ESSAYS by Tony D. Helfrick, R.N. ~Page 2 of 2~   Click on any underlined title in the list below to be linked to that essay: “THE LAST SNOW OF ‘92” “SAYING GOODBYE” “MALADIES, MISHAPS AND MUCK” “IN MEMORIAM - Remembrances of September 11th, 2001” “On the Other Side of the Needle” click here for Page 1   “THE LAST SNOW OF ‘92” It fell, almost with a vengeance, 1992.  It started about dusk, as I began work at the hospital, first slowly, just scant scatterings of dusty-like whiteness, then it became a wet snow, described by some of the patient’s visitors as snow-melted as soon as it had fallen. “Good”, I thought. I wondered, had some Higher Power destined me to shovel tonight or tomorrow morning- just three short weeks before my move before my move southward and away from all the snow?  Dismissing my rhetorical question, I continued on, occasionally glancing toward the window. Soon, the sun thickened, and seemed a purposeful, deliberate action of heavy flakes. Visibility on the road below appeared impaired, and was heightened by the brish, cold wind accompanying it. Yet, it still fell.  Night shift nurses called, saying they might be a little late, not knowing road conditions at midnight. This was actually our biggest accumulation this winter- one which had had only faint glimmerings of flakes, or mild dustings, able to be swept away!  Why, I had made it all through winter with only my rock salt for the driveway, and my trusty broom to sweep the walk and steps. But for a mid-March snowfall to continue plodding onward like this- it was indeed a curiosity! I called Al, who is in the Florida home, and as soon as the other house will be purchased, I would arrange for a long trip for furniture, including all our things, and also the organ, and all the pipes and console.   We each met each other, and we each had a home, and we decided to see which of the two of them would be sold. We did lower the price so the home would be sold, and then we can plan for Florida and Al was teaching in the University. At !:30 A.M., after several minutes of brushing off snow from my car, and driving home was hazardous. The snow was wet, and the air was approximately zero degrees, Celsius, causing packed snow on isolated back country roads to be slick and dangerous.  I was very careful, especially at the curves, and at one particular outcropping of rock, that which appeared at another bend in the road.  Yes, I had made it home, but I felt I had driven home on a windshield, my rear wheels sliding from side!  It’s not fun at all to drive a vehicle which you cannot control due to icy roads. In the morning, I awoke to a Winter Wonderland.  That’s a great song in December, but in mid-March, well, one doesn’t want to hear about the attributers of sleigh bells, heavy snow, and hot chocolate around the hearth. It was still snowing at 10:00 AM, and all the weather people could tell me was the marvels of the storm on radar!  Cut the marvel crap and tell me- how many inches, AND WHEN WILL IT STOP??? It seems “Weather People” have of late gotten a penchant for the dramatic, when all of us sitting here in our armchairs want to know, BOTTOM LINE INFORMATION! What?  How much?  When? And How Long? Surely, they could answer those questions! It still seems to fascinate them that storms go from west to east, and, “Duh, Wut’s in Chicago? An’, well, it’s gonna come over there to Pencil Vania, or however you spell this thing, and then maybe it might be on the East Coast. Why ever does that surprise them? Someday, I’d like to hear a really creative weatherman doing a forecast- “Believe it or not, folks, (or is it fools?)   A man was whispering to a man covering the golf game. “Believe it or not, a voice sounded like a golf commentator saying, “He’s about to use his nine iron here, George,” and he continues, “The storm we have been tracking for the last nine days that has blown Brownie Troop 146 into a HUGE snow bank as they were selling cookies. Then they moved onto a trailer camp and decapitated the roofs of seven trailers!” (Uh, leaving all the families without a roof over their heads, said George.”  “This ugly, ravaging storm is now attacking the Kennedy compound at Hyannis, and is, according to our psychic sources doomed to go out to sea.”  “Yes, folks, he admits with some chagrin, “we here at WARP radio even uses those 900 numbers.” Well, the snow is still coming down, and I’m aware I must go find that shovel I buried somewhere in the basement. Ah, it’s a heavy snow, as all wet ones are, and soon my back begins to ache. These muscles haven’t been used since the last Presidential Election, though I don’t recall any snow then, either. Back inside again, after a couple of Advil, a change of clothes, a nice hot cup of coffee and my trusty afghan.  