I Sat With a Dying Man in Silence
And it rang louder than words ever could
A resume’ builder
It was my first day of volunteering on an end of life care unit— perceived as a devout act of charity, I figured it would look great on a resume’. Did I care about the act itself? Meh. Perhaps a little, or I told myself otherwise.
More than anything I figured it would assist hiring managers in making the right decision upon graduating Nursing School — to hire me for any job I decided to pursue.
Simply put, I didn’t care all that much about what I would be doing. I saw life as a grind and this aspect of it was no different — volunteering in exchange to get the cookie.
Thinking back to my state of mind at the time, I don’t regret feeling the way I did.
I was younger, more professionally focused, and less human-focused.
Applauding my honesty?
Well, soon, the narrative would shift along with my understanding of human nature as I knew it.
The concierge cart
When I had stepped onto the unit, I was greeted by excitement as my supervisor welcomed me to this place of suffrage.
“Hi Steven! Welcome to 4-North where you’ll be volunteering!”
I awkwardly clipped my badge to my shirt just to do something with my hands, “Haha, thank you Sam.”
She had proceeded to introduce me to the rest of the Nursing staff and the board to which I would see my patient-rooms I’d be rounding on.
As we were making our way through the orientation, another volunteer blew past me in tears.
“Jesus,” I said.
Sam replied “It can get a little emotionally charged in this role.”
Spurred on by curiosity, my ambivalence started to shrink. I suppose I wanted to know what I was in for — what I would see — how it would affect me — how I would walk away from this.
In an attempt to answer my hypotheses, I was shown to my concierge cart where I was to distribute various items to patients. The building block for which more was to come.
Toilet paper, face lotion, tissues, crayons, adult coloring books, and an ipad to watch movies were included in the mix — though I wondered; who the hell would want to color-code a Buffalo while on their death bed with crayons?
It’s safe to say I kept my thoughts to myself.
Perhaps these tiny gestures of distribution meant much more than I had realized. Like the use of each trinket allowed them to forget for even one second they would soon be leaving this world.
Maybe, or maybe it was something to distract from the writhing pain that could only be controlled with around-the-clock Opiates. I’m sure being that high, what they saw was much more interesting and allowed them to let go of lucidity — which I’m sure was a much-needed vacation from the latter.
I suppose it’s hard for me, a younger, healthier individual to understand the depths of a dying person at the time. I couldn’t even begin to try, but I figured I would roll with it anyways.
The toll
As I made my way to the first room I see a gentleman propped up in his bed with pillows supporting his back-side.
His gaze glued to the big screen mounted on the wall in front of him. He appeared to be somewhat checked out. The nursing staff explained to me that Tom was diagnosed with cancer throughout his body.
His spinal cord was so badly affected he couldn’t even walk.
I was even more thrown off to the fact that he doesn’t have any friends or family around that visit him on a daily or even weekly basis. He was the only one there that didn’t have some sort of support system.
No one to comfort his probable level of discomfort with his situation. And that just pained me. The nursing staff went on to say that he was fine being alone as long as his Jerry Springer was on, but that was just such bullshit to me.
How could anyone be alone? Some research has cited that it’s actually equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes.
That’s just how important human inter-connectedness really is. A reason I was so lucky in that volunteer position was that I was able to mend these symptoms temporarily.
Not because I felt like it was the obligatory right thing to do per say. But because I genuinely couldn’t bare to see someone go it alone.
Fuck that. We can all do something for somebody, right? Of course we don’t have to. If you feel like you have to then the preceding action probably won’t be genuine or cool. But if you would like to lend a hand and genuinely do it. Do it.
When silence means more than words
I introduced myself and extended my hand to the gentleman. He returned the gesture. “Good to meet ya”, as his attention reverted quickly back to Jerry Springer.
I figured I would spark a conversation so I could attempt to learn a little bit about the man. A short minute passed by as I sat in the chair beside his bed and I cut off Jerry as he was announcing who the father was.
“I hope your day has been eventful on a positive note” I remained as open-ended as possible to try and get the man talking as I’m sure he had much conversation bottled up with a lack of company.
I was baffled at a minute reply, “It was good,” As he again turned his head from me to the brawl breaking out on Jerry Springer between a mistress and a baby mama.
“I suppose I would find this more interesting myself than some dude coming in here for some small talk” I thought to myself.
The conversation went on like this for a few more back and forth exchanges. The conclusion was him gazing back to whatever crazy shit was ensuing during Jerry Springer every time.
Catching on the to social cue of inattention, I assumed his dis-interest in having a conversation for any lengthy amount of time. But something interesting happened when I went to get up and continue on my way.
“Where are you going?” I turn to meet his eyes fixed on my disposition, aggregating with the doorway and cart.
“Aren’t you going to finish the episode?” He asked.
“Well, yeah I suppose I have enough time” I said, surprised, yet understanding.
I turned my head toward him for round 2 of attempted conversation. I asked, “Is this your favorite show? You seem to really enjoy it”.
Again, I was met with a one word answer.
“It’s fine,” Quickly gluing his eyes to the tv screen, seemingly frantic to miss a beat.
This is significant. I know you may be thinking, “Where is the significance, dude? Just leave, he doesn’t give a fuck”. Indeed, that is what I thought, reader. But as is life, I prefer to navigate the realm of possibility.
“Maybe he is just not much of a talker. Maybe he is used to being alone with lack of company and lost his social skills. Maybe he is having an internal conflict due to his condition. Maybe…just maybe…”.
I stopped in my cognitive tracks to simplify. I went to get up and he asked where I was going.
He didn’t want to have a lengthy conversation by any means, but he didn’t want to be alone.
I think we as a culture are so used to having to talk all of the time; be constantly stimulated that we forget.
The maybe’s came back again, except in a way that made more sense of my conundrum.
Maybe he just wanted to have another human presence.
Maybe he didn’t feel like talking that day as he was feeling too sick to mentally bare anything other than Jerry Springer.
Maybe, just maybe, being there in silence is much better than forcing conversation in order to provoke a forced response.
Sometimes we think we need to talk all of the time, have a lengthy, meaningless conversation that tries to convey meaning, and ironically on a human level — the affection you try to ‘force’ ends up resulting in less. Learn to listen to silence as well as words.
Maybe they don’t expect us to alleviate anything at all.
Maybe we should realize when to shut the hell up.
Maybe we should just be present and be there.
As the credits rolled to Jerry Springer, Tom’s posture was relaxed and trustful. His eyes were finally closed and the ease of his withered body signaled to me that his silence was respected and comforted.
With his silent request being simple — so simple, it didn’t need to be said. But if it had been, I’m sure it would have stated, “Stay awhile.”
Thank you for reading.
