cork-wedge heels and my favorite patient

it's late but i have a little story to tell.

today i escaped my house for an hour to go to a shoe store- called 'shoe center' where they sell discounted, styly comfortable shoes- emphasis on the word comfortable.  clogs, birkenstocks, etc.  i love shoes- have loved them since i can remember.  i used to sleep with my new shoes when i was 4. i love really cute shoes, different shoes, shoes that stand out.  but over the years i've realized that i need them to be comfortable also- cute is no longer enough.  on friday, someone i work with  (who also happened to be wearing a hand made, super-cool superwoman belt) told me about 'shoe center' so i had to check it.
i ended up buying a pair of cork wedge heels that rock and are comfortable. 

the shoe store happens to be around the corner from the VA hospital where i work.  and my favorite patient- my african american dad- is there and i know how much he and his wife appreciate a good pair of shoes, because they always comment on mine.  so i called up his wife intent on telling her about the 'shoe center' and their sale- in case she wanted to hop over while he was napping.  but i also wanted to check in on them- i was having the stirring. 

i asked how things were going- how he was feeling - how she was handling everything.
she told me she was alright- that she hadn't yet come in to the hospital- but she'd be in soon. 

and then she asked me if she could ask me something.  when someone asks to ask- you know it's going to be heavy.

"is this it?  is his body shutting down?"

i didn't want to answer that- even though i'd sensed it coming.  i didn't want to answer it because i wanted to talk about shoes.  because i don't want to think about his body shutting down- because i don't want him to die- because i'm not ready.

"yes. it's starting to.  we're moving into that stage- his liver isn't working well- he's getting all full of fluid- there isn't any more chemo that we can give to help fight the cancer back."

i paused. 

she was quiet.

"OK.  i thought so."

"i think he knows too" i said.  " when i spoke with him early yesterday morning i told him his cancer had spread- that's why his pain was worse- that's why he'd turned yellow in the eyes- that's why he has 10# of fluid in his legs- and he'd nodded- he said he knew."

"i'm OK.  really, i'll be OK"

"i know you will.  i'm hear for you both.  i wish we weren't in this place- i wish things were different."

"you go and enjoy you're weekend."

and then it slipped out.  i didn't mean it to, but it did.

"the thing is, i really care for you guys.  i feel like you are my other set of parents."  that darn transparency- that holey filter that lets things slip through- things i'd rather keep to myself.

she laughed.  "i know you do.  we know that.  he cares for you too- and you know i 'preciate you-
you go on- i'll call you if i need you.  i thank you for calling.  'preciate you- i do."

last month, when i told them i was leaving, moving to africa- we were all sad. i remember wondering who'd be leaving first- who should leave first- would it be easier if i headed out while he was hanging on- or would it be better for me to be there in the end- for him, for his wife.  i don't know- but the closer you are, the harder it can be to give the bad news, to speak it- to give voice to what you don't want to believe or accept yourself.  but that is part of caring for people- taking on the hard stuff- the bitter reality - being willing to 'go there' with people- because pretending it's not there- is isolating and wrong.
 
i was glad i'd called- that i'd listened to that stirring- even if it was for the wrong reason- even if slightly misguided- even if i was trying to make it all look pretty and talk about shoes.  even if i needed her to bring up what i think i knew she needed to ask.  she didn't need shoes- she needed to know if her husband is dying. and she needed to ask it when he wasn't within earshot -at least my shoe call gave that opportunity. 

and it's hard to find that balance - between the heavy and light- between acknowledging a life- acknowledging death and also knowing that life goes on.

and it brought up for me, how hard it can be to live inside part of other peoples lives- how hard it can be when you know your patients as people- when you think about them outside of hospital walls, even while buying shoes on a  saturday morning.