Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Funeral For a Friend: Day 0

Monday night I made pasta and meatballs, the favorite, of my boy. While putting the leftovers away, I felt the overwhelming urge to pack an extra lunch of it for a coworker, Zucchero. She calls me Shaynamadel, a Yiddish endearment, and I call her an Italian one. It means 'sugar'.  This is my signal that someone I care about is close to dying and making the 'transition'. 

Even though I get those 'signals', ninety percent of the time, I dismiss them.

See the part in the blurb about the 'husband nurse who made his wife, who is also a nurse, take one pain pill because he could not believe that she had no pain after gallbladder surgery?'--over there, to the sidebar on the right, in the 'About Me' section? He was in a motorcycle accident Monday afternoon. A car turned in front of him and never saw him. Blunt, multiple trauma. And taken, ironically, to the Trauma Center where I worked with him in the O.R. since my intern year.

Dennis is a survivor of two heart transplants. I had been in a holding pattern since getting the 'group text message' from Zucchero yesterday morning that said, 'wait for more information on his condition'.

On my way to work this morning, I had two 'signs'. Number one, as I was thinking about duality, and how there was not much time left in it, I pondered how there was not much time left 'for making dreams come true'. I had read somewhere that we won't be doing stuff like that any more when we ascend. I haven't any dreams lately...I thought to myself, at a loss. My dreaming function is kind of dead. (After 'no man' and 'no baby with someone who loves you' I kind of gave up on my dreams. I want to Ascend solo. Seriously. No more heartache for me.). I thought about it in a clinical, unemotional way, like I would if I noticed something going on medically with my body...

Instantly I felt a strong hug from Blessed Mother, she held me tight, and promised me that good things are in my Path. I also saw the words on the cab of a truck, that said, 'God is good.'

Okay, I thought. At least I am on time today at work. Funny how five minutes makes a big deal anyways.

As I got my drug box out for the day, the Charge Nurse said, 'I have to talk to you about something.'
"Dennis died."

Instantly, tears struck. I put my head on her shoulder, and cried great big sobs!
Was it the neck? (he may have had a cervical spine injury)
'No. The injuries were just too much for him.'
I KNEW he was ready to go, but just hadn't figured a way out--he loved his wife so much. He was ready to go months ago, before the retirement party. I did Reiki on him, and I sent him the Transition symbol to help...
I looked her in the eye, for she had been crying too, It is not easy KNOWING like this. It hurts just the same. I tried to say things to comfort Zucchero...I tried to help! And even though I will be 'talking' to him, it is not the same. There are no hugs, not like this, that 'feel right' any more...
She looked at me, trying to comprehend what I was sharing as a medium facing death in the family of the O.R. (I worked with him at my old job, with the wife in my new. She worked on me for my surgery. I bear a scar she closed above my belly button. It is perfectly straight and a simple line.)
He drove me home from the hospital when I had my surgery! I am going to miss him! Poor Zucchero! What are we going to do?

And then, it was time to go to work. Everyone was in shock. One R.N. was 'barely keeping it together' outside of Pre Op Holding.

Even the neurosurgeon asked, 'What is up with Charles today? Usually he is so lively?' (Charles was the scrub tech).
I told him the news about Dennis.
The neurosurgeon said, 'I told him not to ride a motorcycle. It is okay to ride when we are young. But as we get older, our reactions times are slower. He did not listen. I am sad.'
He went on, 'I knew Dennis from 1989. I worked closely with him then. This is a terrible tragedy. I will call his wife.'

I felt Dennis once in the O.R this morning. I heard his voice, loud and clear. But then he waited for me to be done taking care of patients. I had a short day. I came home. I took a twenty minute nap.

'It's okay, honey. It's okay. It's okay.' he said. And I got the inspiration to go out in the sun, on a blanket, like I enjoy with the turtle my pet. To eat a big peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the kind he missed so much once the aniti-rejection drugs for immunosuppression gave him diabetes. He told me to go after I write this. I am hungry. I will go.

The O.R. team is a family. We mourn like any family does over the loss of 'our own'. 


Reiki Doc