Page 5 of Big Easy
"Was this the woman that had breast cancer? The one with the young daughter in college?"
I take another sip of coffee. "Yeah. Dad is not in the picture, and she is an only child. She broke down after the doctor pronounced her mom. I stayed until she had calmed down and helped her with some paperwork."
Jasmine is the nineteen-year-old daughter of a patient who had been under
hospice care for the past four weeks. She has no family and no siblings. Her mom had been Jasmine's whole world, and I had gotten to know both of the women pretty well over the past month. Jasmine is in her first year of college. She wants to be a teacher like her mom. Jasmine and I connected in that way. Like her, I followed in my parents' footsteps by going into the medical field. My father, Liam Murphy, is a well-respected doctor, and my mom is a nurse. I chose to take the same path as my mom by becoming a nurse myself. I have been working at a hospice facility for over two years. At first, my parents had their reservations about my choice because they know how emotionally challenging working in hospice can be. I was set in my decision, though. I'm not a nurse who helps apatient get better. I'm the nurse who comforts her patients and their families through an emotional transition. The end of life deserves as much passion and care as the beginning. I work in Heaven's waiting room. That is my calling.
Changing the subject, I ask, "What are your plans tonight? Want to come to dinner at my parents’ house?" I have dinner at my parents’ house every Thursday night. It's been a standing tradition since my older brother Collin, my sister, and I moved out. No matter how busy we all are, none of us miss Thursday night dinner. Maci and I met in nursing school and have been friends ever since. She is a frequent Thursday dinner guest.
"Can't," Maci says. "I agreed to switch shifts with Candace, so that means I'm working tonight. I'm going to run a few errands, then come back here and catch a few hours before I go in." Maci stands and makes her way back down the hall to her bedroom. "I'll catch you later. Tell your mom and dad, I said hi."
"Will do."
"Oh, wait," Maci turns back around. "Are we still on for pole class this weekend?"
"Sure are." I smile. Pole dancing is not something I ever saw myself doing, but after a bad breakup a couple years ago, Maci convinced me to join a class with her. She'd already had a few lessons and told me it would help boost my confidence. Not only did it give me the confidence I needed but it is also great exercise. Now, she and I try catching a class at least once a week.
Standing, I take my mug to the sink, rinse it, then place it in the dishwasher before making my way to my room to get ready for work.
After a quick shower, I tie my long blonde hair back into a loose braid and throw on a pair of purple scrubs and slip on my tennis shoes. On the way out the door, I grab a granola bar and an apple to eat in the car on my way to work.
"Good morning, Sutton," Ada, a fellow coworker, greets me when I walk up to the nurses' station and stow my purse in the filing cabinet. Ada is the oldest and is like a mother to all the other nurses. She took me under her wing my first day and has been a great friend ever since. She is supposed to retire next month, and I, for one, will miss her when she is gone.
"Hi, Ada. How are you this morning?"
"I'm doing good, sugar. The Lord blessed me with his sunshine this morning, so I can't complain." Sitting behind the computer, Ada adds, "Got a new patient for you today. Mr. Sanders was brought in about an hour ago. He is in room 112, and his son is with him. Dr. Ward saw him when he first came in."
I nod and take the seat Ada just vacated behind the computer and begin reading over Mr. Sanders' information. Henry Sanders is sixty-four years old and has stage four brain cancer. He was diagnosed ten months ago. The son has been taking care of his father independently, but recently it became more difficult for him. Mr. Sanders took his father to the hospital two days ago, saying his father has been experiencing bouts of delirium and has stopped eating and drinking. The patient's oncologist ordered him into hospice, which brings us here.
"Mr. Sanders is settled in and resting comfortably," Ada tells me as she gathers her purse and jacket.
"Thanks, Ada. I'll go in and check on him and introduce myself to his son."
"See you tomorrow, Sutton."
"Bye, Ada. Drive safe." I smile over my shoulder and give her a little wave, then make my way down the hall toward room 112. When I come upon the open door, I spot a man sitting in a chair beside the bed. He turns his attention away from the TV and stands when he spots me walking in. I smile. "Hello. You must beMr. Sanders' son. My name is Sutton. I'll be your father's nurse today."
The man shakes my offered hand. "It's nice to meet you, Sutton. I'm Peter."
Peter Sanders looks to be in his mid to late thirties, stands about 5 feet 10 inches tall, and has brown hair with a receding hairline.
Dropping Peter's hand, I look over at Mr. Sanders, who is sleeping soundly. "Mrs. Ada tells me your dad settled in well and that the doctor should be around later this morning. Is there anything I can do for you now? Do you have any questions for me?"
Peter shakes his head. "None that I can think of, but thanks for stopping by to check on us. That was very kind of you. I can already tell I'm really going to like you, Sutton."
"Great." I smile. "I'll be back in a bit to check on your dad. Please don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."
With a nod, I turn and leave the room.
By the time my shift is over, all I want to do is go home, curl up with a good book, drink a glass of wine and catch up on my rest, but I know that's not possible since my family expects me for dinner. In fact, I'm so tired, I don't even notice the man standing just outside the facility when I exit the front entrance. "Sutton," I hear my name called, and jump.
Peter steps out of the shadows with his hands held up in front of him. "My apologies. I didn't mean to scare you."
I take a deep calming breath, getting my erratic heartbeat to slow. "That's okay, Peter. You kind of snuck up on me there."
Peter gives me a sheepish look. "Sorry. I just wanted to say thank you again for being so wonderful with my father."
My body loses some of its tension, and I give Peter a warm smile. "You're welcome. I know how difficult a time like this can be, and it's my job to make the patient and their family as comfortable as possible."