I think I’ll close my eyes and dream of The Sunshine State! © Toni D. Helfrick   “SAYING GOODBYE” There comes a time in our lives when we will find a situation of a loved one dying.  It is sometimes a parent, a sibling or even a friend.  But losing anyone who we care about is quite painful. I have seen many persons holding the hand of a loved one who is dying, and reassuring them that they will take care of the other or others.  Until I began a nursing career, I did not even have the idea that “saying goodbye” to a loved one is a very special way of telling the dying person that, “It’s alright to die, or pass to the other side,” allowing the dying patient to feel some comfort knowing they are not abandoning their family or friends. My first experience with speaking of death with a dying person hit me right in the face. As it happened, I was caring for a seven year old boy, and I was twenty-one at the time.  “It’s alright, Nurse.  I know I’m gonna die,” the boy said, causing tears in my eyes.  I asked him how he felt about it, and his biggest concern was that I would promise to comfort his mother after his death.  I fought off tears, as he was not afraid of dying and I assured him I would comfort his mother, and the boy was pleased. After the child had passed, I did spend time with his mother, and she cried, thinking he already knew about it. It was only when I told her what her son had asked me to do, and that he did not fear death, but rather, he was afraid for his mother.  The child had leukemia, and in those times, there was no cure, though there are for some types of leukemia now. As a Hospice nurse, I have spoken with many patients who knew they were dying, and each one is different than the other.  I was caring for a patient in his own home, and who was unable to speak at that time.  That is not uncommon, as many persons who are very ill can and do sleep.  The last faculty they have is that of hearing what is said to them. And in the home where I was working, I found a very fine family, very loving and caring. Many had travelled long distances, and they also were both happy to be with family they had not seen for a while, and each one dealt with their own grief, in their own way. I have been with loved ones who are dying, and I know just how they ache inside. Yet, at the same time, we all know that the patient is ill, and is possibly suffering. Many others, friends and neighbors all came, both to see the patient, and also to comfort those who are in what I call ‘early grief’.  There is no one stereotype of how a person feels about a loved one who is dying.  There is likely a potpourri of feelings, and they often are different.  The grieving family and friends are in early grief, and it is also called anticipatory grief.  Each one needs to deal with their feelings, and this is not easy the first time.  It also refers to the relationship that they had with the dying person, and the more pleasant the relationship is and the fact that they liked each other before this, can make it somewhat easier. I could see on the faces of family and friends their pain, their desire to just want to talk to the dying person again, and I also saw love and tenderness on all their parts toward the dying patient. There are often tears from some, and others can even laugh, which is good as well. They all have a common bond - they love this person, and are saddened that he will not be here, and they cannot see his smile, his kindness toward others, the twinkle in his eyes and what was described to me as overall goodness, prior to his illness. Very often, if the person who is dying is also a caretaker, such as a spouse, a parent or one who has charity toward others, the patient often tries valiantly to stay alive for them, the people he loves. This is usually the time I speak to family members, just to let them know that the patient needs to know that the others will be alright, will care for each other, children or a spouse. In short, the patient needs to know that it is O.K. to die, or to pass, and he needs to know who will take care of things for him, when he is not there.  It is actually, a reassurance of love from family, usually, and it allows the patient to relax and stop worrying about everyone else. For as much as the others worry about the patient, he also is worrying about them, especially if he is a caretaker. This man is such a fine person, without question. I explained this to the patient’s family.  