Joined at the...Soul?

This is a true story, and even though I have permission to share, all names have still been changed, just because...

I remember the evening I met her. No one really told me anything about her, except, "You've gotta watch this one. She can be a fighter. Honestly, she can be downright mean!"

That's not unusual, working in healthcare, especially long-term care, or as you might call it, nursing homes. Sometimes patients are combative, but I always like to know their diagnosis up front, and maybe a little of their background, just so I understand why they act the way they do, or what I might do or say to catch their attention, and possibly calm them.

I didn't get that with her. I followed the nurse who was providing my orientation into the room, and watched as she gently shook the sleeping woman, to wake her up.

"Hey, sunshine. Take a bite," the nurse said, as she spooned crushed medications, mixed with vanilla pudding, into the sleepy patient's mouth. She was far from combative. She swallowed her medicine, took a sip of thickened water, as the nurse offered it, and went back to sleep.

As we entered the hallway again, the nurse said, "She was great tonight. Just be careful."

After a couple of nights of orientation, I took over the unit on my own. Once I had a chance to sit down and do a little charting, I clicked on her name, and read her age, diagnosis, and a brief history.

She was only 58 years old. She had Huntington's Disease, which explained the mood swings and outbursts, and also why she was on mattresses that covered the entire floor of her room, instead of a regular bed. I didn't know a lot about the disease. I'd never taken care of anyone who had it, and we had only briefly discussed it when I was in nursing school. It was time to do some research.

Even though I'd done a bit of reading over my first couple of weeks, and knew more about the disease, I was still a little nervous when I entered her room. She was mostly nonverbal at this point, so communication was difficult. On one particular day, though, everything changed.

When I entered her room that day, she was bright eyed and watching me. I even saw a hint of a smile, which I hadn't seen before. I'd also never noticed how blue her eyes were! They were stunning...and kind.

"Hey girl!" I said, as I knocked, then entered. She attempted to say something that I didn't understand, but it seemed like a hello of sorts, so I proceeded. Instead of just the usual quick scan to make sure there didn't seem to be any problems, and then spooning her medications into her mouth, while standing, bending over her, I sat down on her mattress, and then said, "Wait, I should have asked! Is it ok if I sit on your bed?"

She nodded enthusiastically. I talked to her for a few minutes, just as I would speak to a friend. She smiled a lot and reached for my hands several times, though her movements were jerky and spastic, due to her diagnosis. I noticed how young she looked. She had beautiful skin. I also noticed that she didn't have a single gray hair on her head of dark brown hair that had beautiful, loose curls. I told her I was jealous! She was 15 years older than me, but I had lots of grays that I covered with the closest hair dye match I could find to my natural dark brown hair.

I couldn't stay long, since I had many more patients to see, but I told her I'd come talk to her again as soon as I could. Then, before I got up, I said, "Can I have a hug?" and she immediately threw her arms around my neck and pulled me down against her. She was strong! She didn't want to let go! I told her that, since I'd found out she liked hugs, there would be plenty more, but I really needed to get to work before I got in trouble. She reluctantly let me go.

I spent time with her any chance I could, just because there was something familiar about her. Something that made me feel connected to her. I would even drive the 40 miles to the facility on my days off, sometimes, to spend time with her.

Even though communication was still difficult, we managed to find ways for her to express what she was thinking, or if she needed or wanted something, I eventually learned to figure out exactly what it was. Others would even come and get me when they couldn't understand what she was trying to tell them.

When I wasn't working, I would take her, in her special wheelchair, for walks around the property outside. She would pick flowers off of the trees and bushes that lined the sidewalks. I also found out that she loved watching it rain, as I also did. We would sit in the covered area outside, and watch, as torrential rain pounded the ground. It was so calming. The look of peacefulness on her face made me happy.

Sometimes I would fix her hair or put makeup on her, because she really enjoyed that. She was a very beautiful woman. We would listen to Conway Twitty, which her oldest daughter, whom I'd also grown close to, told me she really liked. I would hold her hands while she was in her wheelchair and "dance" with her, sometimes giving her a quick twirl, which she loved!

Before I knew it, this woman, who couldn't even speak to me, had become my best friend. I told her this, and she pointed back and forth from herself to me, and managed to say "You too."

I said, "I'm your best friend, too?" and she nodded and smiled.

I wish I could explain the feeling of joy, of warmth, that flooded my heart. I knew this was a once in a lifetime friendship. I also knew it was going to hurt like hell when I lost her. It didn't matter, though. She deserved that friendship, and I was willing to deal with the heartbreak, if it meant we could continue this joyous bond for just a little while longer.

I was lucky. I had her in my life for almost five years. During those years, we shared so many great times, and of course, there were times when she was in a horrible mood, and would try her best to beat me up. I knew it was part of the disease process, so I didn't let it get to me. I just had to avoid those punches and kicks that she tried to connect! Like I said before, she was strong!

She started to decline in 2021, and unfortunately, I was no longer working at that facility, so I didnt get to spend much time with her. Her daughter kept me informed of her condition, and eventually, I got the dreaded phone call. "Mom isn't doing well. They say it will probably only be a day or two."

At that point, everything that could possibly go wrong started to happen. I didn't have my car, because my son had to use it for work for a couple of days. I tried borrowing my mother's car, but was unable. When I finally got mine back, I got ready to FINALLY leave home, to go be by her side, and I had a flat tire. EVERYTHING was going wrong.

I didn't make it. I wasn't there when she took her last breath. That's something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I didn't get to go to her funeral either, because I ended up getting VERY sick. I guess I really never got any sort of closure. It almost seems like she's still there.

Still, there are times when I almost feel as if she's with me. I don't know if she watches over me, but I like to think that she does. I like to think that she hears me when I talk to her sometimes. I hope she heard me when I told her how sorry I was for not being there. I think she did.