I once took care of a patient with what’s called a “difficult” family member. It was the kind of family member that when they arrived the staff would make themselves scarce. All the nurses would roll their eyes or sigh in exasperation, myself included. Because this family member was that bad. I would imagine this person encountered that type of reception wherever they went. But, I mean, wasn’t he kinda asking for it?
You see, this guy was a typical drunk, a longtime alcoholic, with yellow eyes and a sunken-in face. His clothes hung loosely on his malnourished frame, and the smell of stale cigarette smoke mixed with urine and body odor permeated from his dirty, wrinkled clothing. He’d been known to pass out at the hospital room bedside, after vomiting all over the floor. As if the staff didn’t have enough to do for their patients without caring for visitors too.
One day when I encountered him, his hair stood up on his head, and snot ran down his nose after he had taken a long public transportation ride through winter weather to come to the hospital to visit. His breath reeked of alcohol, and he struggled to keep his words from slurring as he questioned me about his spouse. He repeated the same questions he had asked the day before, and his eyes jumped back and forth as he stuttered and spoke.
I answered his questions the best I could, and as I left the room I thought of the fact that it could just as easily be me in his shoes. With a history of alcoholism in my family, and a history of my own, I knew had I not stopped drinking, it could be me there slurring my words. I couldn’t judge this man, but I figured I could feed him. So I gathered up a chicken salad sandwich and some juice. Then I took it to the room.
Of course, he was grateful, and he thanked me. I answered that it wasn’t a problem, but it was what he said after that really got me.