Not everyone is comfortable with ‘saying goodbye’, but I usually tell families about this, and the option or choice is whatever is comfortable for them.  Sometimes, a chaplain or a social worker has a fine bond with the family or patient and either of them can do this very well, also. In this home, a son-in-law of the patient came to his bedside and told him many things I did not hear, but it was obvious that the patient was listening. “We do not want you to worry, Dad,” said the son, “And I will take care of all the girls.” He said much more, but I think the son-in-law knew what the patient was thinking. And then, I was surprised when the patient’s grandson, a young man, stood by his grandfather, and told him what a wonderful grandpa he has been, and how other friends of his had wished they had a grandpa like his. I glanced at him, and saw that the grandson was happy to be able to tell him all the things that many of us never had the opportunity to say. The young grandson then said, “Grandpa, I would like to be like you, but I don’t know if I can ever fill your shoes.”  I found myself with tears, for one does not usually hear such a sincere expression of love by a young man. Indeed, he may have just what it takes to be like his grandpa. As I have often experienced, “saying goodbye” is rather taxing at the end, and it is an act of love, to give the patient peace of mind.  Without question, when this patient passes, he will be without worry. And, that is all we can ask- that we have given him peace of mind. ~Some circumstances of this family have been changed in this writing, for their privacy. © Toni D. Helfrick   *MALADIES, MISHAPS AND MUCK* Emergency Room triage nursing requires a cool head, the ability to effectively assess while keeping the traffic flowing and, most importantly, the ability to not laugh when the presenting party strikes your funny bone. Why do patients come to the E.R.?  Obviously, some arrive with urgent and emergent conditions. Then there are our recidivists who offer some creative reasons for returning. Each person takes a ‘triage slip of paper’, and they write:  “Medical Problem_________________________”  The answers some fill in are…unique: “I have ukaris pain”. “I have high blood.” (also low blood and bad blood) “I have a second degree burn on my right wife.” (Where IS the left wife?) “I bronicals”. (Sounds like a musical instrument.) “I came for a technical shot.” (You’ve come to the right place.) “I have trouble with my virginia.” (This is Florida, Dear.) “I have pain in the grain.”  (No doubt, a poet) “I have a hear ache.” (Combined headache and earache?) “I have trouble with my sponge.” (Sink sponge or tub?) “I have pain in my wee wee.” (This man is 40 years of age!) “I have food in my esophagus.” (most of us do) “I have a problem.”  (Yep. But WHAT IS IT? ) “I have been dizzy for three months.” (Has the E.R. been closed?) “I ate half a bar of Ex-Lax.”  (I wonder, is she constipated or loves chocolate?) “I have something in my foot.” (I guess we all do.) “I have buckteeth.”  (Hey, this is an emergency I can sink my teeth into) “My penis is irritated.” (Maybe we made him wait too long?) “I had a rash, but none at present.” (Nice of you, to stop by) “I have an old bullet wound.” (Five years old! A Birthday?) “I have deterioration in my mental status.” (Amazing, most of us wouldn’t admit that.) “I fell one foot from a roof.” (Incredible!) “I swallowed a dime.” (If it were a quarter, you could make a phone call!) “I have an impification.” ( Hmm, Trying to impress me with big words?) “I take Latex.”  (It’s amazing she’s alive!  We’d better hide the gloves) “I have a large growth on my right foot for eight years.”  (Astounding how people will play, ‘impress the nurse’) “Don’t know. I might have chicken pots.” (Didn’t F.D.R. say, “a chicken in every pot?”) “Medical Problem:  Many” (could you be a little explicit?) “Problem urinadin. P.” (Yep, I think I have this one.) “I passed a large clog.” (Roto-Rooter could use your saavy) “Was hit by another vehicle this morning.” (Uh, is patient a vehicle, also?) “Cut mouth acting sleepy”. (acting sleepy and cut mouth, or is your mouth acting sleepy?) “Sick.”  (No doubt a man of few words.) “Pebble in right ear.” (O.K. I won’t ask how it got there.) “Breathing, coughing and joking” (Two out of three are good!) “Son’s arm hurting-not using.” (If he’s not using it anyway, why did he come in?) “Vomatine, pain in below and back paints.” (Uh, no comment.) Some are different; I can’t find them all… “cold feeling in middle of chest and metal taste.” “Hi Fever, and I will go into convotion.”  “Ear ace.”  “Headache dizzle” (Hey, is this a new beverage?)  “I have swollen glanes.”  “Pain with penis. Pain all over”.  “Bladder proglam.  “Head ace, can’t breath.”  “A girl burn me.  I need a techatut shot.”  © Toni D. Helfrick   “IN MEMORIAM - Remembrances of September 11th, 2001” He sees the building as it is destroyed and ducks into an alley to prevent being harmed as it collapses… She rides the ferry to work, and sees fire in the tower and suddenly sees a plane crash into the other tower where she works and she fears for her friends and coworkers… Transit Authority Police, City of New York rescue workers, New York Police and Firefighters are on the scene in no time;  many are killed trying to help others escape…As the  towers collapse, a mother watches in horror on the TV and she fears her son might be inside…  on the street, chaplains and clergy comfort the sick and dying; persons appear from their homes to the street to help… rescue workers from other cities nearby, then from all over America gather their gear and go to New York, working with rescue crews in twelve hour shifts, trying to find anyone buried beneath the rubble… Mayor Giuliani goes to the Financial District, spends long hours there and supports all the people, and the work that is being done. Deep sadness and anger are seen in his eyes, coupled with a strong resolve… President Bush, in a schoolroom in southern Florida, was reading a story with  small children, is told of the catastrophe, and carefully leaves without frightening the children; then, on a phone from Air Force One, speaking with the Vice President, and they have an Emergency Plan…A third hijacked plane passes the White House and crashes into the Pentagon, killing hundreds… Those aboard a fourth hijacked plane learn, as they call family members from their cell phones, that other planes have been hijacked and crashed into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, and the passengers realize they are a bomb about to strategically flown into some national monument or facility, after saying goodbye to their families on shared cell phones, several of them decide to overtake their hijackers and force the plane into the ground, where it crashed and burned. These are all our heroes, America. ~The above are actual vignettes of persons at the World Trade Centers, One and Two, The Pentagon, and United Airlines Flight 93, that crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania,on September 11, 2001, to avert hitting the White House. © Toni D. Helfrick, 2011   “On the Other Side of the Needle” ~Part 1~ I guess it happens sooner or later to all nurses and doctors. They need surgery of some sort, at some time or another. Yes, my turn was today. It was a relatively benign procedure, when compared to those who I have seen operating on my bunion, and others that I have seen done on other patients for whom I have cared. So, I should be thankful for little things! My husband, Al and I awakened at 0500, for a 0600 hospital arrival. Al hadn’t slept all night, but I had been catching Z’s, and I would never have awakened on time without him awakening me. Suddenly, the mad desire for coffee forced me to abruptly turn away, and literally avoided it. I was N.P.O. In medicalese, (that means starved to death and ready to eat any dead road-kill.) I had things to do, anyway. Having showered yesterday, and also having shaven off most of my bodily hair below the waist. (Perhaps, an overkill for foot surgery?) Nonetheless, I had been instructed by staff that I was to go directly to the tub, to do my "preps" with Betadine. Being a nurse, and having my surgery done at the hospital in which I work, I was naturally asked to do two of the three Betadine scrubs on my right foot at home, myself. Sitting on the edge of a cold, porcelain tub at bedtime is definitely NOT something I relished. I donned the gloves and began my first scrub, having assembled all the items the night before. Though, it did keep me wide awake. Another Betadine scrub was done at 0500,and I scrubbed diligently, being not at all desirous of a post operative foot infection. Suddenly, I realized my "pre-surgery planning" had neglected something. The Betadine not only landed on my foot, through time and wear, had denuded the porcelain.. The thirsty, dull finish of these parts of the tub, literally sucked in the Betadine with relish and fervor. It was as though my tub had been parched and longed for an ugly brown stain. It’s