We’re missing Japan so much these days. Being caught up in the hustle and bustle of work and preparing for our baby has us missing the simplicity of life in Japan. Here are a few of our favorite photos. Seeing the “okasan” (mother in Japanese) and “otosan” (father in Japanese) was a bit of foreshadowing in hindsight, don’t you think?
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We’re pregnant!
I haven’t taken the time to really reflect on my pregnancy thus far, and today sucked, so here’s my moment to slow down.
I found out I was pregnant before I was even 4 weeks in. I was sitting on my couch, like the sloth I am, when I felt a strange zapping sensation in my pelvic area. This was unlike any other feeling I’ve ever had, and I had 50 pregnancy test strips. So why not test?
I tested and convinced myself there was a positive line near the control. But Ian assured me it was negative, and we went to a friend’s for dinner that night where they cooked us an epic meal of medium rare steak with wine. Shortly after I finished eating, I got nauseous suddenly. We went home and went to bed, but I couldn’t help but keep thinking I saw the faintest shadow of a second line on my pregnancy test earlier. I couldn’t sleep well that night. I tossed and turned and actually dreamed I was pregnant. I woke up early for work the next morning, eager to test again. And sure enough, there was a second line this time. You couldn’t deny it. I was pregnant.
Two serum beta HCG levels later, my doctor confirmed it. Ian already had an idea, since I was nagging him for days now, insisting I was pregnant. But as soon as he heard it, the breath left his lungs and he couldn’t believe it.
We’re 19 weeks in today and I still can’t believe it. The fact that my body is making another tiny, living body is incomprehensible in the best way. Coming from a health and medicine background, the idea that my body created a tiny heart – a self-sustaining organ that transmits its own electrical impulses and beats to nourish an entire network of neurons, cells, blood vessels, and organs, is mind-blowing to me. The idea that my baby, my son, is being completely nurtured by my own body’s intuition and that he is taking a conscience, learning how to suck on his thumbs, and roll around and flex his little developing limbs, takes my mind to a different universe. I don’t know what I’m more amazed at – the fact that my body is capable of this process, or that I’m bringing this new life, this new conscience, into this world in just a few mere months. And that by time, his brain will process visual cues and colors, convert signals into real sounds, and in years, he’ll be able to talk and tell me his own thoughts.
He isn’t even born yet and I already feel like he’s taught me so much about motherhood. Motherhood is constantly worrying and learning to trust the process. In the first 8 weeks of pregnancy, before we had our first ultrasound, I was filled with anxiety. I’m a control freak. So not knowing what was happening inside my body with one hundred percent certainty was gut-wrenching to me. This was a time filled with lots of Gameboy, murder mysteries, and Facetime sessions. In that moment, I really had to trust my body, gut, and intuition. I simply had to believe that everything would be okay. And in those moments, as I lay draped over my couch in absolute exhaustion, I realized all the terror my own mom endured with me over the years. I could safely say I was an absolute nightmare sometimes. And I realize how much patience and worry she must have had, bearing the responsibility to raise a human that didn’t grow up to be a little shit. A human that cares for others, works hard, and overall, just has a good heart.
He’s still in my belly and I’m loving these moments so much. I’m loving the nights where I can just lay in bed with Ian knowing he’s well-cared for and that my body is just taking care of business. I’m loving lazy days laying in silence or with the tv in the background, anticipating every little flutter and wondering if it’s gas or real movement. I’m loving the moments when I know, without a doubt, that that sensation was one of his first kicks or jabs. I’m loving the little nudges he gives me when I’m in a patient’s room – a gentle reminder that even though work can be a fucking cluster, he’s in there there and there’s so much to look forward to! I’m loving guessing what he’ll look like with Ian, and wondering what his personality will be like. I’m loving the sheer joy my parents exude each time I update them with how big he is this week (this week’s fruit comparison is a mango). I’m loving looking at the little clothes I’ve folded neatly in my closet and the jacket I couldn’t help but buy for him. I’m loving carrying him with me everywhere I go. I’m loving every little piece of this journey, and there’s still so much time left.
