A Gentle Death: Five Months with Hospice
By Barbara O'Neil Ross
Part 5: Caroline
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A car door closes and I hear someone bounding up our front steps. It's Caroline, the vivacious blonde hospice nurse who comes at 9 a.m. every Tuesday and Friday. It is a pleasure to open the door and hug this spirited brown-eyed young woman . She is the epitome of crispness, with her rapid speech and extensive wardrobe - vivid colors, just-ironed blouses and skirts cinched in at her small waist with assorted belts.
Caroline sprints up the stairs to John's bedside.
“Hi, John, how are you?”
“The better for seeing you, m'dear.”
Before long I can hear the clopping sound of Caroline's cupped hands striking John's back. It is respiratory percussion treatment that she has willingly learned from Nina, our pulmonary therapist. Simultaneously, I can overhear a brisk conversation. Caroline tells John about her belly-dancing class and bicycle trips.He intrigues her with his past ventures: circumnavigating Baffin Island in a Russian freighter, mountain climbing in British Columbia, his acquisition of a schooner in Seattle. Between coughs I hear laughter.
After several months of these visits, Caroline arrives one day with a sizable brown medicine bottle. The prescription label is marked, “A dose of humor. Take 4X a day. Dr. Chuckle.” John opens it up. Inside are slips of paper; on each one a silly joke.
