A Life Of Value

We went to the hospital Infusion Center at 9:00 am for G’s blood transfusion.  He was placed in a comfortable, reclining chair in an alcove, and blood was drawn in order to be “typed.”  We were advised that the entire process would take about six hours.  Fortunately, this same facility had matching blood for G, and by 10:30 he was receiving his first unit of blood.

I had plenty of time to observe the staff and activity in the Infusion Center.  The different alcoves housed mostly cancer patients receiving chemo infusions.  An Asian woman across the unit was napping during the procedure.  Her tiny frame was snugly wrapped in a white hospital blanket up to her chin.  She was all tucked up into the recliner wearing a warm knit hat with the soft brim pulled low over her brow to keep her head warm and hide loss of hair.  Her dark eyes were visible above the surgical mask worn to protect from infection.  She appeared tired and sad, and I noted that no one was sitting with her.

The staff was skilled and efficient, but beyond that they were personal and empathetic.  They wore their care and concern like they wore their skin.  It came natural to them.  Here finally were humans who recognized that bodies were individuals, personalities and lives of value.  They understood that it is important for patients to be seen and heard and to be treated as valued living souls with a purpose. 

Nurse Dena teased and cajoled G about being a Georgia Bulldog fan.  It didn’t help that G was wearing shorts and a hat with his favorite college football team’s emblem and colors loudly proclaiming his loyalty.  She was a Georgia Tech fan, and she was mercilessly threatening and humorous.

While checking G’s vitals she placed a digital thermometer in his mouth.  “Do you know the difference between an oral and a rectal thermometer,” she asked.  “Taste,” she informed him before he could form a reply.  “How does that taste?” she asked with a sly grin.

Throughout the day she brought him ice water and a hospital “happy meal.”  The box consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips and ginger ale.  She offered him coffee, a blanket, a kick in the butt.

By the end of the first unit of blood G’s color had returned and he was having no adverse reactions.  The hours swept by nearly unnoticed as G’s buddy Kirk sat with us and “shot the breeze.”  We made a run to the cafeteria for food and shared stir fry and a roast beef sandwich, tried to solve all the world’s problems and watched the life blood drip into G’s vein.