wish came true. As I completed my two scrubs, I allowed the second Betadine to ‘air dry’, on my foot, and then was wrapped with a hospital supplied sterile towel, and I secured it with an elastic band around my ankle. Then I washed, dressed, and rather cursorily brushed my hair-now curly, but soon to be ‘mashed’ in an OR-type shower cap. ~Part 2~ They had instructed me NOT to wear deodorant, perfume, makeup, hair spray, lotions or powders. I looked in the mirror and saw me as a corpse. No, even THEY have on their make-up! I complied with all the above, EXCEPT for the deodorant. I go NOWHERE without deodorant! I then stuffed my toweled foot into a sandal, and the other into its’ mate, and we were off to the Land of Make Believe. Al, my husband, wanted to accompany me to the Ambulatory Surgery Unit, above my protestations. Finally, I acquiesced, and he carried with him on the elevator two bags, for two days...that’s not too bad, is it?? As I donned the gown, mashed my hair with the shower cap and mounted onto the stretcher, Al’s face turned a funny color- sort of, a "hospital gray". He’s never liked being in hospitals, even to visit others, and I, the total antithesis, felt right at home here. Having been a nurse for thirty years, and in addition, was a volunteer during all four of my high school years at our hometown hospital, I’ve begun to think of them as my second home. I finally convinced Al to go home and have breakfast, since his color would soon have blended in with the wallpaper. He agreed, finally, and he went home. Next came another Betadine prep, several forms to sign by the nurse, and the usual period of waiting. It seemed interminable. Finally! To the O.R., an I.V. in the right dorsal hand, and a history taken by the anesthesiologist, who had a good sense of humor. I LIKE that in an anesthesiologist. Most of them look like morticians. Since I was having a local ankle block, I’d be awake and able to talk to this man during the procedure. All this for a big toe operation?? ~ Part 3~ I WAS a bit miffed that they wouldn’t let me watch, but it was over soon, and after being in the recovery room, I went to my room, wide awake, and pain free. This kind of medicine numbs approximately for eight hours. Good stuff! I was now in my bed, had no pain; the Marcaine block would still be in effect for several hours. My foot, dressed, with the toes exposed, had a large pin going through the top of my big toe, and through the next bones, also, to keep it aligned. On the big toe had a white plastic ball on the end and looked like Minnie Pearl had shoved her hat pin into my foot. Nah, she’d have the string and a price tag on her hat, too. Besides, I don’t think she’s alive anymore, anyway. I had a lovely young student nurse caring for me, and I asked her if she could retrieve my clothing from Ambulatory Surgery. Hospitals don’t tell student nurses everything they need to know, likely so they can feel important, and needs to be asked questions. After a long wait, I picked up my "Princess Telephone", and called them as though I were a nurse working on the floor that I was on. "Mrs. Helfrick in Rm.218 would like her clothing brought over," I heard myself say. The nurse said she had brought the clothing and they were in the closet! When the supervisor stopped by to say hello, I asked her to retrieve them for me, and she did! Soon, I saw my Student Nurse enter again, and I asked her when I would receiving my walker. I then visualized all that IV fluid being processed through my kidneys, a huge bladder ready for excretion, and hydroureter! I wasn’t about to use one of those you-know-what’s! My nurse again didn’t know to call, so when she left the room, I did it again. "Hello, this is the second floor. We need a walker ASAP for Mrs Helfrick in 218. She is annoyed, and please, send it to her." Ah-h-h-h. I received the walker just in time, and ambled off to the bathroom with one foot in the air. On my way from the bathroom, another nurse passed my room, and I was busy watching me attempting to amble my way up to my bed, between chairs, tables and pillows. "I don’t want you without any help. Now, do you understand??" "Oh, yes, of course." That’s my response for, "Get lost, I’ll do what I want." Next, I noticed the T.V. wasn’t working. Picture, yes, but not any sound. I then realized I was far better at getting things myself, so I called them, asking that the T.V. be fixed post haste, as the patients in the room were complaining. (My roommate was asleep, but I’m certain if she was awake and wanted T.V., she would most certainly