Mondays @ the hospice (04.13.15) (Cont.)

Hospice -  sign for medical fitness and health care

Hi Everyone!

Yes, I know today is Wednesday and I was supposed to report Monday evening (or at the latest Tuesday(!)) but life happens :-). There was absolutely nothing going on at the hospice this week. There were seven beds occupying the entire 22 bed facility.

As I expected Ms. P. expired sometime last week. Ms. E? The lady that I wrote about last week that was so well loved? We she moved on to a nursing home. I realize now that sometimes hospices (at least this one) are sometimes “holding areas” for people that are well enough to be discharged out of a hospital, but are not able to return to their residence and live an independent life style.

I met a new man there, Mr. F. Although it was hard to understand him I learned that he was born in 1926 he is a PROUD “Grady Baby”. (Back story on “Grady Babies”: Henry Woodfin Grady was a journalist and orator who helped reintegrate the states of the former Confederacy into the Union after the American Civil War. Grady encouraged the industrialization of the South. (Source: Wikipedia) For a long time, Atlanta was segregated and Grady was the only hospital that would accept people of color. For us “Southern transplants” hearing a person is a “Grady Baby” means they are a born and bred Atlantan. To this day, Grady is the “city hospital” caring for all those that no one else wants. Say what you what about Grady, but if I am in an emergency situation, take me to Grady – they have the best emergency room in the city.). ANYHOW, Mr. F. is an Atlanta native, was drafted into the service, lived in Chicago and some other places ( I couldnt understand him) and when he “messed up” (his words) he came home to Atlanta. We watched about 20 mins of “Dancing with the Stars”. He told me he was once a “smooth” dancer. 🙂

Ms. J. was still there. She is still worried about her bills and who is going to take care of her rent for her apartment. All I can do is talk to her about it, although I cant do anything tangible for her. That sucks. One thing I found out: that the pain medication that is given to you can cause extreme constipation. Not to get too graphic, but I was told that the compaction was so bad that a nurse had to MANUALLY REMOVE THE FECES. (May GOD Bless Nurses) I told Ms. J. “That’s It! I would have died from embarrassment RIGHT THERE!!” We were both laughing hard at that. After that Ms. J. began telling me that this entire experience was difficult because she is a person who never needed help and even when she did, she would never accept it. I admitted I am the same way.

I suppose that the entire dying process is one bunch of experiences, one after another, to almost break you down to your most simple self.

Until next week, be good.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.