Chapter twenty-four
Via
" S o, wait, he bought your family's beach home?" Dessa asks as she inputs the next patient's medical orders into the system. The perks of working the night shift at the assisted living facility are that after eight p.m., it's typically pretty quiet, and we get to catch up on paperwork and, apparently, catch our friends up on our private lives.
I love working in assisted living. Most of our residents are healthy and care for themselves; they're just at an age where they no longer wish to live alone or can no longer safely live alone. We have medical wings, but it isn't like a nursing home. Our residents are mainly independent, but we come in if they have medical concerns.
"Yeah, Des, he did. He said it made him feel closer to me living there."
"V, that has got to be the most romantic thing I've ever heard. I hope you gave him the cookie." She jokes as she looks at me with stars in her eyes. Dessa is a hopeless romantic, and she loves the idea of love.
I can't help but snort out a laugh, " Gave him the cookie , really, Des?"
"You did, didn't—" she glares at me with knowing eyes, but before she has the chance to interject, my phone goes off. I forgot to silence it. Whoops .
I shake my head, and I laugh at her investigation into my sex life as I answer the phone on speaker.
Izzy .
"Hey, Iz, I'm working."
"Yeah, yeah, it's nine at night, and all your patients are asleep. Tell me everything!"
Dessa chimes in, "Izzy, she definitely did the hanky panky with him! You should see her glowing over here," She all but yells into my phone. My cheeks redden instantly as I gasp and shove Dessa, and she laughs.
"Holy shit," Izzy screams into the phone. "Was it as good as you remember—"
"Okay, that's enough. We can talk about this when I'm not at work. Bye, Izzy!" I hang up, feeling slightly embarrassed and hoping none of our other coworkers heard the two hooligans discussing my sex life like it was front page news of the local paper that everyone should be privy to.
I spin around and flash a look at Dessa. One that says, " What the fuck " without having to say a word.
She lets out a small laugh and shrugs.
"You can't blame me for being excited about this, V. You deserve this. Every time you told me about him, I could feel your heart bursting. You never lost feelings for him, and he's back ."
I roll my eyes, stand up, and head toward the residents' cardiac wing to start making hourly rounds and checking in on each of them.
I made it through several resident units, most of which were fast asleep. I'm currently checking in on the Bourgs. Mr. Raymond Bourg and Mrs. Adelis Bourg. They have been married for fifty-six years and are the semblance of true love at its finest.
I can't stop my heart from swelling every time I check in and witness them snuggled up together, clinging to each other for dear life as they sleep contently. To choose someone to spend your life with in your twenties and still choose to love them all those years later, it's not only a commitment, but it's also absolutely beautiful. Mr. Raymond has cardiac troubles, whereas Mrs Adelis is, for the most part, perfectly healthy for her age. The way they care for one another is something you'd read about in a novel. Most people could only hope to find and keep that kind of connection and bond that they still share to this day.
When I was younger, I dreamed of that kind of love for Ander and myself—a love that could withstand all obstacles, even the test of time. Reality outweighed that dream.
As I walk away from their unit with a smile on my face, my smile quickly fades as I make my way towards Mr. Earls's room. I can see his light still on, peeking out from under the door to his apartment, spilling into the hallway. He's never awake this late unless something is wrong. He never likes to complain or "bother us," as he calls it, so when he starts not to feel well, he will typically sit in silence and suffer through. That drives me mad. My steps pick up speed. As I make it to his unit, I can already sense that something isn't right, and my heart drops in my chest at the thought.
Part of working with older adults with medical issues is accepting that they may not have long left with us. We care for them as best as we can while they're here, but we are supposed to try and desensitize ourselves and accept that they will more than likely pass away at some point. As nursing staff here, we all have to attend seminars focusing on normalizing death as a part of life. It's abysmal, but it's how we're supposed to operate so as not to let the inevitable break us down mentally and emotionally. It's the one part of my job I've never been quite able to come to terms with.
After all the tragedies I've faced in my personal life, you'd think I would be the one person here who could grasp that death happens. It's quite the opposite. Whereas the logical part of my brain acknowledges it and understands that everyone has their own time to depart this earth, my heart will never be able to accept it.
I struggle with this internally more than I'd ever care to admit in therapy. It always baffles me how someone could be here, so full of life one moment and then gone the next. No one's time here is promised nor guaranteed, and if anything, that gives me a shit ton of anxiety.
I knock on the door to his apartment before using my badge to unlock it and enter it, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
"Mr. Earl, I saw the light was still on. Is everything okay?" I call out as I make my way inside.
His unit is quiet, and his living area is empty. As I suspected, all the lights in his living area and kitchen are still on, which is entirely out of the ordinary. He loves the dark, and although his utilities are included, he constantly rants about "saving electricity."
