A few days before Christmas my father was admitted to the hospital with a painful cough. What we thought was perhaps pneumonia turned out to be stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was a devastating diagnosis for all of us, but of course especially my father. He was in constant pain and had terrible fevers. His appetite waned, and he teetered in and out of consciousness. After about a week of being in the hospital, his body temperature eventually plummeted and he became cool, clammy and diaphoretic. They rushed him to the ICU, where Kathy was his nurse.
It's difficult to explain what her presence was like for my family that was frayed at the ends, ripped at the seams, dealing with heartbreak, anxiety, and panic. A family about to lose their beloved father. Her presence was one of only a few that calmed my father, comforted him. She explained everything to him. And to us, his family. What the monitor beeping might mean (no one had done this his entire stay), what to expect, what his vitals should be at, not to be alarmed.
Not only were her nursing skills exemplary (she was organized and on top of everything), but also her emotional connection with my father was unsurpassed. It was like she was a therapist, a nurse, and a kind, gentle friend all at once. She told him stories about her life. He told her stories about his. They talked about their mutual love of dogs. She was gentle and strong in all the right ways and at the right times. She was intuitive. It's like she knew what to say and when to say it, and when to say nothing. She didn't talk to him like he was hard of hearing (he wasn't). She wasn't patronizing and didn't talk to him like he was a 10-year-old child like many of the other nurses. My father could hear perfectly, and he certainly wasn't a child. She treated him like he wanted to be treated.
She treated him with dignity. She stroked his cheek ever so gently, and I watched him lean his face towards her hand. I was so grateful for these small but might interactions that my father needed. You see, he wasn't ready to leave. The doctors originally said he had 8-13 months. But he ended up only having 2 weeks. To give someone that kind of comfort in a time where you're being forced to come to terms with your own mortality and all the while losing the people you hold most dear and in excruciating pain...it's indescribable.
She was only his nurse for one shift, but she left an indelible mark on my father and our family. Every time one of us would come to visit, he would talk about how wonderful Kathy was. He was so thankful for her. When I found out she wasn't working the next shift, I told my father, and he started to cry. My father has passed away and our lives will never be the same. But I am so grateful for everything Kathy was to my father and my family, for that one shift in SCU IV, the day my father felt truly comforted.