Sitting On Both Sides of the Patient’s Chair
By Mary Schmidt Kment
While pondering sharing my cancer story with the reading audience, I began wondering if I had anything to say that would be of interest or anything that hasn’t been said over and over again.
All of a sudden, it occurred to me that I may be in somewhat of a unique position. For many years, I was a caregiver. My first husband was bedfast for 17 years. I took care of him for the first 14 of that.
Then I found myself in need of a caregiver. On July 27, 2002, I was diagnosed with acute aggressive melanoma. They gave me four months to live, but I’m still here.
I have experienced the situation from both sides of the issue, so perhaps I do have something to say that may be worthwhile.
Visiting a cancer patient can be an extremely difficult thing to do. Knowing what to say can be very unnerving. If you don’t know what to say, perhaps offer a quick hug, a pat on the shoulder or hand or just a simple “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” Keep in mind that the individual may have tender spots from surgery or treatments, so keep the hard hugs for later.
Don’t avoid the patient. If you feel that you may break down in front of the patient, keep in mind that most all of us would rather see your tears than feel your indifference. We have a lot of time to wonder why we don’t see you or receive a call or note from you.
Mail is so very important, especially for a homebound patient. A cheery little note can be read a hundred times and be just as uplifting at each and every reading. Opening the mail from a friend instead of another medical bill can actually validate that person’s existence.
There are also wonderful cards on the market now that are appropriate for a person who is not going to be healed. Get-well cards for someone who is not going to get well can be upsetting to some people depending on how they have adjusted to the possible outcome of the situation they have suddenly found themselves facing.
Telephone calls are great, but do inquire if it is a good time for a conversation. Unless a person has experienced the total and “to-the-bone” fatigue that goes along with cancer, it cannot be explained or understood, so it is important to keep in mind the patient’s need for rest. Do not let me discourage calls or visits as they are so uplifting. Just limit the extent of your call or visit. A visit of several hours is not appropriate or beneficial in most instances, but seeing you or talking to you for a short while certainly is.
Be flexible. Let the patient guide the topic of conversation, but do have a few ideas in mind if the person is not initiating a subject. Some people do not want to discuss their illness, and others feel the need to put their feelings into words, while they have a supportive listener.
I personally found that, after being removed from public life, I was consumed by the illness. My social life consisted of medical appointments or treatments and sending sympathy cards, so that was all I really knew about. I was so eager to hear about your family, your work and whatever else was going on in your life. It added a different scope to my world and gave me some new ideas to ponder in my alone times.
Your presence and your prayers, love and support are all of the gifts a patient needs. Bringing a treat along each time you stop is always appreciated, but please don’t pass by without stopping just because you don’t have a loaf of fruit bread, soup or rolls to offer in friendship. The important thing is you!
If you insist on a token gift, allow me to suggest gas cards, grocery cards, a box of thank-you cards or maybe a small book of postage stamps. Not that every gesture is not most appreciated but, in many instances, patients are wondering how to downsize their homes and generally not needing one more thing to dust.
Be prepared to laugh with the patient. A sense of humor is such wonderful medicine and invaluable under the circumstances. I insisted that I was told a joke with every injection (and there have been hundreds) as I felt that injecting some humor along with injecting the flat-edged syringes would make us all feel better. The medical staff was wonderful as they would usually find a joke for me on the computer.
Don’t say, “Call if you need anything.” Think about it: How may people have actually called when you made that statement? Come prepared to wash some dishes or run a vacuum cleaner. Just do it, unless of course the patient violently objects.
Lastly, as I bring my “Just Ask Me, I Know” essay to a close, I will say that one of the finer things that you can do is to be very mindful of the caregiver. The patient is receiving all of the care and attention medically possible, but the caregiver, who would do anything to ease this situation, stands by hopeless and helpless as they can only take care of the patient and not lift the problem from them.
Volunteer to do things to give the caregiver a break. Stay with the patient so the caregiver can get out for a little while, maybe to go to church, get a haircut, go shopping or just to take a little ride, knowing that their charge is in good, willing, capable hands.
And pray! I have learned from my own experience that the prayers that I always hope are helping, really are. The strength that we get comes as a gift from a power greater than any of us. No one can do it alone. Try to remember: The music of the babbling brook would not be as beautiful if it were not for the rocks. Accept those rocks with open arms, and God will provide the music.
UPDATE MARCH 1, 2009:
After Mary had cared for her first husband for 14 years during his bout with cancer, she was diagnosed with acute aggressive melanoma in 2002.
Mary Kment died on Jan. 9, 2008.
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