My very first patient in hospice was an older gentleman named Tom. Tom and Ellie had been married for 47 years when he became my patient. Tom had prostate cancer, and didn't want to leave Miss Ellie or their home. They had a small ritual when they kissed (just little pecks, not big sloppy kisses- these were dignified folks)- they counted their kisses in threes. And they kissed often.
As often seems to be the case, Tom was very, very tall and slender, whereas Ellie was very petite and a bit round, "like a French pony," Tom told me once, with a smile. Tom was a quiet man as well, and Ellie chattered. A lot. She told me stories of their courtship, marriage, raising kids, building their house- I learned a lot about Tom and Ellie's life together. Which was good, in a way- because when Tom finally began to go into his final decline, it meant I knew Miss Ellie well enough to be able to help her.
Tom was wasting away, but there was always one thing he would do- count kisses with his Ellie. I was there the day he stopped counting kisses, and I knew Tom wasn't long for this world. He stopped eating and drinking. I encouraged Ellie to have all the family come and say their goodbyes as soon as possible. Incredibly, Tom was still with us two very long, sad weeks later; he looked like a skeleton draped in skin, he had no bowel sounds, but he kept on breathing. I checked on him daily, checked on Ellie, held her hands and cried with her.
Finally, I asked Ellie if there was anyone, <i>anyone</i> that Tom might be waiting for? Who hadn't come or couldn't come? She hesitated, then said, "Well... my daughter Sarah just got a new job, and they won't let her off to come until the funeral..?" I asked if Sarah had talked to her daddy on the phone and told him that she couldn't come; Ellie said no. "well get her on the phone, then- I bet that's what Tom is waiting for!" I urged. Ellie called right then, and Sarah talked to her dad, telling him that she couldn't come, but she understood that he was tired and needed to go on before she could get there, and it was alright. She told him that she loved him and that he should go if he needed to go now. Of course Tom was past talking- he had been lethargic for more than 5 days; Ellie was holding the phone to his ear for this call.
After Sarah hung up, Ellie looked at me and said, "Do you really think that's why he's still with us?" I nodded, then told her to call me if she needed anything and went home. The next morning, I learned that Tom had passed 4 hours after I left, almost as soon as Miss Ellie went to sleep that night. Their housekeeper had been staying over to care for both Ellie and Tom, and she found that Tom was gone just after Ellie had fallen asleep.
I went to the funeral for Miss Ellie, and she repeated the story of Tom's passing after the phone call to pretty much everyone at the service. Because of his love for Ellie, it didn't surprise me a bit that Tom wanted to be sure that all of his kids were ok with his passing; in close, loving families, that's often the case. I was just glad that Miss Ellie was able to grieve and still go on; often when I lose my patient, I very quickly hear that their spouse has passed as well. Love isn't supposed to be so hard, but I cannot imagine losing my husband after almost a half century (or even a half decade!).
I hope my marriage turns out like Tom and Ellie's did.
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atrugoddes's journal
thoughtful
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mellow
exhausted