I want to add a postscript
to my work of this past week...a case I saw on Wednesday, which apparently
affected me very much...so much so that I haven't been able to put it into words
until now. The patient and his wife
were temporarily living in a large renovated white apartment house in a section
of the city with which I was not familiar.
It took me quite awhile to find the building and then to locate the
correct entrance door. Then I walked
upstairs and down a long corridor looking for the numbered door. I knocked and waited for several
minutes. When I got inside, I was
immediately engulfed in hot air...the room was stiflingly hot, at least 90 degrees
F. I took off my coat, boots and
sweater, but I couldn't doff my wool-lined slacks or the warm tights worn next
to my skin for extra warmth in winter.
I soon became exceedingly uncomfortable. The wife explained that they had no control over their heat. The patient was sitting up in a chair
because he was too weak to walk over to his bed. He was a large, tall man dying of cancer of the mouth,
metastized. He was grotesque in
appearance, with his mouth hanging open and his swollen tongue protruding. He couldn't speak, but his expressive eyes
told me immediately of his great discomfort and despair. His face was misshapened; his feet and
ankles swollen. I was absolutely
horrified to see a human being in such distress. When I touched his forehead I immediately knew he was feverish
and probably dehydrated. He seemed to
be in pain, also. I took his
temperature under his armpit, and found it to be 100 degrees F. I asked his wife to crush two extra-strength
Tylenol and administered these with water through the G-tube into his
stomach. Within ten minutes the patient
appeared to be more comfortable. I
noted a foul greenish discharge from his mouth, and knew there was infection
present. He had not voided since last
night.
This couple are Medicaid
recipients and have moved from place to place frequently. They have no regular physician, but were
last seen two days ago in the oncology clinic of the city hospital. I finally located the physician there by
telephone; he was most kind and understanding, but didn't want to admit the
patient to the hospital yet. He asked
me to arrange for Hospice services in the home. I called the VNA and spoke with the supervisor who said that the
admitting process for Hospice would soon be underway, and for me to inform the
couple that a hospice team would arrive in a day or so. I said that the couple was in dire straits,
and needed a hospital bed and home health aide assistance right away, that two
days hence would be too late. I
reviewed the patient's medications with the wife, who seemed to be trying hard to
care for her husband, for the apartment was neat and clean. She was; however, very small in stature and
unable to either lift him or assist him safely in walking. I considered trying to assist him to his bed
with her help, but realized that there was too great a risk of his falling
down. I left there feeling very
frustrated and sad that it would take so long to make this dying man
comfortable. I wasn't able to sleep
well that night, as visions of that poor man floated before my eyes. He and his wife seemed to have been
abandoned by the community.
I have since learned from staff
nurses that the patient with the advanced cancer of the tongue had been
admitted to the hospital shortly after my visit, where he died a merciful
death. I felt relief that he was no longer
suffering, and that my initial assessment had been correct...he needed to be in
the hospital receiving pain killers and comfort care for the terminally ill...not
left sitting up in a stifling room with his tiny wife trying to administer to
his overwhelming needs all by herself.
I wonder what different information was given the physician by the
hospice team which prompted him to readmit the patient. Possibly this physician had worked with the
hospice team previously and trusted their judgment over mine.