I make my way toward Mr. Earl's bedroom, and my suspicion that something isn't right comes crashing in as I swing open the door. Mr. Earl is hunched over in his recliner next to his bed, pale and clenching his chest. I instantly radioed for Dessa to page a Code Blue for room C34. Before I can even finish talking, Dessa's voice pierces the intercom. I rush over to Mr. Earl and start assessing him, trying to keep my composure and remind myself of all the skills I am equipped with to handle these situations. That doesn't stop the lump from forming in my throat. I am looking over at the grumpy older man who has become my confidant and friend .
"Mr. Earl, It's Via, I'm here. Can you tell me what you're feeling?" I ask as I begin taking his vital signs and trying to comfort him at the same time. Unfortunately, Mr. Earl isn't new to having heart attacks. He's dubbed himself a cat and says he has infinite lives. He's also made dark jokes that he hasn't died yet because 'they' didn't know what to do with him, that he was too good for hell but too bad for heaven, so the gods beyond sentenced him to purgatory on earth.
"Via," He strains my name out as he leans back. "Don't worry about me; I'm just having bad heartburn."
"Mr. Earl, not everything is heartburn. How often have I told you to call me when you feel like this?"
"Oh, now that's enough fussing over me. How was the date?" His voice is low, gravelly, and barely audible.
I muster a small disapproving shake of my head, and before I can respond, my coworkers flood into the room, and we begin our cardiac process.
"Via, I tried calling the doctor on call for permission to administer nitro, but I wasn't able to get through. The ambulance is 3 minutes out."
I become instantly irritated. We don't have a doctor in-house on night shifts, only nurses. We do have physicians who rotate calls at night. Still, if they don't answer the phone during emergencies, we cannot distribute any medicine that wasn't previously ordered, even if it could possibly save a life. We have to resort to calling 911, even though we are fully capable of beginning the process. This has always infuriated me.
I looked at Clark, our respiratory therapist, and ordered, "His pulse oxygen is at seventy-eight percent. Begin oxygen until medics arrive."
He takes one look at Mr. Earl and doesn't hesitate.
I move out of Clark's way, walk around to the other side of Mr. Earl, and kneel down, getting eye level with him and holding his hand.
"Okay, Mr. Heartburn. I need you to try to calm your breathing and focus on taking slow, deep breaths. The ambulance will be here shortly, and they're going to take great care of you." I keep my voice calm and reassuring, but I'm panicking on the inside. I can't let him see that, but I can tell and feel that this episode is not good.
Mr. Earl chuckles at my lame heartburn joke as his eyes peer up to meet mine. He places his other hand over mine, which is gripping his, and he gives me a look—a look of love—a look that says more than his words ever will.
"Thank you, Via. Thank you for being my friend." Tears pool up in the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I continue to squeeze his hand and rub the other hand on his shoulder.
"You stop that. Stop that now. You can thank me all you want to whenever you get back home. Okay?" He knows what I mean. Mr. Earl is never one for sentiments like that. For him to thank me is his way of telling me goodbye. He doesn't think he's going to make it back, and I refuse to allow him to give up. Not yet.
His lips turn up into a curve as the medics enter his apartment. "Well, you have to tell me about your date when I come home."
I laugh softly and shake my head; he's unbelievable. The man is having a heart attack, and he's worried about getting the latest gossip. "Deal," I deadpan, giving his hand and shoulder each one last squeeze as I step aside to let the medics take over and get him on the stretcher.
As the EMTs take Mr. Earl away and my coworkers make their way out, I find myself staying behind. I need to regroup before heading back out there. I sit on his couch and place my head in my hands, slowly running them up my face and through my hair. Thinking I'm in here alone and that everyone else is on their way back to their designated stations, I let out a sigh and a low curse of "fuck," trying to sort through my thoughts and emotions. The main door pried open a bit, and Clark stepped back inside.
"Hey Via, you okay?" His voice is soft and sincere. Everyone here knows how I get when it comes to these things with our residents, but they also all know my special place for Mr. Earl in my heart. It's hard not to see how much that grumpy old man means to me.
I offer Clark a small, forced smile and nod.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for checking in on me."
Clark makes his way towards me on the couch and makes a hand gesture as if asking if it's okay for him to sit down with me. I shrug. As he closes in, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I instantly go into fight or flight mode, thinking of ways to get out of this situation.
He sits a little closer to me than I'd like. I'm still leaning over with my elbows on my knees and my hands supporting my face. He begins rubbing a hand up and down my back, and my body instantly stiffens to his touch.
"I know he means a lot to you, Via; he should be okay. Isn't he the cat man, as he calls it?" He says with a chuckle.
Growing very uncomfortable by the second, I stand quickly.
