Posts Tagged ‘Hospice’

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Presence, Improvisation, Dark Humor: Crucial Skills of a Hospice Nurse

November 3, 2014
Illustration by Pat Kinsella for AJN.

Illustration by Pat Kinsella for AJN.

Here’s the start of “Molly,” the Reflections essay in the November issue of AJN, written by hospice nurse Thom Schwarz.

Late evening, early spring, the peepers not yet trilling. I am in my car, rain streaking the windshield, reading a New Yorker essay about war writing, an ironic distraction from my visiting hospice nursing work.

This is a piece that doesn’t offer any easy answers for the facts of suffering and death. But it does posit a certain consolation in staying present, undaunted, engaged, and resourceful when faced with the power and mystery of each patient’s encounter with impending death.

All Reflections essays are free, so give it a look.—Jacob Molyneux, senior editor 

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At the Intersection of Hospice and Obstetrics, a True Test of Patient-Centered Care

October 22, 2014

By Jacob Molyneux, senior editor

Renee Noble with her newborn daughter, Violet. Photo by Heidi Ricks.

Renee Noble with her newborn daughter, Violet. Photo by Heidi Ricks.

We’d like to draw attention to a particularly frank and thought-provoking article in the October issue of AJN. “A Transformational Journey Through Life and Death,” written by a perinatal nurse specialist who is also a bioethicist, describes a hospital’s experience in meeting the needs of a patient with two very different, potentially conflicting, medical conditions.

It was a sunny afternoon in mid-October when I first met Renee Noble. I had already heard about her from staff who had given Renee and Heidi Ricks, her friend and doula, a tour of the neonatal ICU and were taken aback when they asked to see the Hospice Inn as well. The nurses knew that Renee had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, but no one had said anything about it being terminal. Heidi had insisted that after Renee delivered she would need hospice inpatient care. Alarmed, the staff had called me, the perinatal clinical nurse specialist, after Renee and Heidi left.

In addition, this is a patient with strong preferences about her own care, preferences that may be at odds with the more conventional approaches to treatment held by many nurses and physicians. Read the rest of this entry ?

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If She Yells ‘Help Me’ – Poster Therapy to Convey the Needs, Identity of an Ailing Parent

July 23, 2014

Joan Melton, MSN, lives in Indiana.

Photo by Ann Gordon, via Flickr

Photo by Ann Gordon, via Flickr

I am a geriatric nurse practitioner and have also been the daughter to an ill, aging parent. I felt well trained for my professional role but struggled with the latter.

I joked that, despite my logical understanding of what was going on with my mother, it could be hard to accept her physical and functional changes, which sometimes seemed to fly in the face of logic. There were days Mom’s hospice nurses spent more time with me than with my mother. They’d sit and allow me to vent my frustration at watching my mother slowly leave me, at feeling overwhelmed and “losing my cool” with her, at not being able to practice the advice I’d so readily handed out to so many other families over the years, not being able to “fix it” and successfully comfort all of Mom’s fears and ailments 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Yes, I know how unrealistic that last statement sounds. Thank goodness for hospice nurses, who reminded me that I was “the daughter” and did not need to be “the nurse practitioner.” They reminded me that as the daughter I had amazing insight no one else had.

So, when Mom spent a week in the nursing home to give my family some long-overdue respite time, her hospice nurses suggested I share all of my rich, personal, daughterly insight.

Their idea was brilliant. It made me feel useful and allowed me to feel less guilty about taking Mom to the nursing home. Most of all, it reminded me of who my Mom really was behind the mask of her dementia.

Mom’s health issues had begun with chronic, recurrent atrial fibrillation. Placed on Coumadin for stroke prevention, she fell, hit her head, and had a cerebral bleed. She was taken off Coumadin, and during her recovery had another episode of atrial fibrillation, this time suffering a thrombotic stroke that left her with memory problems and expressive aphasia. In addition, Mom was blind from the effects of glaucoma and macular degeneration.

In summary, Mom was unable to walk by herself, couldn’t find words to say what she wanted to say, and could only see shadows. Naturally, she became fearful and frustrated as her world closed in on her. Confusion and anxiety were side effects of her condition(s). At times, she was so anxious that she became short of breath. Her oxygen levels would drop, and her confusion would get worse. In addition, her appetite changed. She lost weight, and like many elderly patients, she had recurrent urinary tract infections from not drinking enough fluids.

Two posters. Before it was time to take Mom to the nursing home, the hospice nurses suggested I make two posters to display in her room. They suggested that on the first I list who my Mom was behind the mask of her dementia. What did Mom love to do before she became ill? They also suggested I put photographs of Mom on the poster to show what she’d been like before she became so frail.

On the second poster they suggested I write things to help the staff at the nursing home take better care of Mom, tips that only I knew from my past experiences as her caregiver and her daughter. Seeing these things written on a poster and displayed in her room would serve as a reminder for the staff, and would provide an easy way to share important information about her to all the different staff members who would be involved with Mom’s care.

I took the nurses’ excellent advice and began making the two posters. The entire family helped. Mom’s posters were the talk of the nursing home. People would come into her room just to read them. Here are a few examples of what we wrote:

Poster #1
Mom loves flowers, especially zinnias.
Mom’s was married to Dad (name) for 51 years. Dad went to heaven eight years ago.
Mom had five children (we listed their names). Mom calls out for her oldest son.
He and his wife took care of Mom at home.
Mom loves to waltz and old-time country music.
Mom loves to talk to her sister (name) on the phone every day. Mom is extremely close to her sister. Their mother died when they were only four and six years old.
Mom loves cooking for her family. She makes the best fried chicken.
She loves listening to the Catholic mass on TV or praying the rosary.
Mom loves going to the country, raising cows and bottle feeding the baby calves. She would give the cows names like pets.
Mom loves having her hair fixed and putting on make-up and looking nice every day. Read the rest of this entry ?

