My Last Goodbye

                                          My Last Good-bye

         Today the building looked even more eerie than usual, reminding me of an asylum for the mentally insane who cannot escape the terrors in their own mind.  I walked in the door to the basement, punching in at the time clock, ready to start another eight-hour shift.  I could smell the fresh cleaning supplies that housekeeping use to sweep and mop the floor as I made my way to the break room.
         The room was filled with smoke and the walls stained with nicotine.  My co-workers gathered around three tables smoking their cigarettes and talking about the latest gossip.  “Did you hear about Glady?” someone asked.  I could feel my eyes starting to tear.
         “Yes, I’m the one who found her on the floor,” I replied. 
         “Don’t worry,” someone said.  “It gets easier.”  I just sat there thinking to myself, how can it get easier?
         The room was small enough to fit a single size-bed, dresser, nightstand, and a two-door wardrobe closet.  The green and off-white border surrounding the room matched the off-white colored walls.  She was approximately five foot, seven inches tall with short blondish- brown hair.  Her mysterious dark blue eyes always watching the corridor were filled with confusion. Cancer was eating her body little by little every day for the last three years.  She asked always the same questions every day:  Have you seen my blue and pink bike daddy bought me?  Will you check the basement?  Ask mama to bring us some coca cola after 11:00 p.m. but do not tell anyone. 
         I had just come back from eating lunch around 6:30 p.m., getting ready for my regular routine.  I saw Glady sitting on the edge of her bed as I passed her room.  The air was filled with the scent of urine because Glady refused care earlier.  I gathered some pads and sheets and walked toward her room.
         I felt the grip of fear in my throat and chest and the taste of metal in my mouth.  She was lying on her side on the cold linoleum floor.  I ran into the room yelling, “Glady!” Glady!”  There was no response.  I could see her chest rising and falling and heard the wheezing as she tried to fill her lungs with oxygen.  I bent down on my knees and looked into her dilated dark blue eyes.  I felt the chill of death at that moment. 
              I ran down the hall yelling for help.  The LPN James ran from the kitchen to Glady’s room.  He began yelling her name and shaking her, with no response.  He told me to call Emma, who is the RN charge nurse.  I ran down the hall to the telephone next to the elevator.  When someone answered the telephone, I said to send Emma upstairs because Glady was on the floor.
We positioned Glady on her back and Emma began taking her vitals.  Her heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen were low.  The small mask attached to the oxygen machine was snug around her nose and mouth.  As the machine tried to pump oxygen into her lungs, we could hear her chest rattle.  Beads of sweat were running down her face like a small rainstorm. 
         Anna shouted, “Call 911!”
         I was standing in the hallway when the paramedics arrived walking at a fast pace down the hall with a stretcher on wheels and their medical supplies.  I saw them attaching the small leads to her chest so they could monitor her heart. 
         I decided to take care of the other residents who needed me  knowing there was nothing else I could do for Glady at the time.  I had told one of my co-workers what room I’d be in and to please come and get me when the paramedics left.  My co-workers thought I couldn’t handle it and suggested that they take care of Glady instead of me. 
         However, I wanted to take care of her one last time.  This was my way of saying good-bye.  But no one came and got me after the paramedics left.  She was already cleaned and ready to go.  I took care of her for the last six weeks almost every day.  I helped her get dressed every night for bed.  I made sure she got her diet coke with her dinner every night.  I answered her bell when she needed me.  I felt cheated from my last good-bye. 
         Alone I walked into the small room that smelled like fresh soap.  The old familiar smells of urine and her colostomy bag were gone.  Glady was now lying in her bed with her eyes closed.  She was at peace now.  Her confusion, pain, and sadness were gone forever.  I no longer felt the tightness in my throat and chest.  This was my last good-bye.
         I wanted to cry but I had to be strong.  My other residents needed me.  I carried out the rest of my shift taking care of the residents waiting to be cleaned and dressed for bed.  One of the residents asked if Glady was all right.  I told her, “No, I’m sorry, she didn’t make it.”  She looked at me with teary eyes and just shook her head. 
         The drive home seemed longer than usual.  I walked in the door and was greeted by my hyperactive Jack Russell terrier named Sparky wanting me to pet and play with him.  I wasn’t in the mood that night.  I made my way to our bedroom at the end of the hall.  My husband was sitting in front of the computer playing War Craft.  He turned to me and asked me how my night was.  That familiar feeling came over me stronger than before.  I sat directly behind my husband on the edge of the bed.  I started to shake while my head was in my hands.  My throat began to tighten and I could not speak.  Tears were flowing down my checks and my eyes began to burn and swell.  My husband got up from the computer chair and sat next to me.  He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders tightly as I began telling him what had happened that night.  Yes, it has gotten easier over time.  I have lost many residents after Glady.  I have come to the realization that people come to nursing homes for a reason.  They are no longer able to take care of themselves alone.  This is their last resting place.  I treat all my residents with the compassion they desire and need.  They become part of my family, and I  become part of their family.