Poor Me....

Life is full of curious quirks. Things are not always as bad as they seem. And sometimes, the most dreary day can be full of sunshine.

I was so tired the other morning that I truly didn't want to go to work. I have been working a lot recently and it finally caught up with me. I was dragging. And I knew it was going to be a long day, again.

After rushing around for most of the morning, it was time to go see a patient who lives near where I live. After seeing him, I planned to go home and have lunch. And maybe, put my feet up for a few minutes. Poor me: I have to work too much.

As I arrived at the patient's house, it started sprinkling. I looked at all the things on his lawn as I walked up to the front door. I guess the only way to describe it would be to say there were started projects, gardening projects, everywhere. And nothing was finished.

I knocked on the front door, and then opened it. He knew I was coming and he left the door unlocked for me. I started calling his name as soon as I was inside and told him it was me. The house is so small, I only had to take a few steps to round the corner and be in his sight.

He was in his bedroom, sitting in a chair. He was doing his nebulizer breathing treatment, hunched over in the chair. I gently reminded him to sit up straight so his lungs would inflate more fully with the treatments. He silently complied.

There was no sparkle in his eyes. He was ashen and his eyes looked glassy, as a child's eyes do when he has a fever. I touched his hand and it was clammy. His bedroom window was wide open and the fan was running on “high” in the corner of his room.

He started to say something and I waved him off: “finish your treatment, then we'll talk.” He went back to taking deep breaths with the mouthpiece perched in the middle of his beard. His breathing was audible, stertorous, but unlabored.

When he was finished with the treatment, I checked his vital signs: no fever, normal blood pressure, and adequate oxygenation. Although his skin was clammy, he said he felt like he was “on fire” and took off his sweatshirt. I helped him get it over his head.

He said he wasn't feeling well. He hadn't eaten much in the last couple of days. His caregiver has a sick child and hadn't been to see him today. He was fixing his own meals: a can of soup, heated on the stove, once or twice a day. He said he didn't want any more to eat than that.

“No, not much” was his response when I asked him if he was having any pain. His only “pain” he said, was trying to breathe. Forty years of smoking had rendered this formerly robust and energetic man into a nearly helpless invalid, fighting for each breath. “I would rather be dead than keep living like this....” was his bleak pronouncement to me.

I don't know why, but I asked him what he had done for a living, before he retired. He started telling me about his life.....serving in the Navy......living in Bakersfield......the store he owned......his kids....His face lit up and the sparkle was back in his eyes.

I stayed a lot longer than I should have, but I simply couldn't leave. He had things to tell me, and I wanted to hear them. He was talking a lot, so I checked his oxygenation again, just to be sure I wasn't wearing him out. It was fine. And, when I touched his finger to put the pulse oximeter on it, it wasn't clammy anymore.

Finally, as his caregiver arrived to make his lunch, I told him that I needed to leave. He thanked me for letting him talk and I thanked him for sharing his stories with me. His face was no longer so very pale and his breathing was much less labored.

“Have a great day, Kiddo....!” he told me as I left. As I walked back out into the front yard, it had stopped raining. The sun was shining.....

For both of us.