kept on making references to her strong faith being obvious and her commitment to the Lord, etc. Rose hadn't been well enough to attend church in years. In the time I knew her, she never had a pastor visit her until him. Her only connection was a distant relation, Connie, who brought her the bulletin that printed her name on the prayer list every Sunday.
The woman I remember was angry at God for her disease, suffering, and dying... compounded by the fact her church upbringing said she shouldn't be mad at God or even question what her lot in life was. Subsequently, she bottled her immense rage at God and refused to talk about it, pray about it, or discuss anything about religion (except the snippets I picked up here and there), because she was afraid. She was afraid to be angry at God.... the harsh judging god preached at fire and brimstone funerals. Rose also was bitter about how the church forgot her. She was bitter about the time, money and faith she put into her church that ultimately forgot about her. I'm not sure she would have even been on the prayer list if Connie hadn't made sure of it.
I'll tell you her story from my perspective. Granted, it's limited to the final months of her life, but I believe that this story reflects her struggle, her faith, and where she felt she was going upon death.
Rose began on hospice while living in an assisted living facility. She was able to walk and talk about interesting topics. She picked up after herself, chose from the menu, took walks around the garden area. She had some odd behavior that kept her isolated and alone most of her life, but most of the time friendly and easy to get along with. She had metastatic breast cancer spreading through her bones and organs. About 1.5 years later, Rose was in a nursing home and on her death bed. Her mind and brain began to be affected, either by the growing cancer or the insane amount of drugs needed to withstand the pain. Skin and bones, except where the cancer swelled. Cancerous bones turned into sponge. Bumps of cancer on her breast bone and ribs, some of them oozing. Violent and angry paranoia, hallucinations, uncontrollable shaking, too weak to lift a tissue to her mouth, incontinence, and absolutely no more power to make her own decisions, despite the occasional lucid moment (which occurred less and less).
Last week I visited Rose after she had some scary apnea during sleep and woke up acting paranoid and hallucinating. I relieved the hospice nurse who was caring for Rose and sat with her for a couple hours. In her few lucid moments, I helped Rose drink water and half an Ensure shake. She received some meds for her pain and despite almost drowsing off, woke up and began being violently angry and hallucinating. I left for a few minutes when Connie came to visit... returned after she was gone and the patient desperately wanted to get dressed and go home. She just HAD to get out of there. There were various stories and reasons, people she said were trying to get her, her money was stolen, etc. I talked with her calmly and took her orders to "Stand there" or "Sit there". I was hoping the medicine would kick in and she would dose off.
I finally shut off the small room light, making the hallway light the only illumination. I sat on a chair, leaned towards Rose and held her hand. She was still tugging on it as best she could to convince me to help her up so she could go home. Something about the way she said it that time, with such desperation and exhaustion, made me realize that maybe her brain was confusing which "home" she meant. So, I said to her
"You're right Rose, it is time to go home."
She nodded sagely at me, still gripping my hand. I said
"And I think Jesus is waiting for you there."
She looked at me for a moment and then whispered
"I think he is too."
Tears were in my eyes, of course, then I told her, "I love you, Rose, and I'm really going to miss you." Her eyes got droopy and I hoped that meant she was going to sleep. But, they popped back open and she began to tell me people were stealing her money and I better get her out of there. Then her eyes drooped again. We did this a couple times and then I asked her if she remembered any hymns or Sunday School songs. I sang "Jesus Loves Me" a couple times and her whole body quieted, and she started humming and mumbling words occasionally. Then I sang "This Little Light of Mine" and "Amazing Grace". She drifted in and out and hummed randomly with me.
When I told her that I was going and would be back tomorrow, she said "You know I may not be here;I'm going to leave too". I told her that I knew and it was okay. I left her calm and drowsy, though it didn't last long. As I rounded the corner at the end of the sterile nursing home hallway, I heard her calling for someone to help her get her coat so she could leave.
I saw her again the next morning and it was 4 more days before she died.
The end.
