deborah dera

Sometimes I sit around and wonder what it would be like to be any number of things that I am not – a teacher, an athlete, a veterinarian, a retail store owner, a member of the military, a fisherman.

A nurse.

The nurse thing always gets me thinking. At one point I did believe I wanted to be a nurse, but as I worked through my high school programs at Camden County Technical School I realized that I did not.

It wasn’t until a few months ago that I began to really take a hard look at the work nurses do. As I spent the last 3 months of my great aunt’s life getting to know her hospice nurses I couldn’t help but wonder how they manage to get out of bed every day and go to work.

The outcome, for a hospice nurse, is the same – for every single patient.

These women were special. They were incredibly friendly, had bubbly personalities, and were as professional as you could possibly imagine. And I truly believe that each and every one of the women on my aunt’s team grew to love her as they cared for her. They showed it. Aunt Dot loved them, too. She frequently told me how wonderful they were.

A few days before my aunt passed, the nurse who visited the house told me it was time to call the family to come and see her for the last time. We thought she wouldn’t make it through the night, let alone the weekend.

The nurse moved quickly. We changed her nightgown, gave her a sponge bath, combed her hair, and did all we could to make her feel pretty for her trip home. She called the chaplain, reiterated what I could expect, made sure all of my contact information was still accessible, and went on her way – almost sad she couldn’t stay with us. She told me on her way out the door that two of her other patients were in the exact same condition.

The house filled with people. The chaplain came and sat with us. Even the social worker stopped by – though she actually didn’t know what was going on. She just wanted to make sure we were all adjusting to my aunt’s move into the house earlier that week.

My aunt wasn’t ready to go. Friday turned into Monday and things were back to normal. I instructed everyone to go to work and do what they needed to do. Aunt Dot passed away sometime around 1pm, and I knew what to do. When I called Samaritan, they kindly and gently told me they’d page my nurse.

She called back within moments. She said she was on her way. She had a distance to travel. When Aunt Dot moved from the assisted living facility into our home she had technically moved out of the district her nurses handled. They refused to give her up as a patient.

Then I started going down the list of family members I needed to call. The rest of the afternoon was, for lack of a better word, very strange. There were tons of people in my apartment and then – suddenly – it was just me.

My aunt’s hospice team was from Samaritan. Samaritan provided my aunt with medication, medical supplies, equipment when she moved into my house, 2 nurses, a home health aid, a chaplain, a social worker, and a myriad of other services. They worked with her from a time where she was communicative and able-bodied until the very last day.

When Aunt Dot passed away, I told my mom, aunt, and grandmom that my request was for her obituary to suggest donations to Samaritan. While my aunt’s health insurance paid for her care, it is obvious that the organization goes above and beyond the call of duty every single day. And, if you don’t have insurance, they’ll still work with you.

Anyway. My point? It’s been over 3 months and every night I say a special prayer for the nurses and aids that visited my aunt every week. They have gigantic hearts. They must feel pain we’ll never know. They must question their paths constantly and they still do their jobs every day.

They deserve to be acknowledged.