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I'm on my way home today, via the expressway. Cell rings, it's Tudor's nurse of the day, Paul. I call him back when I can stop in a parking lot somewhere.
"Hello, Nancy! Can we have your verbal approval to give him two units of blood?"
"Um, well, why does he need blood now? I haven't been asked for this approval in the week he's been in ICU."
Explanation sounded reasonable to me but even with the medical coaching I'm getting at the college the question caught me off guard. What do I say?!? "Blood? Good blood for him? Oh, no, don't do that. He wouldn't want it." Or "Why of COURSE! If that is what he needs right now DO IT!"
All crashing down around my head at that moment were my feelings about all of this, trying to get into Tud's head and translate/assess his wishes which have always been made known while in a "healthy" state and frame of mind; what is ethically right, what is ethically not right, knowing the doctors own him at this point, and I really have no say. Trust me on this one.
Raging within me are feelings of anger, hope, indifference, kindness, cold heartedness, curiosity, and when I can allow it to seep in, humour.
But worse than all of this? The saddest thing to me yet? This morning some good medical person shaved off his beard for hygienic purposes. His beard of 45 years. His security blanket... his pride... his unique physical identity. He tended that beard just as I tend to our dogs... with care, with immaculateness, with dignity.
I wept over that detail. They stripped him of his one little shred of dignity.
"Hello, Nancy! Can we have your verbal approval to give him two units of blood?"
"Um, well, why does he need blood now? I haven't been asked for this approval in the week he's been in ICU."
Explanation sounded reasonable to me but even with the medical coaching I'm getting at the college the question caught me off guard. What do I say?!? "Blood? Good blood for him? Oh, no, don't do that. He wouldn't want it." Or "Why of COURSE! If that is what he needs right now DO IT!"
All crashing down around my head at that moment were my feelings about all of this, trying to get into Tud's head and translate/assess his wishes which have always been made known while in a "healthy" state and frame of mind; what is ethically right, what is ethically not right, knowing the doctors own him at this point, and I really have no say. Trust me on this one.
Raging within me are feelings of anger, hope, indifference, kindness, cold heartedness, curiosity, and when I can allow it to seep in, humour.
But worse than all of this? The saddest thing to me yet? This morning some good medical person shaved off his beard for hygienic purposes. His beard of 45 years. His security blanket... his pride... his unique physical identity. He tended that beard just as I tend to our dogs... with care, with immaculateness, with dignity.
I wept over that detail. They stripped him of his one little shred of dignity.