May* was 59, with an aggressively enlarging thyroid tumour. It had been 3 months since she was last able to swallow any solid food - she had a feeding tube inserted into her abdomen for her nutritional needs.
May was the tiniest adult patient I had ever met. She stood at barely 4 foot 8 and weighed about 30kg - a result of the horrible illness that was enveloping her. Once, my 6-foot-tall colleague had accidentally tripped over a rug in her room and nearly fell over her. Every medic in that room held their breath thinking that we were going to make the headlines the next morning - ‘Hospice Doctor Crushes Patient to Death in Unfortunate Accident’.
May was also the most foul-mouthed patient I had ever met. Colourful language was simply part of her vocabulary; despite her speech getting progressively worse with the tumour precariously impinging on her airway, she swore like a trooper and was certainly not apologetic about any of it.
We often watched in awe as she continued to stubbornly live her life in the hospice to the fullest. A few times a day, she would gingerly walk herself out in her teal fleece robe to enjoy a rolled-up cigarette, and she set the fire alarm off several times by accidentally burning toast in the middle of the night in the off-limits staff room. She also hung out in the family room to watch Hallmark movies with other families, often without their consent.
When we celebrated May’s 60th birthday in the hospice, the team arrived in her room only to helplessly watch her finish pouring half a bottle of red wine down her feeding tube. ‘I’m f*ing 21 again’, she said cheekily as she set the wine bottle back down on the table.
‘Hospice Doctors Kill Cancer Patient With Alcohol Overdose’ could have been the headline the next day, if not for us successfully redirecting her to the gifts and cards she’d received.
May passed away peacefully in her sleep shortly after her birthday. When the nurses tidied her belongings they found scraps of paper she had used for communicating when she wasn’t able to speak. Most were illegible scribbles on nicotine-stained pieces of torn newspaper, but there was one little note on a lined piece of notebook paper that we have kept in the doctors’ room since - ‘thank you for being a bloody amazing team’.
Sometimes it is the tiniest of patients who warm your heart the most. Our feisty little May certainly embodied that, and has inspired a generation of hospice staff to live a bolder life.
*All names and details have been changed to protect patient confidentiality
I can picture May and love that she lived life on her own terms. That is the most any of us can ask for I think, to be true to who we really are.
Just wanted to give you a heads-up that Life in a Hospice is on promotion 12-13 July at 99c/99p (ebook only). Useful for you to know or tell colleagues - getbook.at/Hospice