Shortly after brushing my teeth and crawling into bed the phone rang. I knew what it was. I was on call. A hospice patient was in need and it was my job to ease her distress. I slipped back out of bed, put on my scrubs and splashed my face with water before heading out the door. The night was dark and the stars shone brightly. It’s these long, lonely, late drives to see the dying that gets one contemplating life.

When I arrived a middle aged man answered the door, “She is in the back room waiting for you” he says as he points me in her direction. I lightly knock on the bedroom door before cracking it open when she directs me to come in.  A sweet woman too young to be fighting for her life is practically in tears. She has cancer and the evil out of control growth is doing things to her body that most people could not comprehend. It embarrasses her so that she does not want her husband to see so she asks me to close the door behind me.

I have found that dying is as diverse as living. We all do it differently. This one was new to me. The cancer had eaten its way through her intestines and out of her abdomen creating open wounds that the digestive acids were leaking from. The best we could do was try to attach colostomy bags around the openings so that the fluids would be caught by the bag instead of leaking onto her skin causing painful burns and irritation. Tonight the bags are not sticking and her abdomen looks red and irritated.

When I have not seen a patient before and I am called to see them in the middle of the night I rely on them and family to give me the information that I need. So the woman walked me through her routine, carefully removing the adhesives, gently cleansing her sensitive and burnt skin. As I leaned over to help her she spots my necklace. “What does your necklace say?” she asks. Around my neck is the necklace that I bought at a local coffee shop. It was a round metal medallion with a pearl hanging in the middle attached to a dog tag style chain. Inscribed on the metal it said “Living the Adventure” I tell her. The woman stops me, looks me right in the eye and says “Well are you?”

My insides churn, it would be a lie to tell her yes. As much as I loved these intimate moments with my patients it was hard. Hard because I took them home with me. They laid in my bed with me at night and woke me when the fear of missing something crossed my subconscious mind. “I aspire too,” I told her. We finished reattaching new bags and she was able to go into the living room and sit with her husband in peace. I left and image of her eyes looking into mine, calling me out, nagging at me to Live the Adventure followed me home.

The woman passed away a few weeks later and life has a way of moving on. Jobs, bills, kids, the house. Eventually the dog tag chain rusted and I put the medallion in my jewelry box waiting for the day that I found a new chain to hang it from and then I forgot about it. I continued to work as a nurse and eventually changed from the late night hospice calls to managing patient care from the office as a manager. Still taking them home with me. Still aspiring to “Live the Adventure” but instead stressing most days in order to have a couple of great vacations a year.

Then the day came that I found the full time RV lifestyle. My husband and I poured our heart and soul into it. We gave ourselves a year to plan and prepare. We scrimped and saved and sold most of our hard earned possessions. In the process of packing I went through my jewelry box and I found my little medallion. I smiled as I thought of the woman who had called me out. Asked me if I was living the adventure and I couldn’t tell her that I was. Her eyes still burned in an image in my head. I had recently bought a new silver chain so I put that medallion on the chain and wore that necklace once again now just weeks from our official launch date.

Now six states, 8 national parks, and countless trails later I am LIVING THE ADVENTURE! and I find that not just the woman with cancer is with me, but many of those patients whose life touched mine travel with me. The couple with the giant map full of pins to all the places they had traveled, the 90 year old man still itching to hike those mountains. All the patients who whittled their lives away with the mundane and then fought so hard to stay while their bodies gave out, regretting the things that they did not do. No one on their death bed told me the amount in their bank account and only the ones who truly loved what they did talked about their jobs. Most embraced their families, their accomplishments, their joys.

Today I embrace them. All of them. The funny ones, the sweet ones and even the grumpy ones. I learned something from every one of them. Life is short. Life has a way a taking you on its own course unless you are willing to steer it in another direction. You only live once. So fill your heart with what you love, do what makes you happy, and be the best you that you can be. 

Much Love,
Lori and every elderly and hospice patient I served.