Well Im back at work this week. Happy New Year everyone. Soon we will be right into the trenches of a challenging year. But first I wanted to share a little something with you. I am lucky enough to have a big loving family - being one of nine. And they are always extra special round Christmas. And I know for some it can also be a bit of a sad time. I mentioned my Mum earlier and I promise this is not a new pattern for my fb page! But on this day - Jan 6 in 2009 a very young member of my beautiful family tragically died. I was working at the nurses union, now the ANMF, and I wrote this little article for the journal. Im posting it here today in memory of our Xavier John and for my sister Mary and all those who might be feeling loss. On 6 January, around 5pm, my sister’s 17 year old son, my nephew, Xavier, died. There is so much good and bad to tell you about this, it is hard to know where to begin. I am not even sure what it is that needs to be told. I’d like to tell you about the death of a child, of someone so young, it leaves indelible marks that can never be erased. When I reflect on Xavier’s death and try to sort a path through the haze, one obstacle rises, huge and almost insurmountable – the overriding presence of pain. Pain was the invisible fulcrum around which all the activities of our family moved during Xavier’s illness. There was sadness so deep it hurt. There was anger; directed inwards until it burned and then strewn around with barbs that stung. Xavier’s physical pain was terrible; such a terrible pain that no one, least of all a beautiful child, should bear. But the worst pain, the most profound and everlasting, was that caused by love. During his illness, that beautiful but terrible pain was evident in the smallest of things. I watched the anguish on my sister’s face as she fretted about Xavier leaving the house to spend time with friends. He was so thin and fragile but he would look at her directly and give her the most beautiful smile and say “don’t worry Mum, I’ll be alright”. Then I’d see her try to smile too, her mouth half pulled back, but her eyes and brow furrowed and strained. The pain of love! It was more than I could bear, that face with its pain boring into me, my love for her and her son tearing at my heart. I watched Xavier’s father ask practical direct questions of the oncologist – ever hopeful. But the painful dread, the fear of bad news was reflected in his eyes and his voice. The pain of love! I left my sister and Xavier for four weeks. I had made commitments to other loved ones. He deteriorated while I was away and I came home to the tension and inevitability of the last few days of Xavier’s life. Xavier’s pain was the issue. All efforts were focused on relieving his agony. My sister’s lovely friend is a palliative care nurse and she stepped in because of her love for her friend and Xavier. The pain of her love was etched on her face. Her skills and knowledge as a nurse were amazing, but as a friend, so wonderfully and painfully touching. The day Xavier died we were all together, family and friends. Xavier’s pain was becoming difficult to control and distress was looming when Claire, the Royal District Nursing Service (RDNS) palliative care nurse, arrived. She and her colleagues had been caring for Xavier in previous weeks and she said she had thought, that afternoon, she’d better stop by – perhaps a sixth sense. She assessed the situation immediately and helped settle Xavier. Claire briefed me and another family member who is a nurse on the pain management plan. With the perfect communication skills of a professional clinician, she told us with compassion and sensitivity that the end of Xavier’s life was close. We knew it, but the pain of hearing it was dreadful. Thanks to Claire, my sister’s friend was able to step back a little, stop being a nurse and be a grieving friend. Xavier’s mother, father, two sisters and little brother were able to see Xavier, calm and pain free until he breathed his last. That terrible day, the pain of love was shared by us all there together. No words can describe the intensity. No words can ever make it easier. No words could have relieved that pain. But love was there, plain and clear. Claire asked me if I would like to help her lay Xavier out. I was touched and overcome to be able to perform that special last rite for my nephew. Such a privilege! As I wiped his lovely face, and folded his fragile arms, I thanked Claire for what she had done for us. She stopped what she was doing and said “I feel your pain, but I am lucky to see so much love, and Ged, this is why I am a nurse”. (Thanks ANMF for letting me reproduce it).
Posted on: Tue, 06 Jan 2015 06:55:36 +0000
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