I know pregnancy will pass so quickly. I just wanted to take a moment to think hard about him, thank my body, let it rest, and give my mind some pause from the chaos of today. I know we’re going to be really busy soon. But right now, Kai is the absolute best distraction. He’s in the back of my mind all the time.
It’s so beautiful having my little sidekick by my side. Or I guess, inside.
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Keeping On
It’s been a while since I posted. I finished my fellowship and can gladly say I accepted position as a nurse practitioner in the lymphoma and myeloma department at my hospital. It’s only been a month, but I do feel I’m in the right place despite all the moving parts and growing pains.
The real reason I’m writing today is to unload.
My grandma went to to the emergency room again today for what I believe is the fourth time in a year. It’s been a long journey. I remember when she was diagnosed in late April, early May of 2022 with metastatic gastro-jejunal signet ring cell adenocarcinoma. She went in with a heart attack and left with a terminal disease. I remember feeling defeated. Fifteen cycles of oxaliplatin, leucovorin, fluorouracil, and nivolumab later, her cancer is stable, which is the second best thing you can achieve in cancer medicine. But I still have anxiety that even by writing that statement, I might have jinxed something, like I’m foreshadowing a terrible experience in the near future.
I started my oncology nurse practitioner fellowship thinking I knew a little something about cancer. I did. But looking back now, I can honestly say I’m pretty proud of the confidence I’ve gained as a new provider.
I remember reading grandma’s pathology report in a shared room of UMass Memorial Hospital asking “What the fuck does MMR proficient mean?” It bothered me that I didn’t know, and that even after looking it up on my own, I still couldn’t quite grasp the content. I look back now and am super proud of myself for urging my grandma to have genetic testing done regardless of her MMR status, knowing that her history of endometrial and gastric cancer were consistent with lynch syndrome. Lynch syndrome is a an inherited genetic disorder that predisposes someone to a conglomerate of different cancers. She tested negative, but knowing I did this on her behalf, and therefore my family’s behalf, despite them not understanding the weight of it all, meant a lot to me. I wouldn’t have had the courage or knowledge to do that a year ago.
And then the CT scans. A year ago, I was comfortable just reading a report and getting an idea of whether a scan was good or bad. But now I can look at a CT scan itself, identify important structures, and at least get a sense of what may be going on. I can read a report in detail and latch on to pieces that are important now or possibly later, and actually report back to my family before the physician gets a chance to and give them peace of mind before and appointment. And I can do this confidently (mostly, that is. Sometimes I still struggle and ask my peers for confirmation).
And lastly, the advocacy. Everyday, I’m inspired by the people I see coming in and out of our hospital. My family is huge, and yet it still feels like caregiver fatigue and burnout continue to be a never-ending battle. Our family chimes in at different times in her care, but I can’t help but feel that even with two little cousins that make the one hour commute to and from Boston for appointments while enrolling in school full-time; an aunt that takes two days off work every two weeks for chemotherapy appointments; an uncle that keeps track of pill boxes and prescription refills; a mom that learned how to prepare and administer TPN and cooks mucositis-friendly foods daily before leaving for work early in the monitoring; an uncle who comes over intermittently to help my grandma practice physical therapy exercises; and myself, who manages all the behind-the-scenes action including TPN deliveries, supply deliveries, coordinating with her different health teams, symptom management, and managing her MyChart. Not to mention helping her up and down the stairs, arranging home health visits to change her PICC line dressing, learning how to use a ramp or gait belt, and teaching the family emergency signs to look out for, what medications do what, and the lack of sleep. It’s overwhelming. And I cannot even begin to imagine what the story of cancer looks like for so many others who don’t have adequate support systems or structures, face language barriers, cannot express their symptoms or comfortably develop rapport with their providers, or cannot digest health information in a timely, meaningful manner that allows them to understand their situation, make their own informed decisions, and still manage to create a life with what quality they may have left.
