So it was that a few weeks later, two first-year nursing students, Cindy Santiago, 26, and Michelle Elliot, 52, arrived at Ms. Keochareon’s tiny house, a few miles from the college. She was bedbound, cared for by a loyal band of relatives, hospice nurses and aides. Both students were anxious.
“Sit on my bed and talk to me,” Ms. Keochareon said. The students hesitated, saying they had been taught not to do that, to prevent transmission of germs. What they knew of nursing in hospitals ”” “I’m here to take your vitals, give you your medicine, O.K., bye,” as Ms. Santiago put it ”” was different, after all….
For Ms. Keochareon, this was a chance to teach something about the profession she had found late and embraced ”” she became a nurse at 40, after raising her daughter and working for years on a factory floor.
My father died of pancreatic cancer. What comforted him most was having those he loved and liked to be with him during the day, and for those hours of the night when even the oxycodone gave no relief. Even one of our family cats understood this, and would curl up by my father’s hand so he could give the kitty weak, weak pats as the cat purred. As for me, I read to Dad from the Psalms.