My daughter M had been in the hospital for a roller-coaster week but now we were in the ICU for the third time and we knew things were bad. M had been saying that she thought she was dying, but just the day before we were talking about discharge. Maybe we would escape one more time. We had spent a fitful night outside the ICU because the night nurse had not wanted us in the room with M. We felt that we were losing the last precious minutes with her and that was adding to our physical and emotional distress and exhaustion.
As dawn broke, we were rapidly being joined by a host of family, friends, and clergy. It was time for the change of shift, and I thought I'd see whether the day nurse would let us visit. I went in rather tentatively, got to the room and there was Leslie and her smiling face! She greeted me and we each had a vague recollection that we had worked together in the distant past. After pleasantries, she gave me an update. Things were worse than I had imaged but I immediately had the sense that Leslie had the situation under control. I could just be a mom. M was conscious and in tremendous pain. She was moaning in the most heart-rending way. I asked if she could get more pain medicine and if more family could come in. Thankfully, Leslie gave the okay and the senior Aunts came in.
We took turns holding M's hand and trying to soothe her. Meanwhile, Leslie was flitting around the room fixing the bed and pillows trying to make M more comfortable. She called the doctor and strongly advocated for more pain meds. What a relief to have an ally! Eventually, we decided that the medical efforts were futile. We wanted only as much comfort as possible. The bi-pap was removed and the monitor was turned off.
In a soft, calm and reassuring tone Leslie let us know what was happening even as she allowed more and more of us to pile in the room. This is what M wanted, to be surrounded by family and friends, song and prayer at the time of her transition. I swear that under her uniform Leslie has angel's wings. She moved about the room tiding it up while every few minutes checking on M and giving the meds that were finally, finally, giving M the relief that she had needed for years.
Leslie was almost invisible. She worked around us and we could feel that she was not just caring for M, she was caring for us too. Before long, as the song M had requested played, M slipped away and was at peace. There were a few shouts but mostly there were silent tears and prayer. I was stunned. Leslie waited until each of us had the opportunity to take in what happened and then she called the doctor. He came and pronounced M.