And then you tack on all the healthcare and institutional barriers, like delays in care, lack of time spent counseling people, or you-name-it, and people wonder why cancer patients are depressed. Yes, they have cancer. But also, we aren’t making it very easy for them, either. All the while, we’re still pushing them to “fight” cancer. Which is honestly one of my pet peeves, but I’ll leave that for another post some day.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t know if it’s to prove to myself that I’ve done something with my life this past year, to vent, or to make people aware of how hard it is for cancer patients and their families. I wonder about how much more pain my grandma might have been in and for how much longer if we didn’t encourage her to go to the hospital several times before, and how we saved her from suffering if only for a few more hours, and how not everyone is fortunate enough to have an advocate who can do that for them.
There are times when I feel like I’ve made it. I really thought that when I took this new position, I could for sure say I did make it. Maybe I did, but for some reason, it really feels like it’s only the beginning. I feel like I have so much more to prove, so much more work to do, and so much more good that I need to try to accomplish, especially for those that don’t have the means to support themselves.
My soul feels tired. My mind is tired. But I guess I’m reassured by the fact that I still want to keep going.
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And just like that, 2022 is at a close. I just wanted to take a quick moment to reflect on the year and all that happened.
- My grandma got sick. Late April, I woke up to a text message saying she was in the hospital. I checked her MyChart and my heart fell to my feet when I saw that she was diagnosed with myocardial infarction (heart attack). She was stable, thankfully. But in the same admission, we also learned she had gastric cancer that extended into her small intestine. I’d grown resentful of her PCP who I believed failed to identify that her cluster of symptoms was quite worrisome, and also resentful of myself for not catching them earlier. It’s been a long journey and to make a long story short, I know she won’t have many years on this Earth. We’re just focused on enjoying the little moments while they’re here. High points include getting her care transferred to Dana-Farber, where her surgeon was able to perform a less invasive surgery despite being unable to remove her cancer, being able to celebrate Christmas with her, all the times she is able to go to the Casino even while on treatment, tolerating her treatment fairly well, and knowing she was able to ring in the new year with my entire family. It was a nightmare hearing her diagnosis with her for the first time. And I could safely say a third of my honeymoon was spent coordinating her care, hospital admission, and discharge with home-TPN. But at least we have the resources to care for her here, and at least we have some time.
- I graduated with my doctorate. Anyone close to me at this time knew how grueling my DNP project was. I hated where I worked and the management I worked with. I felt like working with certain personalities was truly like pulling teeth. Being able to get an end degree with both of my parents, then-fiance, and baby cousins to celebrate was honestly a blessing. No frills and no celebration since my grandma was ill. Just knowing I did it.
- I got my dream job and passed my boards. For months, I anxiously awaited the application cycle for the NP fellowship at MD Anderson Cancer Center to open up. I knew that position was made for me immediately after reading the description. It was a tough interview process, but I learned I got the position in March. I listened to the voicemail announcing that I got it on the drive home and cried to Ian out of happiness. My knees felt weak, and for months I put my head down and studied to make sure I pass my NP boards. When I finally passed, I Facetimed my mom and she cried. We were both so relieved, and my entire family was so happy I finally did it.
- I quit my job and went on a three-week honeymoon. I stopped working so that Ian and I could take some time to travel. Seeing as to how the fellowship was a year long and quite intense, I knew we wouldn’t have time to travel. I flew business class for the first time. I met up with some of my family in Vietnam. I immersed myself in my culture again and learned to fall in love with it more seeing Ian fall in love with it. I explored a new country, Italy, and went back to one of my favorite places on Earth: Switzerland. It made me remember how much I love traveling and how I want to get back to doing it whenever the opportunity presents itself.
