Today, Tomorrow and Yesterday...

We have some history, this man and me. I have been seeing him since before his surgery. His cancer would be dissected out and then he could have radiation and chemo and possibly recover. No such luck: his surgical procedure was open and shut. Literally.

I always try to be cheerful when I see him. His grizzled countenance and steely blue eyes belie the gentle person inside. His stare is piercing. His words, short and meaningful. It took me a while to realize that he really isn't a bitter old man, he just likes to tease me. “How are you feeling today?” is met with “Terrible! But I'll be fine after you leave!”

His days and nights are spent in a hospital bed, strategically placed in his living room so he can look out the picture window. When he's able to talk his caregiver into it, he ventures outside, on the back patio, long enough to smoke a couple of cigarettes.

As he lay in his hospital bed today, I was listening to his heart and lung sounds and taking his vital signs. He was staring intently at me, looking to see if I betrayed what I was thinking by the look on my face. And I did not. He had to ask: “Is everything okay?” So I told him what his vital signs were, what the normal range was, and that he seemed to be just fine.

As I was putting my stethoscope away in my nursing bag, I looked at the photograph on the wall over the sofa; a handsome young man and his beautiful bride, standing behind a huge wedding cake, long, long ago.

She is gone now. Almost a year ago, and suddenly, too. I can see in his eyes that he misses her. I can see in the photograph that she was his life and his true love. And now, without her, he is struggling with his own fate.

I asked if he was on any new medications and my voice cracked as I said it. I hoped that he hadn't heard it and that his vision was not good enough to see the moisture in my eyes. I am a sucker for love stories. And clearly, this man loved his wife. Without her, he is floundering. Without her, he doesn't know why he should go on, much less how.

I was struck by all the intricacies of patient care and assessment. Physically, his vital signs were fine; Physiologically, his chances of surviving his diagnosis are slim to none. And psychologically, he has all but given up. There is only that one little spark......the teasing.

So I did what any good nurse would do: I walked back over to him and led with my chin: “I'm going to be on vacation next week, so you won't be seeing me....” His face broke into a huge smile and he fairly shouted “Good!” A couple of minutes later, as I walked toward the door, he said “have a great vacation and don't forget to come back....”

I felt the lump in my throat again as I thought to myself: When I come back.......Please be here!

I rushed to my car and got in before I let the moisture in my eyes flow.......

Please.....be here!