there are worse ways than this

she was dying, and there was nothing to do about it.  she was septic from complications of a procedure.  she was developmentally delayed, wheelchair bound, and had no family.  her guardian decided it was time for palliative care, and we agreed.

making people comfortable is my favorite.  people like to get all warm fuzzy about nurses having "a touch that never hurts".  my touch hurts all the time.  whether it's the heparin shot in the belly, the painful dressing change, the deep breathing or the ambulation that i insist on...i make people do things that hurt every day.  i do it to make them better.

until we can't make them better.  and then we just do nice things.

i covered her in a handmade quilt and wrapped a prayer shawl around her shoulders.  she held the knitted bear that a volunteer had made.  the people from her facility brought her things, and i read to her from her favorite books.  i lotioned her hands and feet, and put her lip balm on her.  i talked to her, sat with her, and played soothing music for her.  i pushed her pain button for her, and i gave her lots of meds to dry up her ever-increasing secretions and to keep her fever at bay.

i cried for her, but they weren't sad tears.  because where she had looked so uncomfortable before, she was now at peace.

i have seen horrible ways to die.  this?  is not that.

if there is a good way to go, this is it.  in a quiet space, with someone at your side.  surrounded by familiar smells, with familiar things.

there is a time to fight, and there is a time to give in.  to let go.  and she did, at 0320, with the night nurses by her side.

knowing that she was comfortable and well-cared for until the end, i'm at peace.  and so, thankfully, is she.