Earlier today I started a whiny post about my new job and what a slob my preceptor is and how she coughed and sneezed and blew her nose while we worked together for two days. I don’t want to publish posts that make me sound like a bitchy drone, even if I am one sometimes.
The job is going to be great. I was happy to learn that there is more real nursing in hospice than ever before, so I won’t be going from house to house just making sure the patients are getting enough narcotics and sedatives to assure they are peaceful and breathing easy as they make the transition from this world to wherever they are going.
People are taking advantage of hospice care earlier in the dying process, so there is more time to be of help during the months and weeks leading up to it. It has been nearly 8 years since, as a hospice volunteer, I concluded that people wait too late to take advantage of the support we can offer.
There is a curious dichotomy about me going into hospice work. After all, it has been less than 10 months since the light of my life went out, died and left me to suffer and grieve. Curiously, I think, that experience and all the horror in its aftermath, will make me a better hospice nurse.
I cried a couple of times while we were driving from one patient to the next. No surprise there. Then, when we arrived to visit our next patient, I drew strength from my ability to comfort, and yes, treat him. Offering comfort brings healing to me. Clint would love me having this job that brings out my strengths and offers me a chance to grow and learn to live without him.