The day after Thanksgiving in 2007 my grandfather—my mother’s father—passed away after a battle with COPD, emphysema, and a myriad of other medical complications.
My grandpa was a good man. He had a heart of gold and loved seeing his grandkids—and great grandkids. He had a wicked sense of humor(just like grandma) and loved smiling and laughing. He could scowl and holler with the best of them, too.
He hated the cold. In the summer he would run the heat if you would let him. He wore long underwear whenever he could.
He had a love for chocolate covered cherries and Coca-Cola. Things I knew he’d never give up.
The horrors of working in EMS make it so that we often understand the reality of a loved one’s condition before the rest of our family does. Often times we are dealt the hand of explaining it.
An obstacle I hadn’t foreseen crossed my path this last week though… Last week during a transport of a Hospice Patient back to his home after his family decided to DC aggressive care and switch to palliative care, I knew I recognized the room number on my run sheet.
Right there, in the middle of the page, below Name, DOB and medical needs, it said “Pulmonary Unit room 2242”.
I couldn’t figure out where I knew that room from. I thought about it the entire drive to the hospital. Maybe it was from my clinical times, or a previous tx.
As we got off on 2nd floor, heading for the pulmonary unit something started to click. I walked past the hallway where my Aunt Angie told me my grandpa had died—before we made it back.
As I rounded the last corner I passed the room where the doctors discussed palliative care with my Grandma and the rest of the family.
I passed a nurses station I knew all to well. I passed an ice machine where I got my grandpa Ice chips and I passed the waiting room where my family gathered together during the end of my Grandfather’s long journey.
Finally it clicked. My patient was in my grandpa’s room. I spent a lot of time in that little room over the course of just a few days. I KNEW that room. I KNEW that room in ways I wish I didn’t. As I saw his wife sitting in the chair, waiting, I got just a preview of the horror she was going through.
I guess I just hadn’t realized how much my life in EMS and my family life were going to intertwine. And NOW I work and soon live in the small town where I grew up—where my parents, and my friends parents, and tons of people I know live.
What did I get myself in to?
I miss you Grandpa. Godspeed.
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