A Tale from a Hospice.

Afternoon strumpets,

I`ve been asked by Jan in New York why I "do stuff" for Cancer Awareness and Hospices. As you are probably aware I lost me Mother to the bastard a couple of years ago, but many years before that, whilst doing my nursing studies (This was last Century) I was sent to a local Hospice for a placement. It was during this placement that I realised why nurses are called "Angels" in England. I could tell you a million stories from my placement there, but there`s one which really had an impact on me and how I chose to live my life. I won`t name the Hospice, and I`ve changed names and a few minor details, so hopefully nooone will be able to identify themselves from the following story.

A man was admitted to the Hospice, who had been found collapsed in a Bed and Breakfast room in the local area. He had been unconscious for a couple of days and was in a terrible state. He was tidied up, and given the required medication, and within a couple of days he was able (very weakly) to speak. I got chatting to him, and it turned out he was a Brummie (from Birmingham) who had moved here in the early Nineties. He had a passion for Aston Villa (A football club) which still showed in his eye`s whenever we got into arguments about which team was, at that time, the best. He had no family or what you could call friends in the Town, and his nearest relative, his Sister, lived in Kingstanding in Birmingham, but he wasn`t sure where.
"Villa" as I called him (he called me "Boro") had Prostate cancer, which had spread to his bones. he didn`t have long, but I was asked if I could keep him company, as quality of dying was as important as quality of living and noone should have to go through either alone, unless they wished to. Villa swore like a trooper, and at times was a right grumpy sod, but at no point was his anger or grumpiness aimed at his condition or staff. It was just who he was. He told me he had got in with a bad crowd and had gone from one "drinking house" to the next. It was one of these establishments where he had collapsed, but noone had noticed for a couple of days.

When I asked him why he drank he just said "One`s too many, and ten`s not enough Boro". He`d known he was poorly, but hadn`t gone for a check up because "I didn`t want to be told I might get better".

The Friday morning of the day he died I was on the early shift. I`d got there for ten to seven, to be told he didn`t have long, and would I go into his room and sit with him until the inevitable happened. Of course I would. I got in there at half past, and it was obvious he didn`t have long. He had been placed on "driver" which allowed regular analgesia to be pumped into his system. I held his hand and told him it was going to be ok.

Several times that morning I thought he had gone, and several times he would make me jump with a massive inhale. I told him to let go, but the self preservation of the human body is incredibly resilient, and he just would not allow his train to visit its final station. I sat in the room, telling visiting staff that I was fine, for nine hours holding his hand, keeping him as comfortable as I could. Then a miracle happened. i`d love to tell you he opened his eyes and said thank you, or that he got better, but that`s not the types of miracles that happen in Hospices. The miracle was that his Sister turned up.

One of the nurses had been on the case, and had managed to contact her. His sister thanked me and told me she would be with him now, and take care of the arrangements to take him back to his beloved Birmingham once the inevitable happened.

I went home absolutely exhausted. I bought a bottle of wine, and began preparing Tea. Whilst doing this, the telephone rang. It was the Matron from the Hospice asking me if I was OK. She told Me Villa had died peacefully, but that his Sister had been in the toilet when it happened.
I raised a glass, kissed my wife, and went back to making Tea.

Hope that answers your question Jan.

Please help raise awareness of Cancer by supporting things like Movember (it doesn`t have to be me, there`s loads of blokes doing it), if only so there aren`t more "Villa" stories about.

Till the next one learn something new,

Mark.