Treating Patients Like Famiglia

In my first year as a nurse, while working on a medical ward, I had the lovely opportunity to meet Mr. D., or as I would call him "Zio". He was an Italian man in his seventies who had been admitted due to falls secondary to unexplained progressive lower extremity weakness. Amidst multiple tests done including an EMG (electromyography), there was no conclusive result to determine the cause of his disability. He was mostly bed bound, but was slowly regaining movement to his legs.

During my first couple of shifts with him, I would test out his range of motion. No matter how small of a move he would make, I would applaud him, remind him that little improvement was better than none. I remember attempting to practice my Italian with him, telling him that I had taken a year of Italian classes in high school but could barely keep up with the vocabulary due to similarities with Spanish (which I had studied for three years prior to his native tongue). I would joke around with him, initially calling him "Nonno" (grandpa) before settling to call him "Zio" (uncle) instead to make him feel as young as his spirit was.

Just like any other zio, Mr. D. would share his life happenings with me. He had a cozy nature that made him easy to listen and talk to. I hung on to every wise words he had for me. I listened attentively to his stories, creating vivid moving pictures in my brain. It was as if I didn't want our conversations to end. But of course, due to the nature of my nursing duties, I had to find a way to interrupt his storytelling in order to attend to my other patients in need of assistance.

Although I do not recall much on the medical aspects of his hospitalization, I remember meeting his wife, his kids and some of his siblings. As they sat around his bed, the atmosphere of the room was very lively and familiar. The way they spoke to each other, recounting old and new tales of their lives ... it reminded me of my childhood during family gatherings.

I've always gotten along with individuals form the Italian community (I'd like to think the feeling was mutual from their end too lol). When I think of it, I always felt as if Italians were the Filipinos of Europe, or Filipinos were the Asian version of Italians. Growing up surrounded by many of them, I realized that we shared many things in common, namely delicious food, Christian beliefs and a strong sense of family. Hence, it was no surprise that I felt drawn to such a kindhearted man. Mr. D. was the grandfather figure I never got to experience.

During that time, I was preparing to transition to another unit: the ICU. I also began to open up about my current life events with him and his daughter. I had told them both that I would be transferring departments soon, but that I would still come visit him on my breaks. I had also mentioned that I would be going on my first solo trip in a week, and that I would be MIA for the time being. In response, his daughter expressed her gratitude for the care provided in the last couple of days and wished me a well-deserved rest. "That's too bad", she added, "the unit is losing an asset to the team". I blushed and replied "Thank you." Later on, Mr D.'s daughter admitted to me: "You know you really are his favorite nurse. He talks about you all the time. Is it possible to take a photo with him?". "Of course!", I answered.

Once the picture taken, I asked with a feeling of guilt if she could send it to me as well. In nursing school, we are told to keep boundaries with patients. Avoid divulging personal information, be their nurse and nothing more. However, there are certain patients and families that you develop a strong bond with. There are circumstances where authentic connections are made, making it difficult to pass on the chance to fulfill our social needs as human. Yes, nursing is a profession, but for some individuals, it is in their nature. To care genuinely for strangers we meet along our journey. To be at their service in their time of peak vulnerability. To share all sorts of emotions communally then leading to heightened abilities to empathize. To understand one another. And so, I did share my number with her.

After my vacation was over, I returned to work. I decided to visit Mr. D. on my lunch break. To my surprise, Mr. D. was still there, in the same room. As I entered his room, I was stunned at what I saw: Mr. D. eating sitting up in a chair. We greeted each other, updated each other on how things were going. I was pleased to hear that he was going to rehab in a couple of days. I wished him the best of luck and went on my way.

A few days later, his daughter sent me a message telling me that her dad was discharged from hospital and was currently in rehab. I asked her if it was alright if I paid him a visit to which she welcomed with open arms. As I entered the rehab facility, I felt like a lost puppy. Despite the huge signs, finding Mr. D.‘s location was a challenge. Luckily enough, I found my way through and saw Mr. D. sitting in a wheelchair gazing out of his window. As I appeared through his door, Mr. D.‘s face lit up. We spoke for an hour. We greeted each other happy holidays in advance as the festive period was soon approaching.

A few months later, as the autumn season began showing its colors, I received a text message from Mr. D.‘s daughter. I read it and was immediately deeply saddened.

The message read: "Hi Cristine, I hope you are doing well. I wanted to say thank you for all the care you gave to my father. You know, he really adored you. Sadly, my dad passed away a few days ago. My family and I are grateful to have had you as his nurse".

I took deep breaths, thinking about what my reply was going to be. In the end, I sent her my condolences and told her it was an honor and absolute pleasure to have taken care of him.

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I'll be honest, I do not remember exactly the things him and I spoke about during our talks. However, what I do recall is the feeling Mr. D. left me with every time we had heartfelt conversations. Mille grazie Zio, for instilling confidence in a young Cristine early on in her career, and for reminding her that it is thanks to people like you that nurses keep on doing what they do: care for others.