Truth is stranger than Fiction, Part III
More stories from The Car Ate My Mapsco (wirtten by hospice staff)

Let me in . . . Then there was the time that Bonnie T, RN, had to climb in the window of a patient's home to visit her patient! (The patient's daughter-in-law had neglected to leave the back door unlocked, as she said she would.)

Bonnie arrived at the house, parked the car, and tried the back door. No luck. She tired all the other doors to the house. Everything was locked up tight.
Bonnie went back to her car and tried calling a few other relatives of the patient from her cellular phone, but couldn't reach anybody. Finally, she remembered that the patient's bedroom window was frequently open to let in the cool, dry , winter air.
Not wanted to frighten her patient when she climbed in the window, she called her patient. The patient could hardly breathe, but told Bonnie that her window was open a crack. Fortunately, the bedroom was on the first floor. Bonnie took off the outside screen with the only tool she had handy?her car key. Tossing in her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, she hauled herself up onto the sill, scrambling her feet against the brick wall to get an adequate toehold. "I sure was worried that a neighbor would see my butt going through that window and call the police!" Although she nearly fell in on her head behind a recliner that sat near the window, Bonnie made it inside in one piece. She got up, brushed herself off as if she routinely entered patients' home this way. She took the patient's vital signs, an sat and talked with her for a while. The woman was obviously deteriorating. Bonnie called her son and waited until he arrived.
The patient died around 4 am the next morning. "My one experience in breaking and entering was definitely worth it!"

Show me the way . . . Mr. P. loved his Mrs. Baird's cinnamon rolls. He would send several team members to get them. After he died, I went to the cemetery to look for his grave. I had difficulty finding it. I said a prayer, asking for guidance. I looked up and saw a Mrs. Baird's truck parked at a nearby store. Once I located the truck, it was easy to find Mr. P's grave!

There are no accidents . . . Chaplain Richard B had asked me if I knew of a Catholic book store. When I said I did, he asked me to buy him a rosary. Several days later, on a Saturday, I was on call. (I had not been scheduled to be on call that Saturday, but had asked Bonnie to trade Saturdays with me, so I could enjoy my daughter's visit the following week.) I had gone to visit a patient who got a 3 hour IV infusion. I started the infusion and then decided, rather than returning home, that I would stop for lunch and then go to the Catholic book store and purchase the rosary for Richard. Having done those things, I returned to my patient's home. When I arrived, his father was very upset. Members of a church had been actively pursuing the patient, telling him that he had to give away "all his possessions" in order "to be healed". His father asked me who could help him. I called Ann and found out that Richard was on call that day. I called Richard. In the course of our conversation, I found out that he was attending a death at a nearby nursing home that was less than a mile away from where I was. I gave him the information about the church's pastor and the patient's address and phone number. After concluding my visit, I went to the nursing home to look for Richard. He was just returning from lunch. I gave him the rosary and left, after he had introduced me to some of the family. Several days later he told me that the family members left, but then the daughter in law returned and wanted to see the patient one more time. It so happens that much of the family was Baptist, but the daughter in law was Catholic. Richard handed her the rosary beads I had just given him and she burst into thankful tears. She knelt by the bed, saying the rosary. As she and Richard left the nursing home together, (and he told her how he had acquired the rosary) she looked at him and said, "You know, there are no accidents."

How old am I? . . . One of my patients is a 104 year old woman. She didn't remember how old she was; thought she was 73. When I told her she was really 104, she replied, "Well, I'm doing pretty good for 104! . . . No wonder I'm so tired!"

Who's in the van with Theresa? . . . I attended the death of a young woman (35) who left behind a husband and 3 children: daughters (16 and 7) and son (12). Theresa loved to live and laugh and she died as she wanted to, in the morning, with all her friends and family around her. When the funeral home arrived, they backed the van into the garage. As they prepared to put Theresa's body in the van, the men from the funeral home tried to encourage the family to leave the garage. Theresa's sister and son were not wanting to leave. The funeral home representative leaned over and whispered to me, "I have another body in the van." Ryan (her son) looked at me and asked, "Why do they want us to leave?" My answer was straightforward: "There's another body in the van." Ryan's response: "Cool!" We laughed about how Theresa would enjoy the company on the first part of her new journey. And so the family remained in the garage and watched as Theresa's body was placed on the stretcher next to Theresa's new friend.

Hospice in the orange groves . . . I had to attend a death way out in the boondocks one night. I still don't know how I found the place after driving through orange groves and a swamp. Fortunately it was light when I went but by the time I was ready to leave it was pitch dark. The guys from the funeral home were two old fogies who were more concerned about their own health than the patient or family. One of them had a bad back so he could not lift, the other had a bad heart. Wonderful situation. They went to put the patient on the stretcher and if I hadn't jumped to catch her head they would have let it fall off. The family is all lined up watching all of this. We finally got the patient out to the vehicle (an old station wagon) and I told them to wait as I was going to follow them out, hoping they knew the way. The family came out and said they would be fine so I prepared to leave. Would you believe the station wagon would not start and these two old guys had no idea what to do? We all lost it then and everybody was laughing and crying at the same time. Finally one of the sons got the station wagon running and we were on our way. Every time anybody mentions Chuluotta I say I've been there - once.
Pat K, RN Orlando, Florida office

"I just hope I'm not sick when I die." (Quote from one of my patients . . . actually she meant she hoped she wouldn't be sick to her stomach)

I'll haunt you . . . Then there was the patient who was adamant about her family NOT placing her in a nursing home. After she had a major seizure, the decision was to return her to the inpatient unit. She was very lethargic, but as the paramedics were taking her on a stretcher to the ambulance, she found the strength to grab her daughter's arm and whisper, "If you put me in a nursing home, I want you to know that not one member of my family will ever sleep a whole night ever again; I'll come back and haunt you all."

F. O. C. O. F. . . . We attended the wake of one of our patients in an unusual place . . . his favorite bar. The wooden box holding his ashes was surrounded by a circle of Coors' beer bottles, and there was food and drink for all. A wonderful picture of Jerry, holding one of his grandchildren, was nearby, as was a sign with his name and the initials, F O C O F. We asked his daughter, Leslie, what that meant. Her reply was, "Fraternal Order of Crochety Old Farts"!

Then there was the patient who spent his days at the VFW with his drinking buddies. Dr. H, our team physician, had to make his visit to the patient at the VFW. This same patient also sent a beer to the social worker (via the nurse). I also remember that he had a small flower arrangement on a table beside his couch. The flowers were fashioned out of condoms.

Of "vital" interest . . . Then there was the wife of a patient who was to be admitted one morning. The wife wanted to know when the nurse would be coming "to take his vital organs"!

Where am I? . . . One of our patients was an Eastern Orthodox priest. As his condition declined, he became confused and had difficulty expressing himself. One day, he asked what "state" he was in. Not knowing whether he meant to refer to a spiritual or physical state, I waited to see what his wife's response would be. She interpreted his question to be about his physical condition. She reassured him that his blood pressure and pulse were normal. He was silent for a moment, then said, "But am I in South Carolina?" I explained that he was in Fort Worth, Texas. I further explained that Fort Worth is "where the west begins." He rolled his eyes at this explanation!

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