May 24, 2010

• So we cried (WDTFD? part 3 of 3)

  "My mother.... is dying...?" she said aloud.  As if she needed to hear herself utter those very words.

  But she couldn't accept it.  She turned and looked at me.  "My mother.... is dying??"

  I'm sorry, Bong ("older sister" an endearing title for someone older than oneself).  I placed my hand on her shoulder.

  At first, her tears trickled quietly.  Then a roar of emotion erupted like I had never seen before.  "My mother.... is dying.... I'm losing my mother...!" she wailed.  Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around my waist and began to hug me.  Tight.  "My mother.... I'm losing my mother... My mother is dying.....!"  Her cries echoed down the hall, other patients and families stared in our direction.

  I was a rock.  Or so I thought.  As I stood there, I pursed my lips and tried to hold my emotions in.  It's okay to cry... go ahead and cry.  I rubbed her back. 

  "My mother... I'm losing my mother.... please help us.... please...can't you help us... I'm losing my mother," she pleaded with me, as if fate were in my hands.  But it wasn't.

  Why does this feel different, this time?
  

  
  I've been a nurse for 4 years, and supporting a patient's family through the dying process is never easy.  Nevertheless, usually I'm calm.  I'm collected. 

  But not this time.

  Is it because she might have survived if she were in the States?
  Is it because the patient is wearing olive skin, wrinkles, and silver&black hair like my own mother?
  Is it because this daughter's pleas are spoken in Khmer, my native language? 
  Is it because this family placed more hope in us than in local staff, because we came from overseas?
  Is it because we failed her?
  Is it because I tried my best, but it wasn't enough?
  Is it because I came here with unrealistic expectations?
  

  I don't know exactly what it was, but it all came out.  Hot, fresh tears roared down my face, pooling together with the daughter's tears as she continued to hug and mourn in my arms. 

  So we cried, the two of us holding one another, standing there in the middle of the hallway.  Her crying because she was losing her mother, and me crying because she was losing her mother. 

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