- We got married – three times. We had a civil ceremony in June and a Vietnamese wedding in August. The wedding was the same week my grandma was in the hospital for surgery. I knew my family was resilient, but that week truly showed me resilience that I have never known. I knew my family was strong, but the strength we had to find within ourselves individually and as a family will always blow my mind away. I’ll never take the effort they put into that week for granted, and it’s one of my most bittersweet moments with my family to date. In November, we had our dream wedding. We got everything we wanted – from riding in the party bus with our bridal party, a small, intimate ceremony, alone time to process the moment, amazing food, and literally all of our loved ones in one space. Tayvia and Jack participated driving our ring down the aisle and overall, I think people had a fun time. It was simple and perfect, and everything I grew to want in a wedding.
- We moved to Texas. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d end up in Texas. There are lots of misconceptions about Houston. Yes, there are cowboys and rodeos, but it’s also so much more than I imagined. There’s culture. I would argue the food is better than LA. It’s a great middle-ground between LA and Worcester. There’s a massive Vietnamese community. People are (mostly) genuinely nice. It’s really taken us by surprise and I’m excited to see where it takes us this next year.
- I made new friends and kept my old ones. This year was all about redefining what friendship looks like to me. I’m not someone who hangs out with people every week, and I think that’s just the introvert in me. My friendships can look more like a phone call or Facetime session once in a while, a meme, or a text. And then occasional meet-ups that genuinely mean the world to me. My bachelorette party was one of the nicest weekends I had, even if it came during the chaos of road-tripping to Houston with one of my closest friends and my little cousin. Two of my closest friends from work, my best friend, one of my hometown friends, and a new friend I made in LA just the previous year were there. Katelynn also came with me. She and Jacky helped me pack up my entire apartment, kept me company driving for four days, and helped me move into my new home. It reminded me of my 2019 road trip when David drove cross-country with me to LA and the excitement I felt pulling up to my new apartment. Since I’ve been in Houston, I’ve found really solid friendships in my cohort. I’m 100% convinced we’re the best cohort because we love each other’s company, we round each other out, and they’re honestly some of the nicest people I have ever met. Even my mom wished they were at my wedding 2 months after I had just met them.
- I managed my family stress better. Family is the only thing I don’t truly have a handle on. It’s hard for me to compartmentalize my family’s health when they’re ill, which really stressed me out this year. I tried therapy and it helped somewhat. I think that, combined with age, helped me handle the situations we found ourselves in better overall. But it’s still a work in progress and I’m proud of myself for being there for them as much as I can, even if I’m hundreds of miles away.
I didn’t do as much creative stuff as I wanted to. I realize now I keep making excuses for it and there really is no good time to start a new project. My goal for the next year is to incorporate more creativity into my daily routine, better myself as a nurse practitioner, and literally just enjoy it. I have trouble being present and taking things slow, but since the wedding, I will say it’s gotten a bit easier. I’m excited to unplug more and tune into myself. I’m anticipating traveling again with Ian. And I’m hoping I get to see the people I love at some point and to make some friends on my own.
To 2023.
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Fellowship So Far
When grandpa was dying, I was a dumb nursing student starting clinical rotations for the first time. The most I could do for him was fix his nasal cannula, fluff his pillows, and steal foam mouth swabs from school to bring home on the weekends so that he could dip them in ice and suck on the few drips of water he could keep down. I felt useless and desperately wanted to do more. I remember thinking although he was at the end of life, there must have been something else I could do to make his experience, and my family’s experience, better.
If you would have told me then that I’d go on to be a nurse practitioner at MD Anderson Cancer Center years later, I would have laughed. I’ve come so far from when I first started. I didn’t even know what nursing truly was. I joined on a whim walking on campus one day. The dean of nursing switched me in literally as our chemistry class was happening, and I obviously showed up late, clueless as to what the lecture was about and thinking I made a mistake.