"Yeah, that's what he says." I ran a hand through my hair, annoyed now that I needed a minute alone to collect myself, and Mr. Persistence interrupted it for me. I clap my hands together softly and point towards the door.
"Well, I better get back out there."
As I turn to head out of Mr. Earls' unit, Clark calls after me, "Via,"
With a sigh of defeat, but trying not to show it, I turn back to face him— He's still sitting on the couch. Now, there's a look of frustration on his face.
"Yeah?" My voice is low. I haven't gotten the chance to report him to our supervisors yet, as I promised Ander. Part of me wants just to walk out and ignore him, but I'm trying to stay professional and not let my discomfort show.
"Did I hear Earl right. . . Did you really—" He hesitates, and oh fuck , I already know where this is going. If this wasn't uncomfortable enough.
"Did you go on a date with someone?" His eyes glared at me momentarily, impatiently waiting for my response.
I try to keep calm, but it isn't easy. My entire body is on high alert, and alarm bells are ringing in my ears, telling me to get out now.
"V, are you still in here?" Dessa's voice calls out from the doorway, breaking the brief, awkward silence. Relief courses through me.
"Yeah, I'm coming," I call back to her and offer Clark a flat line half smile and a wave as I turn back around and walk out the door toward Dessa.
"I saw everyone walk out but you and then noticed Clark go back in, so I figured I'd come to make sure you were okay. I can guess by the uncomfortable look on your face that he's trying to get in your lace panties again?" I chuckle and shake my head. Leave it to Dessa to simplify the situation.
"It's Clark," I sigh. She knows exactly what I mean by that.
"Have you ever brought up the random notes and flowers to him?"
Shaking my head, "No, it's too awkward. I wish he'd take the hint, though. Ander found out about it the other night. He didn't take it too well. He thinks I should report him."
"You need to! It's gotten completely out of hand. Especially to follow you to your therapist's office? Come on, V!"
"I know, I know. I will. I'm just nervous about what will come of it."
The hours flew by, and it was now almost time to clock out. Knowing this is usually when I have my best conversations with Mr. Earl, my heart stings a little, so I decide to call the hospital to check in on him.
After a long hold, his nurse, Priscilla, who used to work here with us but now works at the nearest hospital's emergency room, finally comes on the line.
"Hi Via, I'm sorry about the hold. It's swamped in here."
"Don't apologize; it's okay. I was calling to check on the patient we transferred over last night, Mr. Earl Jacobs. Can you provide an update on his status?"
There's a brief pause on the line: "I haven't gotten a chance to call your charge nurse and update her yet. Like I said, I was so busy last night. We did try reaching out to his next of kin, but there was no answer." Another pause: "I know what he means to you, but I'm sorry. He didn't make it."
The phone falls out of my hand, and my breath hitches to a halt as I let out a barely audible gasp, covering my hands over my mouth to bury the noise. Within seconds, my vision goes blurry, my head feels light, and my chest tightens.
I instantly clasp to the calming techniques Dr. Carr always tries to force down my throat.
Deep breath . Inhale, Four, three, two, and one. Exhale.
Focus on an object and point out everything you notice about it.
Binder. Blue. Large. Heavy.
Deep breath . Inhale, four, three, two and one. Exhale.
Tap your index fingers to your thumbs ten times while holding your breath.
Inhale. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Exhale.
Deep breath . Inhale, four, three, two and one. Exhale.
I pick the receiver back up. "Thanks, Priscilla; I will notify Cindy, who's taking over for charge right now." I hang up without a second thought.
I make my way over to the time clock, clock out, and then head to Cindy's office to tell her the news.
I knock on the open door. She's currently getting a report from Julie, our night-time charge nurse.
"I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm out for the day. I just wanted to let you all know that I checked in with the ER for Mr. Earl Jacobs, and he passed away. Priscilla asked that I pass the news on as she hasn't had a chance to call yet." Before speaking any other words, I turned on my heels and left. I am passing Dessa, who runs to the time clock and follows me, calling my name.
"Via! V, wait up!"
I wave behind me without stopping. "I'm okay, Des; I just need to clear my head."
I make it to my car, unlock it, and jump in. Once the car door closes, I can't hold back anymore— I let out a scream and unleash my fury on my steering wheel.
Maybe this job isn't for me like I thought it was. I'm not supposed to take death this hard, but how can I not?
I pull out my phone and dial the one number I hate the most. Mainly, I hate admitting that I can't handle everything on my own, and I feel like taking this avenue is inadvertently an admission of precisely that.
Ring. Ring. Ring
"This is Dr. Carr," her voice comes over the receiver softly, raspy, and barely audible. She must have been asleep. Shit. It's only six thirty in the morning. Of course, she was sleeping.
