You have a heart of gold.
We had a resident pass away today, completely unexpected. And I had to be a witness. I know that I work in an industry where that happens, but it must have been in the ‘other duties’ section of my job description, because never did I ever think I’d be in a life-or-death situation that wasn’t about me.
She wasn’t always the nicest lady. She’d yelled at staff before, she constantly smoked, she snuck alcohol into her room against doctor’s orders, and so on. But she also had a sweet, kind side. The side that overlooked her rough background and lack of caring family members, and offered up gentle words of affirmation and encouragement. She told me on multiples occasions that I was ‘absolutely gorgeous’ and should be a model. She told me I have a ‘heart of gold.’
I saw her this morning (Did I say ‘Good morning’? Did I skip it today? That will haunt me), and she was fine. She was her normal self, cruising through the lobby on her motor scooter, impatiently waiting for the elevator. A little past 11:30 am I found myself on the phone with a 9-1-1 operator trying to relay what little information had been relayed to me. The operator calmly requested that I move from the stationary phone to a mobile one, and hightail it to her room where they'd found her turning purple and not breathing – the last place I’d want to be.
That’s how I found myself on the phone witnessing three of our staff members trying to talk to her, and then when she stopped breathing, trying to resuscitate her while I stood helplessly nearby, attempting to convey urgency without sounding desperate to the operator. I was still relaying details when the apartment door flew open behind me and two members of the Fire Department blew past me.
Before I knew it, we had four members of the Fire Department, two ambulance emergency workers, and six police officers in her small, one-bedroom apartment. I got my workout in by running errands for them – I was standing by the door and very clearly wasn’t anyone important medically, so I fetched pillows to elevate her head, or printed out her medication list while they continued CPR and attempted other life-saving treatments. One of the police officers was questioning other staff, but because I had actually been in the room when she stopped breathing, he was most interested in my statement. I had to give my full name, date of birth, and contact information so they could follow up. I recounted everything as best I could recall, but it made me so anxious. Was the timing correct? Was I missing any details? Was there anything I should have done differently that he was judging me for? I wanted to say, ‘I do the sales and marketing; I’ve never performed CPR in my life! Can I just wait out in the hallway?’
Suddenly, they were able to find a pulse, and that was the signal they were waiting for. As soon as there was the smallest sign of life, they were ready to go. I went ahead of them and cleared the hallway and elevator, and then stood back and watched as they loaded her up and sped away, lights flashing.
I didn’t consider that I wouldn’t see her again – she was her usual healthy self this morning! I never thought my Executive Director would come into my office around 3pm and say the resident passed, that she might not have even made it to the hospital. We aren’t always privy to the details; sometimes ‘they didn’t make it’ is all we get to know.
You’re not supposed to have favorite residents, but I do. And honestly, she wasn’t one. Far from it. But I should have smiled at her more. I should have listened longer to the unsolicited dating advice she loved to give me. I should have asked her if purple was her favorite color because she always wore it, and I should have told her she looked radiant in it. I should have proved that I have a heart of gold.