I’ve been a nurse for eight years now and am in my first year as a nurse practitioner. The funny thing is, despite all the experience, knowledge, and wisdom I’ve acquired, I feel like I know nothing. I know I’ve done so much, and yet it feels like so little. I think this is the humbling part of being a nurse; yes, you’re exposed to the most intimate and powerful moments in life, but there’s always something more to accomplish. There is always something new to learn, always a new skill to acquire to keep inside your toolbox for the patient who might need it in a week, a month, or even a few years from now. I once joked that I’d always feel like a new nurse when I was actually a new nurse. And this sentiment still rings true years later. I don’t think it will ever go away. And I think it’s because no matter how much I do, no matter how much I learn, no matter how many patients I touch or how many procedures I do, there will always be this relentless pursuit to do more and to do things better. There will always be the desire to learn more, be more, and push for more. Just in case the next patient needs it.
I don’t know what I don’t know, but what I do know is that the person I am today is leaps and bounds better than the new nurse I was eight years ago. How many patients had to suffer because I couldn’t pick up on something years ago? How many diagnoses did I miss? How many complications occurred because I didn’t have the foresight to catch an impending SBO (small bowel obstruction) as a young nurse? How many times did something fly under my radar because I wasn’t good enough to find it?
Everything I’ve done and all the patients I’ve been able to care for thus far is just a speck on a timeline. I’ve learned and I’ve lost. And this year, being a nurse practitioner fellow, my only job is to literally learn. I’m loving every moment of this fellowship, even if I’m not. And I could not have asked for a better cohort. I’m loving that at the core of everything, after all the misery I’ve been through with nursing the past few years especially through COVID, I’m still me and have the core values that first got me obsessed with this profession. I’m loving that I feel so stupid every week and that I’m not afraid to ask stupid questions. I’m loving that slowly, but surely, I’m getting a glimpse of the kind of provider I am. I’m loving that I’m getting better for myself so that I can be better for the next one. I loving that I’m making a difference for me, and that it means something to my family. I’m loving that I’m never comfortable and every week, there’s so much I simply don’t know. I’m loving the intensity that is coming at me, the intensity that makes life life.
If I walk away learning anything from this experience so far, it’s that I should never doubt the zest I have for this job even when things get tough.
Maybe I still am the same little girl I was years ago, fluffing my grandpa’s pillows after all. Always passionate. Never wavering.
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Vietnam, Italy, and Switzerland
I think one of the best parts of our relationship is that as much as we have our own interests, we love a lot of the same things mutually, too. Travel is one of those things. Throughout our relationship, we never had the chance to travel internationally. In the beginning, it was too soon to do so. And later on, COVID hit. Our honeymoon was the first chance we had to travel. One of the things I love about us is that we travel to experience things together, but our individual thirst to see what life is like through the lens of another can never truly be quenched. I love that you love the differences between our lives and the lives of others. I love that you can appreciate the calm and the crazy that comes with all of our adventures, big and small.
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We’re married.
Ian and I got married.
People say the day flies by, and it’s true. One thing that I’m really happy we got to do, though, was actually soak in the day. The day came and went. But I felt grounded, present, and happy.
We had about 100 people at our wedding and I would not have wanted it any other way. We’ve worked so hard to find and keep relationships in our lives and it meant so much to us to have most of them present on such a momentous day. As I grow older, my relationships have even more weight than the previous year. It’s not easy to keep a relationship – not just a marriage, but a friendship, or a relationship with family. People that we were once in love with become strangers, our definition of “best friends” changes, and relationships fizzle out; but on the flip side, strangers become friends and people we never imagined we’d have love for come around and truly surprise us in the best of ways. In this whirlwind of life, somehow the dust settles and the people who are meant to be there are there.
It really just felt like the people who earned a seat at the table, literally, were there. It really felt like our perfect little wedding.
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Graduation
Three years ago, I left a really good job to pursue travel nursing. You might be thinking why I did. There are so many good answers to this question. Travel nursing can take you to so many cool places, give you exposure, and teach you resilience. For me, it was mostly about learning about all the sides of nursing – the good, the bad, and the ugly. I love this profession. And to be blunt, I think I was lucky enough to experience the best of it. Boston has some of the best medical centers in the world and I was blessed to work at a few of them in one capacity or another whether it was a fellowship, a nursing assistant, or a nurse. I really was spoiled, but because of that, I felt like I owed it to myself to go elsewhere and see how things varied in other parts of the country.
