Leo* was simultaneously one of the most labour-intensive patients we have ever had, and one of the most memorable ones too.
He was 78, with a rapidly enlarging brain tumour in his frontal lobe - the bit of the brain that controls personality and inhibition amongst other things. This meant that as his disease progressed, he lost most of his self control and rational behaviour, whilst retaining some measure of memory from his earlier days.
This proved a significant challenge for the hospice team, because Leo was 100% convinced he was a member of staff. Every day at 5pm, he would pack his bags and leave his room as his shift was now ‘over’. He was 100% committed to this role too, as we once found him halfway across the hospice carpark in the middle of winter, barefooted.
We tried employing measures like a motion clip or falls mat - devices that would sound an alarm the moment he was on the move, however he found his way around these things and would clip them to his lampshade instead.
Leo had no family, which meant the people in closest contact with him were our staff, and there wasn’t anyone else who could sit with him to keep an eye out all the time. In the short time that we knew him, he was brought back thrice by amused policeman as he insisted he was a member of staff trying to get home from work.
Leo was always up to mischief and we could never quite decide if we were frustrated or tickled by this. Here are a mere handful of the dozens of unintentional misdeeds he pulled off, for your own judgement.
Operation: Call of Nature
One morning, we entered the doctors’ room to find a fresh patch of urine in the corner - it took half the day for the carpets to be bleached, and every now and again we are convinced we can still smell a hint of it. The hospital’s maintenance team are getting tired of our complaints, and we have locked our doctors’ room out of hours ever since.
Operation: Staff Training
Leo sounded the emergency alarm one afternoon (the same red buzzer you would hit if there was a cardiac arrest/medical emergency), and when a flurry of staff rushed to his room he started taking our attendance for his ‘fire alarm preparedness test’. To complete his look he had stolen a clipboard and some scrap paper.
Operation: Hospice Bouncer
There was a morning that we entered the hospice to find Leo, in PJs and a makeshift hospice staff name badge, standing next to our senior charge nurse at the entrance, asking to check our name badges before allowing us entry. This was no surprise as Leo had been a club bouncer in the earlier years of his career. Our charge nurse had been summoned as his ‘assistant’ in case someone tried to sneak in past him.
Operation: Shawshank
One evening, Leo had stuffed pillows underneath his duvet before sneaking out of the room to hide amongst the snow-laden bushes. He had also tried, thankfully to no avail, carving the wall behind his Interstellar poster with a butter knife - no points for guessing what film he had watched on the hospice DVD player that day...
Leo eventually became too frail to carry out any exertional mischief, and spent his last days largely bed bound. We continued to keep a close eye on him, though, and sure enough - the day before he fell into eternal rest he nearly ejected himself out of the adjustable recliner by dismantling the remote.
We still have Leo’s faux name badge in the paper tray on our ward clerk’s desk, to remind us of the laughter we stifled walking into the hospice that winter morning. There is never a dull day at work, and it is such a privilege to be able to share these moments with our patients. We do still keep our doctors’ room locked out of hours, though.
This week’s reflection prompt: What alternate personality would you like to embody, if embarrassment were no longer possible?
Also: Which was your favourite operation?
*All names and details have been changed to protect patient confidentiality
I don't know how many followers you have, but if there are a lot or they are growing, that shows that there is a real interest in your 'snippets'. They are very vivid and human. I think a lot of people would love to read these - often those working in the business or wondering whether to go into it.
Think about it. I could help you. No rush.
As you know, I have written a book about hospice care from the viewpoint of a variety of staff, using interviews with them – and there are a few books written by hospice doctors. You write exceedingly well. I wondered whether you were thinking of putting your posts together into a book at some point. I would urge you to do so.