My mother spent almost a month at Maine Medical Center with breathing complications from Pulmonary Fibrosis and Pulmonary Hypertension. Most of that time was spent on the Fourth-Floor respiratory center. I visited my mom every single day of her stay and got to see most of the nurses who took great care of her. She was always so appreciative and impressed with how kind and thoughtful each and every nurse was.
Once it became apparent that the doctors could do nothing more to make my mom's breathing improve and that no other options were available to try and stabilize her condition, my charming and graceful mom made the brave decision to tie up loose ends and start hospice care. We met with the hospice staff while my mom was still lively, full of energy and spent her last weekend visiting with friends and family, she started her oral morphine doses. Having been through hospice care with my mother in law three years prior, I was expecting a similar process where morphine would gradually be increased, and she would slowly drift off and sleep heavily sedated for several days before passing. So when I showed up at the hospital late on the morning the next day I wasn't expecting the hospice staff to be starting a morphine drip. After all, she had only begun oral morphine about 24 hours prior. But since my mom was still pretty alert, although obviously struggling much more than the previous day, I didn't think too much about it as I watched her eat a muffin and read the newspaper that I brought her.
I also noticed that the nurse she had that day was one that I had not seen before. A little perturbed at first that she wasn't assigned a nurse who already 'knew' her, I quickly saw how gentle and sweet this nurse was with my mom. She would speak very kindly and respectfully to her and look my mom in the eyes. She would ask her how she felt as she would tenderly stroke the side of my mom's face. Her interaction with my mom made my heart swell. As the afternoon went on, it became apparent to me that her dying process was happening much faster than I had imagined it would. Around 3 pm as the nurse was, once again, tenderly speaking to my mom after communicating with the hospice team and increasing her morphine dosage once again, I looked at the nurse and explained that my sister lived in New Hampshire and was going to be arriving in the morning and asked if I should call her to come now. The nurse looked me in the eyes and sadly shook her head yes. As I left the room to call my sister, the nurse followed me to explain that soon the morphine dose would be so high that my mom would most likely not regain consciousness, which is why it would be good for my sister to get there as soon as possible. I then asked about the ability to spend the night in the room with her and the nurse said, "Absolutely, whatever you need." She was incredibly respectful and honest. And I could see the kindness in her eyes, an integral part of who she is as a person. I called my sister as my two oldest and dearest friends sat with my mom.
I feel bad that I keep calling her "the nurse" but every time I would look at her nametag it was flipped backward. And I never thought to take my eyes off of my mom while in her room to look at the whiteboard to see her name. But honestly, that day she didn't need a name. She was an angel put on that floor, on that day, to take care of my mom. And to help me.
My mom's nurse was very attentive, never leaving the room for very long. She would ask my mom if she wanted a cool compress and then lovingly placed it on her forehead. She would ask my mom if she wanted the fan on to help keep cool, knowing that her body temperature was warm and air movement would make her more comfortable. I stood beside my mom the whole time, holding her hand and watching this angel observe the signs of her actively dying and seemingly knowing exactly what my mom needed.
Even as the morphine dosage was increased several times, at 4:50 (I looked at the clock to try and gauge my sister's arrival time) my mom became restless. She flailed her arms a few times and as I asked her if she needed to press the button for more medication to feel better she opened her eyes a little and said, "I can't do this anymore." The strongest woman I've ever known had just let me know that she was done fighting. I frantically looked over at my friend, whose eyes got huge and then she ran out of the room for help. The nurse came in and looked at my mom, looked at my face and I pleaded with her to do something to stop my mom's discomfort. She said that she would be right back. Within what only seemed like a few minutes she flew back into the room with a syringe. She looked me in the eye, her eyes full of tears and her voice trembling and said, "When I give this to your mom there is a chance that she will pass. Are you okay with that?" I didn't hesitate to say "Absolutely." It was the hardest yet easiest question I've ever answered.
I held my mom's hand as the nurse gave her the shot. It became evident pretty quickly that my mom was going to pass as her breathing changed dramatically. I sobbed and leaned down to her ear and told her that I loved her, that she was the best mom ever and that it was okay to go. I whispered, "it's okay" repeatedly in her ear. I then noticed that our angel nurse was also touching my mom, comforting her and helping me to help her pass. By 5:10, my mom was gone. I was in shock, it had all happened so fast, but I was aware enough to see the emotion of the nurse's face. I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, this woman came to work today thinking it would be just another day. And look at what she has done. She has performed the most selfless act of mercy any one person can ever perform with that one swift act. And she performed it with gentleness and respect."
As other family members showed up, for what they thought would be a visit, our angel inquired about my sister. Had she arrived? No. Okay, you can have the room for as long as you like so that when your sister gets here she can see her. My mom's sisters got to see her, touch her and say goodbye. Finally, my sister arrived, and we got to sit with her together. When we were all done, exhausted and ready to leave the hospital, I found our angel. I thanked her for being so unbelievable. She started to get choked up and she told me that I had done the most important thing a person can do. I helped my mom pass. I wished I had thought to tell her at the time that she had done it as well. She had helped my mom pass with dignity, respect, and love.
I know that most people think that angels are beings who reside in heaven with God. But my angel that day was Rachel Driscoll, RN.