The Ballad of Edward and Marie: Part II

(In case you missed it, read part I here)

As time slowly passed...seconds into minutes, minutes in hours, and hours into days, we'd all love to be able to say that Edward finally came to grips with the passing of his beloved Marie. We'd love to be able to say the healing process began, but the truth was, it never really did.

There have only been a few times in my career that I've given my personal cell phone number to a patient's family-- this was one of those times. Each day I'd hear from either Edward or his family. First, it was Edward more. He'd call me to tell me how much he missed her. He called about funeral date and times. We talked about the Cowboys and photography and other random things to try to clear his mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

Eventually, I received a call from Edward's family that I had hoped I would never get. Even in his near perfect health, now it was him who was in the hospital not even two months after she passed.

Little did any of us know (not even the family), Edward stopped taking care of himself the day Marie died. No longer was he working out each morning, eating healthy, and taking his medications. Some call this failure to thrive. That next day at work, Edward was transferred to my floor.

As I went in to take his vital signs at the beginning of my shift, I didn't recognize him. He was rail thin, and very weak sounding. I don't think he recognized me either.

"Hello, Edward...how are you feeling today?" I asked, being polite, although the sight before me said enough.

"Not good, sir. I just don't have anything left in me. I hurt all over, and I can't eat."

The doctors had spoke with Edward and his family about inserting a PEG tube or starting IV fluids to renourish him. Edward didn't want any of that. Unlike Marie, he wasn't a candidate for Hospice because technically, he didn't have a terminal illness. So we were treating him for "comfort measures" only.

Edward was only with us for a few more weeks. He never signed DNR paperwork, so the day we coded Edward was tough for all of us. Although each and every one of us in that room were professionals and didn't have any true attachment to him, it was one of the harder times I've had to work a code.

Imagine coding your grandfather. Or your best friend. Or even someone you know as a bit of an acquaintance. Imagine knowing the person behind the pale face. That's the only way I can describe it.

At 3:59pm, we lost a good man. A man of his country, of God, and someone with a gentle and caring nature. But most of all, we lost a man who loved a woman for sixty years.

More often than not, we are witnesses to tragedy. We aren't always healers, heroes, or even life-savers. A lot of what we do can't be measured in moments of happiness.

I can only hope that Edward joined his Marie in Heaven that day. It may not have been his plan, but someone had that in store for him. The doctor's never diagnosed Edward. There was no medical reason for his death, aside from Cardiac Arrest. He had no health problems, no heart conditions, and was fit and healthy, until his wife passed away.

I'm no doctor, but I'd say he died of a broken heart. It's entirely possible.

The Ballad of Edward and Marie: Part I

"Marie, would pass me that stupid remote already? I promise I won't accidentally call the nurse this time, but my Cowboys are playing on TV."

"In a MINUTE, Edward. You know 'Days of Our Lives' reruns on Sunday."

"Hmph...Days of Our Lives. If that was anything like real life...," Edward said mockingly, stopping mid-sentence as he noticed I was in the room.

As I stood there in the room trying to take Marie's vital signs, I listened to their spat. They were both pushing 90, so it was almost adorable in a sense to hear them bicker like cats and dogs, because in some strange way you could hear the love behind their words. Sure, they fought, but it was never ugly. They were the couple you looked at and knew they were soulmates.

Edward and Marie were high school sweethearts. Shortly after graduating, like most men of his age during the time, Edward was drafted into the service. He spent two years in Germany and loved it, but it was the hardest part of Marie's life, as she'd tell any complete stranger who was willing to listen.

Edward returned home in the fall of 1950, somewhat a changed man. But his new outlook on life and his increased maturity never changed his feelings for "his Marie." They married a month later.

"Mrs. Connolly, I need to check your blood pressure and your temperature," I said, speaking up softly during a pause in their little conversation.

"Oh please dear, I'm Marie to you guys." Her voice was so pleasant, so calm, for someone in her situation. Years of smoking had finally taken its toll on Marie. She was in with stage IV lung cancer that had, unfortunately, metastasized to her brain. A sad, but very real, reality of working in healthcare is that you see truly good people pass away, and it can often be the demise of their own lifestyle choices.

She knew this as well as we all did. She preached to every single one of us about not smoking, and even convinced her grandson to quit. Prior to being diagnosed with the big C, Mrs. Connolly was the healthiest person I've ever known. I was convinced in a lot of ways that she was in better health that I am, and she had a good seventy years on me. Edward was the same way.

Reality never quite hit Edward as it had Marie and the rest of the family. Even the words "terminal cancer," coupled with the fact that his beloved was placed on Hospice for palliative care, never quite seemed to phase him. You see, to Edward, Marie was a Superwoman of sorts. He'd jokingly say things like, "Hell, she raised five kids and worked two jobs just because she enjoyed being busy. This is nothing she can't overcome." Until one night in particular...

Slowly but surely, Marie's health did in fact steadily decline. Day by day, her labs were looking worse and she was becoming paler, frailer, and less vibrant. On a bleak and dreary night, mid-October, Marie took a turn for the worst.