Well, I got what I asked for. I learned a lot in my two and half years as a nurse in California, and it was certainly more challenging than I thought it would be. There were days I questioned whether I was a good nurse anymore, whether I had what it takes to connect to my patients, and whether I was better off doing something else. There were days I genuinely could not remember the last time I felt valued or that my work mattered. COVID undoubtedly made an already challenging profession even more challenging. But it grew harder and harder to be the nurse I always envisioned myself to be when I was placed in situations that made it impossible to care for people how I wanted to – how they deserved to be treated. There is no perfect system. And again, this is what I asked for. I wanted it all – the good, the bad, and the ugly. But now, I was here in the trenches of it, and I could truly say there were days I faltered and felt like I lost touch of who I was, who I could be, and if my work even mattered anymore.
Despite this, I can stand on the other side of it and say that beneath the hysteria of living through a pandemic, workplace stress, and feeling like I wasn’t able to deliver to my potential, I still love nursing. Nursing continues to be tested and nurses all over the world, in small clinics, rural communities, large city hospitals, prisons, mental health facilities, and you-name-it continue to feel undervalued, overworked and burned out. Most times it feels as if no one is listening, But I am proud of myself when I look back and realize that, beyond all the bullshit, I still feel in touch with the reason I did this . . and I still remember why I became a nurse.
Ten years ago, my grandpa was dying from colon cancer. His hospice nurse came by to pronounce him deceased, and although she knew no Vietnamese and my grandma knew no English, she was able to connect with my grandmother beyond language and words. Somehow, she still got through. I became a nurse because after I told my mom she had breast cancer and we went to follow-up visits together, I always imagined what it would feel like being on the other side of the visit in that chair – not the patient’s family member, but the provider. I became a nurse because growing up, I picked up on all these silly clues . . like really enjoying being in the hospital as a little kid, really enjoying biology in ninth grade, and really enjoying giving advice to other people with relationship problems, or just allowing them to vent. All of these factors came into play when I chose nursing. Because nursing is all of those things – it is humanity, science, and empathy, all tied into one. It is being a kind person, but also using your wit with the balance of heart and art to just make someone’s time better – to get them home to a loved one or to get them back to the life they enjoy. It’s taking cues and healing, but also talking and understanding people. And I’m so lucky I picked up on these clues along the way.
. . Which brings me to another point. I know people always tell you to find your passion. But really, I think this is such a dangerous game. People don’t simply figure this shit out one day. They pick it up along the way. And I feel like when you tell someone to just go out there and find it, it really places them at a huge disadvantage. Because what if they don’t just find it? Are they different? Are they defective? Are they doing something wrong? Instead, why don’t we encourage more people to just pay attention to the clues that make them happy? Because eventually, in some way, somehow, I truly believe all the puzzle pieces come together in the end and we end up building this passion as we go. Steve Jobs took up typography one day just because it fascinated him, not knowing it would come in handy when developing the typeface for the iPhone later on. And I didn’t have the passion for nursing twelve years ago when I first started college. But I listened to the signs, and here we are.
Graduating with my doctoral degree means more to me than I imagined. When I started graduate school five years ago, I had absolutely no desire of becoming a nurse practitioner. I only hoped that in time, I would eventually want to be one. Going back to school also just felt right at the time – I wasn’t ready to take the next step, but I was ready to better myself and be better equipped to care for people when they were at their worst. When you add the weight of the obstacles my family and I had to endure in the two weeks alone prior to graduation, being able to see me walk in person was an even larger feat.
Everything is full circle. I am going to be the nurse practitioner I always envisioned myself to be. And I know I am going to be a bomb nurse practitioner not only because of my grit, my experience, and the passion I have fostered but because I’ll be under the guidance of some of the best at the number one cancer hospital in the country. This next year going through a fellowship, moving, getting used to married life, and creating the life I have always imagined will be tough. But if the past two and half years have taught me anything, it is that I am resilient. And when you’re resilient, have grit, and an unwavering, searing, relentlessness to pursue something greater, the question is no longer “How high?” but instead, “When?”