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Intensive Care of a Different Ilk

May 9, 2014

MayReflectionsIllustrationThis month’s Reflections essay (“Intensive Care”) is by John Fiddler, an NP who describes his work as an inpatient hospice nurse in New York City as being “as close to the ideal of nursing as I have ever been.”

This is a big claim—but if you read Fiddler’s brief, artful summary of the evolution of his nursing career, which started in an actual ICU, and then his description of what he found when he went to work in a hospice, you might find that he makes a pretty good case.

Here’s a small excerpt:

Inpatient hospice to me was the room at the end of the palliative care corridor that I had never bothered to visit. I had pictured it as a quiet haven for the dying, where birds chirp outside and music is heard playing through open windows as patients calmly drift off and up into dusty shafts of sunlight.

Not quite.

Instead, picture a unit where patients arrive on stretchers in extreme pain and distress, afraid, breathless—usually with families trailing behind, holding on to as much emotional and personal baggage as they can carry. Often these patients bear the physical and psychic bruises of a prolonged ICU stay.

And this is what happens here…

Maybe the author will someday find another ideal of nursing care, or maybe he won’t, but it’s worth reading his account of the current one. Reflections essays are open access. (Click through to the PDF version for the most attractive, readable version.)—Jacob Molyneux, senior editor

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Nursing Blog Links, Late Winter Edition: Emotions in Primary Colors

February 18, 2014

By Jacob Molyneux, senior editor/blog editor

by doortoriver, via Flickr

by doortoriver, via Flickr

Nurses seem to have hope on their minds as the daylight grows longer and stronger and the winter ever so slowly winds down. There’s a good post at According to Kateri about hope and letting go of the past.

Which reminds me: sort of along these lines, we recently had a good post here at Off the Charts about hope and patient prognosis.

Theresa Brown’s latest at Opinionator, a New York Times blog, is about the communication gap between clinician and patients and the need to find ways to bridge this, for everyone’s sake.

There’s a post at Not Nurse Ratched about another of the more basic emotions: anger. Or, more specifically, anger related to workplace issues that are slowly driving you nuts. Not that any nurses can relate to that . . .

If you’re up for it, here’s a pretty profound post from Hospice Diary about someone who is very articulate about the meaning of his own dying process.

And here’s a kind of funny one at Nursing Notes of Discord about the questions a new nurse asks in the course of a day.

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A Focus on Meaning and Attitude: This Week’s Nursing Blog Post Suggestions

November 13, 2013

By Jacob Molyneux, AJN senior editor

'Autumn Washed Away,' Diane Hammond/ via Flickr

‘Autumn Washed Away,’ Diane Hammond/ via Flickr

Here are a few recent posts by nurses that you might find of interest. As I put this together, a theme emerged, so it seemed fair to just go with it. Maybe the approach of these bloggers has to do with the time of year, the shorter days and colder weather as we approach the winter holidays . . .

At the intriguingly titled Nursing Notes of Discord blog, there’s a short reminder post with a fairly straightforward descriptive title: “Anyone Can Make a Positive Difference.” And, the author points out, you “don’t even have to be a nurse” to do so.

At Digital Doorway, Nurse Keith has a recent post that also focuses on positivity, this time about one’s profession: “For Nurses, ‘Just’ Is a Four-Letter Word.”

At HospiceDiary.org, in the lovely post “Leaves, Geese and Other Ramblings”—as the below quote may suggest—we find another angle on this theme of being present and focusing on the good in the midst of sometimes constant, poignant awareness of change, loss, dying, and rebirth:

Fall moves into winter. Unequivocal  fact. The furrowed fields and leftover husks are what remains of a harvest of work . . .

Read the rest of this entry ?

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Come Into My Parlor

September 27, 2013

Amy Getter, MS, RN, lives in Eugene, Oregon, where, in her own words, she “works with people with life-limiting illness who are enrolled in a hospice wherever they consider ‘home.'”

by Ramon Peco/via Flickr

by Ramon Peco/via Flickr

I fondly remember becoming acquainted with my first “parlor,” in a 100-year-old home that my family moved into during my teen years. The walls were dressed in faded, peeling, paisley-patterned wallpaper and a tarnished brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. French doors closed it away from the rest of the living area, giving it a slightly mysterious aura. Far-off city lights blinked at me from elongated paned windows. I immediately claimed it as my bedroom.

The word parlor (derived from the verb “to speak”) may have first been used in medieval monasteries. An “outer parlor” was designated for receiving outsiders and attending to business needs and the “inner parlor” was for the monks’ private use. During the mid-19th century, formal parlors evolved and could be found in homes like the one my family lived in.

Weddings, funerals (being “laid out”), and other social events occurred in the parlor. Home businesses emerged (such as “funeral parlors”—offering an option for laying out the deceased in someone else’s home!). In recent years, care of the infirm and preparation of the dead have been removed from the home, along with their unpleasant reminders of frailty and mortality, relegating the ailing to hospitals and nursing homes where they can die unobtrusively, apart from the daily existence of families.

I read a book when my children were young called Nana Upstairs and Nana Downstairs*—the story of a little boy who every Sunday visits the multigenerational home where his grandmother and great grandmother live. Nana downstairs makes meals and cookies and provides loving care for Nana upstairs, who sits in a chair, bundled in blankets. Little Tommy learns about families caring for each other, until Nana upstairs dies.

For many families, not only is Nana upstairs not allowed to stay in the home, but she is sent to a special “home” where strangers take care of her, and when she dies some strangers will take her body away in preparation for a funeral. Read the rest of this entry ?

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