When I became an RN 25 years ago, I decided that caring for the elderly was where I would learn not only how to truly be a nurse. but how to care for the most fragile, and I was right.
I was working as a weekend nurse at a long-term care facility on an intermediate care floor when I learned a new resident had moved in and she would need a little extra TLC. I introduced myself to Mary and told her I was so happy she was here. I could only imagine how difficult leaving a home full of memories for a floor full of strangers could be, and I wanted Mary to feel included.
Mary hung her head and barely said a word as I poured her medications into a soufflé cup. I made sure she took the meds and invited her to come to the dining room for breakfast. She politely declined, so I offered to bring her meal to her room.
As the weekend progressed, I realized Mary had barely left her room. I invited her to join me at my desk, thinking she could meet some of the other residents since they tended to congregate just outside my office to tell stories about the past. As I was preparing for the evening med pass, I noticed Mary walking toward me. I smiled and told her I was glad she could join me.
Missing pieces
As the weeks went by, Mary became more engaged. She swiftly became a fixture at my desk, which allowed me to ask her how she was feeling about her new home. In a soft voice, she confessed that she missed the home she and her husband shared and all the mementos they had collected from their travels together. Her husband had passed away three years earlier, and her son had gifted her with a rescue dog, a bichon frise named Snowball, to keep her company.
Mary's son had taken Snowball in after her house was sold in preparation for her move to the nursing home.
She spoke at length about her love for Snowball. Having to leave him broke her heart.
That evening Mary’s son called me to make sure his mom was doing well. I told him how she was beginning to come out of her shell, but that she missed Snowball terribly, and it was causing her to be more withdrawn. I asked her son, who lived 40 minutes away if Snowball was vaccinated — the facility allowed pets to visit.
Mary’s son was hesitant to bring Snowball in; he feared that seeing Snowball might cause his mother more pain. I asked him to think about it.
A precious visitor
One Sunday morning while I was passing meds, I got a call from Mary's son asking if it was OK to bring Snowball for a surprise visit. Of course, I said yes!
That afternoon as I was giving Mary her medication, I spotted the whitest ball of fur I had ever seen at the end of the hallway. Mary turned to see her precious Snowball running straight to her! I'll never forget the look of love in both of their eyes.
Snowball visited every two weeks after that, and Mary became the social butterfly of our floor. I truly believe just knowing that Snowball was going to visit gave Mary the strength to go on, even after losing so much.
Mary passed away two years later, but a picture of her and Snowball occupies a prime spot on my desk. It serves as a reminder that each patient is unique, and taking the time to get to know them is invaluable. I was happy that I could be a part of Mary’s life.
She taught this new nurse that a patient is more than a name on a chart, and everyone needs a little TLC at the most vulnerable times in their lives.
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