Likely the result of the fact that she wasn't eating, wasn't drinking fluids, and refusing her medications (I can't blame her...they made her sicker than a dog), Marie called us into the room. She looked intently at Edward, then at the nurses, CNAs, and myself.

"My babies, I think it is time soon. I don't have the fight left in me."

Oddly enough, by the next morning, Marie was nonverbal and unresponsive to any sort of stimuli. She was still breathing, but every single breath she took, we were convinced it would be her last. She was struggling, and blatantly miserable. Edward didn't know what to do. He was her rock, her guidance, and her hope...now all he could talk about was how he was losing it too.

I pulled Edward aside for a brief moment. It was one of the hardest moments I've ever had in the short time I spent as a CNA with hospice. I placed my hand on his shoulder, exhaling deeply, trying to put my words together. Without much thought, I spoke to him from my heart.

"Mr. Connolly, erm...Edward? You are doing all that you can, and so are we. I don't want you to let go, but she wants to hear something from you. At her core, she wants to know that you will be okay."

I thought about how ridiculous I was sounding. I stopped for a second to recollect my thoughts. I knew it in my mind to be the truth, but I didn't want to seem like a know-it-all or a mind-reader, because this just wasn't the case. I was all of 21 years young, but I've been on this side of the dying process for years, and have seen it more times than I can count.

Much to my surprise, Edward nodded, his voice trembling as he spoke: "I know, son. I really do. But she's my Marie..."

There were no words that could make this any better for him. Instead, I nodded in understanding and let him know with my eyes that I was there for the both of them. As Edward walked back into the room, he gently motioned for us to leave. As I walked slowly out the door, I saw him reach for her hand.

None of us know what Edward said to his wife on that day, nor will we ever. When the nurse and I re-entered the room about an hour later to round on Mrs. Connolly, we found her with no pulse, no longer struggling to breathe. Edward said it just happened seconds ago. He wasn't struggling to fight back tears, nor was he trying to be tough. He was being real.

And this is one of the more difficult parts of a career in medicine. Good people die, and you carry them with you. You touch their lives just as they have touched yours. There's a "Marie" inside each of us that work in this field.

Edward returned home to an empty house for the first time in almost sixty years. His family told us he was oddly calm, or that maybe it just hadn't hit him yet. But we knew he'd be okay. Or so we hoped...

Announcing GenMed

When I first began blogging and Twitter back in June of 2008, I set out with a simple mission: To express my opinions and share my knowledge and experience with other students, health care professionals, and members of the general public. I wanted to offer an "inside view" at what I deal with on a daily basis. Simple enough, right?

Well, shortly after I joined Twitter, I found out my true mission. My passion, if you will. As time progressed and I met and spoke to some amazing people with a similar goal in mind, I realized that not only did I want to touch other people through my writings, but that I wanted to make an impact on the entire health care field. (Dream big, right?)

Working in health care has opened many doors for me and taught me many things. It helped me to put my own life into perspective, while doing what I love the most-- helping other people.

All of this in mind, what happens when a group of four young people with similar goals and interests in mind, get together and brainstorm?


We call it GenMed (short for GenerationMedicine). What started as somewhat of a joke by the infamous MsParamedic (@MsParamedic on Twitter) on a Skype call was followed by a long pause and then a, "Hey, we can do this! Yes?" One thing led to another, and for the past few weeks the four of us have been planning our contribution to health 2.0, if you will.

So, what is GenMed? GenMed is podcast geared toward young health care professionals and students. We call it Generation Medicine because we are the "young blood" in the field and we're hoping to improve and revamp the entire system, while helping people in our age group at the same time. Basically, we'll be tackling hot issues and conflicts with our own viewpoints, and using the current research.

GenMed has four hosts. Scott (@scottthemedic) is an emergency responder and paramedicine student in Canada. Meris (@medic61) is an EMT/FF and nursing student from Virginia. Natalie (@MsParamedic) is a critical care paramedic, preceptor, and pre-med student from Louisiana. And last but not least, yours truly, the CNA and RT student from Texas.

So, what can you do to help? Be sure to follow the show on Twitter (@genmedshow); this is probably the easiest way to find updates about progress of upcoming shows, etc. Once the website/blog for the show are up and running, I'll be sure to drop a link here. The main thing here is FEEDBACK. Did I say feedback? Yeah, feedback. We want to hear from you, about anything from opinions, questions, upcoming guest spots on the show...whatever is on your mind. (Contact us at genmedshow@gmail.com.) Also, as most of you know, social media is an excellent means of spreading word on what is new on the horizon. So, help us out with retweets, mentions, and tell your friend, your cousin, and your uncle Bob.

Due to schedule conflicts, we're not yet certain the date of the first podcast, but we figure it will be up sometime within the next month, so keep your eyes and ears open!

On a side note, for those of you who would like to know a little more about the show, I will be appearing tomorrow night, 12/10/09, as guest on the Doctor Anonymous Show on BlogTalkRadio at 8pm CST/9 PST. Come over and join us, will you?

Thanks for the support! You guys are awesome! Feel free to contact us at the email address above, on any of our twitter account, or as a comment on our blogs.