con-FUSE-ing!

Rebekah Barr

As a Hospice nurse I have many of the poignant, sad, heart-warming, and joyous experiences one would expect from working with the terminally ill.  Every once in a while though I run into a situation that is just plain funny.  An experience I had last week gave me a peek at myself and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

I was on my regular rounds and stopped by the home of one of my patients.  As I entered her bedroom, I found her tucked into bed with her head gently propped up on a pillow. I could tell she was weaker than the last time I had seen her.  The weather had turned cooler and she had a space heater running full throttle.  Her oxygen machine was turned on and the TV was tuned to her favorite soap opera.

Just as I put down my bags and started towards her, the electricity went off and everything in the room went dark and quiet.  Because I consider myself only slightly mechanical,Iwas rather proud of myself that I recognized the telltale signs of a blown fuse.  Wanting to spare her from having to expend any of her dwindling energy, but also aware I was setting myself up to fiddle with unfamiliar electrical equipment, I semi courageously asked, “Where is your fuse box?” 

“No”, she answered me weakly but with authority, “stomp on the floor.”  Well, this puzzled me but I was game to learn something new about fixing an electrical outage.  I clunked my foot down on the floor once, watching carefully for the electrical appliances to spring back to life.  But there was nothing.

“Louder”, she offered. I stomped again with a little more vigor, half expecting to see a bolt of light shoot across the room.  Again, nothing.

My patient shook her head and pointed to the cane behind the chair next to her bed.  “Use that”, she suggested and I was aware of all the energy she was using to tutor me on fuse fixing.

I took the cane and rapped once quite smartly on the floor.

“More”, sheurged.  I now felt emboldened by my growing desire to, at least, get her oxygen machine running again, not to mention my curiosity to witness the electrical miracle I felt she was encouraging me to bring forth.

I pounded the floor hard many times.

Suddenly, a disembodied male voice yelled out from the floor below.

“WHADDYA  WANT?  I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!”

“Call down and tell him to fix the fuse,” my patient whispered with satisfaction, closing her eyes and settling her head back down into her pillow.