Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Messages From My Patients: Chapter 73

May 30, 2010
Helen Huynh, died last night at 1055 p.m.
She was a CRNA from work whose mom had breast cancer. She took care of her mom when she had a grade IV stomach cancer and didn’t know it. Hospice. Died.
Helen was an unusual soul. Overweight asian, I felt a lot of anger in her, although she was kind. She bought food for everybody in the O.R.—pizza—on a Saturday. She worked every weekend. Came from our bosses' old job with him.
I felt urgency for her. On a Friday or Wednesday in the O.R.—Friday it was—I mailed her a card. I double-checked to make sure she got it by sending her a message to 'check your snail mail for a card I sent to your home' on Facebook. I was about twenty-four hours prior to her death if you go by the time stamp.
Anyhow, I 'picked up' this message from her:
Helen told her discomfort of my boy. To get it to stop. The locker room. (ed--his preschool was near work. A friend who worked nights and slept at my house days because her true home was in the desert a long ways away would take him. As I would get into my scrubs, he would be with me. Nobody said a word about it until my boss told me in the O.R. hallway right before my first case was going to start any second--stop this or else! There are complaints from others. He was just barely four. His saying that made me cry on the spot, and I am not easy to make cry. I tried having him stand outside the door and talk to me as I changed, but then HE would cry. Note that the simplicity of the message structure, and the way it is phrased is very typical of spirits that communicate. 'word pictures' and 'feelings/thoughts' are how I describe it.)
I lost my job over it.
The guilt ate away at her.
So she died.
I never in a million years thought it would be Helen. (She was raised by a single mother and very supportive since his birth.) I though it was Julia K. But our boss told me about it. Not a nurse manager. An anesthesia one.
Oh well.
I haven’t heard her. Actually, I did. I was in the kitchen. She said I was beautiful, that she could see it.
And now:
I’m sorry for what I did to you. I couldn’t help it. I felt funny with a boy (in the locker room when I was getting dressed). I didn’t know it would have happened (lost your job). Want it to stop that’s what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt a single mother. Understand. Understand. I totally understand.
You were beautiful pregnant, with the baby I couldn’t help it. I am sorry. I saw your life when I passed. I heard it was busy like you said. I never imagined it could be so hateful--the way his father treats you, long, and tedious but I am proud of you for doing your best. I love you. I powerfully love you. I will pray for you when I am in Heaven. Thank you for the card. I saw it on the day I died. Little blueberries love you love you makes me happy I love you so much and your boy. I will bless him
Helen H