"Dr. Carr, it's Via Foley. I'm so sorry to have awaken you, I didn't realize the time—"
"Via, it doesn't matter the time. That's why I gave you my personal number. I'm glad you called. How can I help?"
I pause. I hadn't thought this through.
"I don't know." I'm so damn rude; I wake her from her sleep and then ask how she can help, and all I can give her is a stupid I don't know .
"I can hear in your tone that you sound worked up. Did you have another panic attack?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Okay, Let's start with what happened."
Without hesitation, "My patient, the one I told you I've grown close to, passed away last night," I sigh. "I don't know what it is I'm doing. I got into nursing thinking I could save lives and keep people from dying, yet I'm slowly realizing that there's no such thing. Everyone dies."
"Oh, Via, I see how that would send you into a panic attack."
Another pause.
"Did you try the grounding techniques we talked about?"
"Yes,"
"Did they help you?"
"Yes," I reply, feeling like a jackass for bothering my therapist at six thirty in the morning over a panic attack.
"Good. Now that you've settled your mind, you need to think. . ."
Another pause.
"What is it that you want for your life, Via? Do the work, journal it out, and work through your thoughts until you come up with the answer that best suits you. If this isn't it for you, that is OKAY. Most importantly, give yourself the same grace you freely give others."
I let out a breath and nod. Dumbass, she can't see you .
"Thank you, Dr. Carr. I'm sorry that I woke you."
"Stop apologizing. I will see you next week, but you call me back if you need to talk things through again."
After we say our goodbyes, I start my car and head home—but not to my house, to his .
It's about eight in the morning, and I'm just making it to the beach house. I called Ander on my way to make sure this was okay. He was already on his way home from his parents' house. He assured me that he would come to me if I didn't come here, so I should do whatever made me happy and not question it. So I did. I giggled when he told me that he still hides the key in the same spot my dad used to.
Walking through the field towards his home, I feel tears well up in the creases of my eyes. Returning to the island is overwhelming, and I'm sure it will be an adjustment. When I left work this morning, my heart craved the sound of the waves crashing the shore just as much as it yearned to have his arms around me. I'm pretty self-sufficient and have never longed to be held, but today, something feels different.
I exhale as I walk through his home for the first time without him here with me. Making my way to his room, I open the dresser and pull out a pair of Anders athletic shorts and a plain white T-shirt that fit me like a dress. I shed my scrubs and pull his clothes onto me, taking a moment to take in and appreciate his scent. Mixed with laundry detergent, it still smells like him, bringing me comfort.
After dressing, I walk through the field, toward the levee, and to the beach. Anders' truck pulls up as I step into the sand-filled grassy field. My steps are haltered, and I flash a soft smile his way. He jumps down from his big truck and wastes no time approaching me. Without a second thought, I ran to him.
"I've got you, babe." His arms wrap around me, pulling me in. He squeezes me a little tighter, and like a light switch flipped, a sob that I didn't know I was holding back bellows out of me. I guess that's how it works. After you hold back emotions for so long and you numb yourself, you get to a point where you don't even recognize what it is you're suppressing. Somehow, this man pulls it all out of me effortlessly.
Ander continues to hold me, rubbing his hand through my hair and wiping my tears away as they fall. He lets me cry. He lets me feel. He doesn't tell me to stop, tell me what I need to feel, or press me any further. He lets me, and it's exactly what I needed. I needed him .
After a while, I peel my head off his chest and meet his soft brown eyes, which are warm but filled with concern. I inhale a breath and then let it take its time as it rolls back out.
"I think. . . I think I hate my job."
He stifles a laugh as he offers me a nod. "You think that you hate it?"
I chuckle softly, reviewing my choice of words, and shove playfully at his chest.
"You get the point, smart-ass," I say as I pull away, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the levee, which will lead us toward the water. He gives my hand a soft squeeze as we walk.
"Care to elaborate?"
"My patient. . . He died."
His gaze is on me; I can feel it piercing through me, but he doesn't speak. He gently squeezes my hand, letting me know he's listening whenever I'm ready. His face is soft as if he's grateful that I'm coming to him while I'm hurting rather than running from him, and that isn't lost on me, either.
Progress .
"His name was Mr. Earl. He only loved one woman, whom he lost at a young age. He was never able to move past her. Hearing the way he would talk about her, the way he felt about her always reminded me. . ."
I let out a sigh.
"It would remind me of us."
Ander lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist as we continue to walk toward the beach.
"He was a tough one, a grumpy old bastard, but honestly, he was my friend. He opened up to me. He was one of the only people I opened up to about how much I missed—"
Ander stops us from walking further, effortlessly wrapping around me, colliding his lips with mine. After a while, we release one another and finally make it to the water, where we sit for a few hours, mostly in comfortable silence, as we watch the waves crash their assault into the shore.
I'm home.