be complaining.) So, I "stretched" it. It was now a Done Deal, in about ten minutes. One of those patient advocate persons was dispatched immediately to be sure I was a happy camper. What nonsense! And Hillary is going to fix Healthcare? Ah, all the comforts of home, and a nice breakfast that I didn’t even have to make myself. Of course, if I had made it, it wouldn’t have looked or smelled like this one. I had what you call a ‘generic tray’, that is to say, I didn’t get the opportunity to choose the food. It was just put there by some generic kitchen person and brought to me. Not exactly room service, but I’m not at the Waldorf. Well, it wasn’t too bad. You can’t do too much to Special K, milk and canned pears. Since I was only a 24 hour stay, I was a Triple M patient. (That means only Meals, Meds, and Makes it to the John alone) IF you’re a busy nurse, or on overload, I’m a real find. But that’s O.K. I’m not into small talk, and was just getting used to my walker without the evil eye of Nurse Ratchett. She wasn’t even my nurse, but happened to be passing my room and took it upon herself to scold me for using the walker alone. Some nurses do that when they see a student nurse taking care of a patient. I think they’re called ‘co-dependents’. Anyway, I never saw her again, and I think she instinctively knew that what I was going to do with my walker had nothing to do with her or her directives. With my vivid imagination, I could even envision other fine places to put the walker! ~Part 4~ Then came lunch, ugly as it was. Our hospital has the penchant for making iced tea with absolutely no taste. That’s right- it looks like iced tea, but after you add ice, lemon and sugar, these items are lost in the abyss of the tea, which still tastes like nothing. The lemon, sugar and ice were never seen or heard again. Then, someone stopped by to see my roommate. "Do read this, Dear", she said, condescendingly, "when you have the time." I explained to her that my roommate was slightly confused. Unabashed, she handed the pamphlet to her anyway, and she left. It was only when my roommate began to EAT the pamphlet that I got on my trusty walker, and took the pamphlet to her anyway, and I left. "What’s the matter? Don’t you have a bed?" I assured her I did and she added, "What are you doing in MY house, anyway?" Maybe I should’ve eaten my tray of ugly food and consumed the horrible tea. I must learn not to interfere. Now we had afternoon report at shift change, and my new nurse was very nice, but I labeled her The Phantom, since I never saw her, except for my receipt of an ugly shot in the tusch." "This won’t hurt now." It most certainly will!! I give it to many of my patients, and they all insist it stings horribly. Much to my dismay, I discovered this was an accurate assessment. Nope, it’s definitely more blessed to give than to receive, especially when we’re talking about injections. Supper wasn’t too bad, but the numbness in my foot was wearing off and it began to hurt. I asked for a pain pill. Useless crap- it did nothing. Then, about 8:00 PM, the real ZINGER occurred. The lovely rod extending from my big toe ( with a ball on the end of it). I somehow rammed into the wall, on my way to the bathroom. The pain went up to my knee, and suddenly, I felt sorry for all the orthopedic patients on the Earth, with worse diagnoses than mine! I’m just a klutz. I’d better remember that when I turn 80 years, or I’ll be a Klutz, with a broken hip! The night shift came on, and medicated me with an injection for pain and I slept well. In the morning, after another generic breakfast (the kitchen doesn’t pay much attention to you, unless you’re a patient who they will be seeing for some time, so you get no breakfast or any other, and they can pick it.). The doctor made rounds and said I could leave after social services rented me a walker to take home. Al was awaiting my call, and I couldn’t WAIT to go home! So, I declined the Social Service Walker, which needed to be ordered, processed, charged and delivered. We who work in a hospital all know what means— TIME! Al and I rented one locally in about five minutes, and then I was at home. Gee, it’s nice to be home. And, it’s fine to know that the next needle I see will be in MY hands, and injected into someone else! END ©Copyright Toni D. Helfrick, R.N.   Essays - Page 1 - by Toni D. Helfrick Poetry by Toni Story-Poems by Toni “Another Day” - story-poem series “The Colorado Gambler and The Lady” - story-poem series “River For the Lonely” - story-poem series Short Stories by Toni   Website Home Page