Three months ago, I received a patient, lying on bed, with an on going IVF of D5LR, awake and coherent that had undergone cholecystectomy. She was 73 years old, wrinkles on her face painted the years she has lived. She was old, but she was lovely. When my clinical instructor endorsed my patient, the first thing I have to do was to replace her IV fluid for it was empty. As easy as it sounds, it took me a long while to remove it, with tons of micropore tape sticking the IV cannula to her skin that has already lost its elasticity. I remember saying sorry each time I have to pull one strip off the tape and her brows would raise because it hurt, but she would reply to me with, “Sige lang anak, tanggalin mo. Parang iyon lang, hindi naman masakit,” followed by a sweet smile that even marked the wrinkles on her forehead and cheeks. And all I could do was smile in return and remove it with all patience and gentleness that I could give. And she would just laugh and smile.
The next day I handled her again. She would ask me to eat with her and her grandchildren, but of course I refused. She would tell me stories about her kids and grandchildren each time I will enter her room for her vital signs to be checked and her IVF to be regulated. She laughs a lot, and smile a lot. She was old but she was lovely. After that day, she was able to go home, and I bid her goodbye.
November. I received the same patient in the same hospital where I handled her for the first time. She was dying. When I saw her, I asked her, “Nay, naaalala mo pa ba ko?” and after a short pause, she answered, “Paano naman kita hindi maaalala…” then she paused again and continued, “…di ba ikaw yung ninang nung apo ko?” I smiled. I stayed in her room for a while. She kept on talking even if no one talked to her. She kept on saying names and look for a lot of people. She kept on telling stories. She was old but still she was lovely. When I was about to go home. I went back to her room, and finally I bid her goodbye.
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