As a family medicine physician I often tell people that I take care of all, "from before the womb to beyond the tomb." I say this because I believe that the work that I do has impact and implications for not only my patients in the present, but also for their current family, future children, their health, and their livelihoods. Medicine when practiced from the soul, from a place of true compassion, can be felt for many years to come. It spans across a life and even beyond death. Let me tell you about one of my favorite patients I have ever cared for and how she has impacted my life.
Her name was Mrs. Hazel D., and she became my friend. Hazel had the kindest, sweetest heart with eyes that brightened up a room like the sun whenever she smiled! She had this tiny, soft voice- almost childlike and youthful! She was around 53 yrs old, and was a loving wife, mother, and boy how she loved her grandson! You wanted to see her light up? Get her to talk about that grandson! She had so many stories!
The unfortunate thing was that she was often overlooked and misunderstood by many medical professionals who could not see past the fact that she was morbidly obese, and as such had needs for more assistance than the average patient. But you know what? None of that mattered to me though. To me she was a beautiful soul. I could see HER. Beyond the weight, beyond her disability, I could see HER! While she was in the hospital under my care I strived to shower her with love and to spread the smiles on a daily.
One of my favorite memories of her was when one of her friends sent her a beautiful bouquet of flowers. It had yellow roses, blue hydrangeas, and purple gladioli. I was standing at the nurses’ station when the florist came to deliver it. I said, "Let me take it to her!" I could not wait to see her reaction, and I happily walked into her room hiding my face behind the flowers! And she lit up just as I knew she would.
Later that day, I got a call from the nurses’ station asking me to go down to the gift shop to pick up something. I did not know what it could be. When I got a little break in between patients, I finally went down there. There was a little glass vase with a single yellow rose and baby's breath, a big yellow bow, and a card with Dr. Irving written on the outside. The note said, "From your friend, Hazel." She saw that I loved her flowers and wanted to do something nice for me too! I had never had a patient to do that for me before or since. This is the Hazel that people did not know.
Over time, Hazel began to have more health problems and more admissions. Her kidneys started failing, and she had to be admitted into the major medical center for dialysis treatments about 45 mins south of the small town where she lived and the hospital where I worked. When I found out she was admitted into the other hospital, I picked up the phone and called her to check on her. I set in my heart that I was going to pay her a visit as soon as I could.
One Friday, I was attending classes at the hospital where Hazel was admitted, and I was walking to my car to go home. All of a sudden, it hit me... Hazel... I've got to go and see Hazel! I turned around with all my heavy bags in tow, and I marched up to her room.
When she saw me walk into the room, her entire countenance changed from a sad, lonely face to an excited, joyous one. Her smile was from ear to ear. I ran over and put my bags down and threw my arms over her and embraced her. And there we went, talking, laughing, and carrying on.
She called her husband on video chat, who I loved to joke with. (He is a character!) And while she was talking to him, I leaned over and put my face into the shot, and said, "What are you up to, troublemaker?!!" Boy, was he surprised and amused. He was so happy to see me there for his wife when he could not physically be there that day.
And Hazel LOVED her husband. A few weeks later, she called up to the clinic to find me, and I received a message to call her. Even though she had her own health problems, this time she was very concerned about her husband's health. He was planning to undergo an outpatient surgery for his gallbladder soon, but she was concerned because one of his immediate family members had a terrible reaction to anesthesia. She was concerned that her husband was at risk of this as well. We discussed it further, and I ensured her that I would look into this and make sure that the anesthesia staff and surgeon knew about this. She was comforted and no longer worried! She knew that when I said I would take care of it, it was as good as already done.
About a month later, she had regained her strength and was discharged home where she could be transported to her dialysis treatments several times a week. One of the days when she came back from dialysis, she was just not feeling well at all. But she was no stranger to aches and pains and ailments, so she just tried to endure it. That night her husband got up to check on her several times like he always did; but one of those times, she was not breathing. He could not wake her up. She had passed away in her sleep.
The next day I was in clinic working when I received the news. I was in between seeing patients, and one of the nurses said, "Dr. Irving, do you remember our patient, Hazel D.?" I perked up and said, "Of course I do. That's one of my favorite patients." And then she said, "Dr. Irving, she passed away last night."
I felt like the world stopped, like someone had just kicked me in the chest, like the breath was knocked out of me. I stood still. My feet felt heavy, like I was just stuck in one place. My eyes welled up with tears, and I struggled to hold it together in front of everyone. I kept asking the nurse if it was really true. I just could not wrap my mind around that.
Later that week, the time came for her wake and funeral. I wanted to go to the wake after work, and I was running around taking care of patients when I looked up and saw the time. I was about to miss it. I wrapped up what I was doing, made sure all my patients were settled, grabbed my things, and ran out of the door. When I got to the funeral home just about a minute or two down the road, the people inside were milling about and talking amongst themselves.
I walked straight up to the casket and stood there alone, looking at my patient, my friend, there asleep. And it was then that every tear that I held back all week came flooding out. It hurt so bad! I inhaled and started choking on my tears, and I could not seem to get it together. I was coughing and hacking and crying.
Then, I felt a big arm come and wrap around me. It was Dexter, her husband. He looked down at little ol' me, towering from over a foot above, and said, "It's ok, Dr. Irving." I looked at him through my tears and sniffles, and he handed me a tissue. He guided me back over to where he was standing with family and friends, and began to introduce me to everyone. What he said next is what made all the difference.
He looked at his family and said, "Y'all see this little lady right here? This is Dr. Irving, and she loooooved Hazel. And Hazel looooooved her some Dr. Irving. This lady drove all the way down to go see Hazel in the hospital and was there for her." All of the family began to emphatically shake my hand and thank me. In that moment, I felt so humbled. I mean, her family felt the connection that she and I had even though they had never met me before. And here I was feeling like I had just done what I do all the time. I had never had anyone to notice my efforts on this wise before.
That was the day that "from before the womb to beyond the tomb" became fully actualized in my life. That was the day that I experienced that the way I treat my patients and love my patients extends beyond death. It is what the family remembers about the way I treated their loved ones. It is about the way I continue to take care of their families after they are gone. And it is the way that I carry them in my heart and never forget! That is the way I practice medicine. This is what I was placed here to do- to heal, to care, to comfort. I thank God for the gift to do so, and the strength to see it through.
In loving memory of my friend, Hazel.
Posted with express permission from her husband, Dexter.