Please excuse the middle finger. Was juggling about 8 things at once, =D. Fiance Mom
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Time
Dropped Katelynn off at college today. It’s crazy how time flies. It feels like just yesterday she was my little sidekick making YouTube covers with me, baking cupcakes, and getting yelled at by our parents. I can’t believe she’s gotten this big and seventeen years have flown by. From singing Drake lyrics, to forcing Tayvia to give me hugs, to holding the fort down taking our family to doctors’ appointments, walks, sleepovers, and falling asleep to movies, she’s the little sister I’ve always wanted but never had. Today hits a bit different. It’s really strange feeling time getting pulled out from underneath you.
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With Her Last Breath
Diana was one of the most grateful patients I have ever cared for. Even when she came into clinic short of breath, clutching her chest, oxygen saturation hanging in the high eighties, she always had a smile on her face and made every effort to thank you for any little deed. This includes getting her a chair, an apple juice, helping her recline and put her feet up, or hanging her blood.
One of the last days I had her, she looked awful. She had lost so much weight, her skin was dry, her lung sounds were diminished, she needed oxygen, and she could barely stand without expending nearly all her strength and energy. Her AML had relapsed and being frail and in her seventies with comorbidities, she wasn’t an appropriate candidate for a stem cell transplant. Her previous doctor had run out of options for treatment, and thus she seeked care at our facility. Her one reason for living was clear: a cute, one year old granddaughter who she was desperate to see. Through COVID and through cancer, she would see through it all just to be able to hold her little girl one more time.
Although she started new treatment with high hopes, her luck was quickly overturned when she ended up in the hospital with a nasty pneumonia. Pneumonia in the elderly can be fatal, and the hospitalization took a lot out of her. She had to come in daily for treatment and supportive care, and the trips to and from clinic alone were enough to exhaust a healthy twenty year old (LA traffic, you know). But she fought and she fought hard. Until one day she told me her “little body couldn’t take it anymore.” And that she thought it was time to go.
I was really proud of Diana because patients become so blindsided with living that they forget the reasons they live. Yes, she was fighting for her granddaughter. But the treatment had withered her away so badly, she didn’t think she could enjoy any time she may have left with her granddaughter. The foresight and understanding to “give up,” or rather, give in to this process and to simply accept that she was dying was one of the most powerful moments I have witnessed in healthcare. I stood at the foot of her bed leaning against the bed railing. Sitting on the side of the bed huffing and puffing, she looked over to me and reached out for my hand. I held it with gloved fingers and listened as she voiced how grateful she was to be able to meet people who were so willing to take a chance to help her live; how grateful she was to meet me; how grateful she was for all we did for her; and how grateful she was that she had gotten this far. I told her I would miss seeing her, helped her into her wheelchair, and wheeled her outside where her Uber ride home was waiting. The idea that she needed an Uber home hurt my heart because throughout her care, she had to overcome several social barriers. Finding a ride to and from cancer treatment everyday is not easy, but somehow she always did. Helping her into the car of a stranger that didn’t know her, didn’t know the heart she had, and didn’t know that she probably had no longer than a week or two on this earth devastated me. I closed the door to the silver Hyundai, heard her last “thank you,” and watched her drive away for the last time. Diana died the following week. The feeling is bittersweet but I am happy to know she did not suffer for long. I am happy she knows that our efforts weren’t in vain. And I am happy that even though she was only able to see her grandbaby mostly over FaceTime, they were a hundred more FaceTime sessions she wouldn’t have gotten if we didn’t try.
I’ve never met someone who was gasping for air, yet always found the breath to say thank you. I’ve never met anyone like Diana.
Gratitude is powerful. I imagine that when it’s the last note you leave on, the afterlife is pure bliss.