Perspective

Four years ago, Mr. Berk (not his real name) was an active, normal, vibrant 50-something. He had a good job, a loving partner, Caroline, and a beautiful apartment in Stuyvesant Town. But then one day, somebody at work noticed that he seemed to be walking a little strangely. Shortly thereafter, he began to feel slightly off balance, and a bit clumsy. In a matter of weeks, he began to lose strength in his arms and legs, weakness taking over his body. A tremor began to develop, and his speech started to become slurred. Nobody knew what was happening to him.

Four years later, Mr. Berk is now virtually bedridden. A rare neurological disorder has swept through the neurons in a portion of his brain, rendering him incapable of speech, mobility, and even the ability to sit up. He is in constant pain, lays in a hospital bed in the middle of his living room all day, and has become incontinent. He can barely form any words, and every movement is labored. He's completely alert and conscious, none of his cognitive abilities having been affected by this disease. In other words, he lies there all day every day, completely helpless, and also completely aware of his disability...thinking of nothing but the past, and how things used to be.

I had an opportunity this week to visit this home while doing a community-based nursing rotation. My instructor assigned me to visit this family on my own, provide a basic nursing assessment, spend some time talking to them, and report back to her. Nothing could have prepared me for this experience. I was immediately in awe of the amount of love and compassion Caroline and Bernice (the home health aide) showed Mr. Berk. Caroline has stood by him every step of the way over the years, and provides hours of care each and every morning and evening; washing him, turning him, lotioning his skin, talking to him, and holding his hands, joking with him, discussing politics, and simply "being" with him. While Caroline is at work, Bernice continues the extraordinary care, and treats Mr. Berk like a father. They are loving and attentive. They treat him with respect and dignity. These people are selfless. They are devoted. They are nothing short of heroes.

When it came time for me to leave Mr. Berk that morning, I thanked him for allowing me into his home. I told him that the service he provides by allowing students to come visit him is invaluable, as I will remember my experience with him and his "family" for the rest of my life. He began to cry. I wondered if I had said something wrong. I looked at Caroline. She had a bittersweet smile on her face, and she, too, was crying. I looked to the aide. She had tears welling up. No words were being said, there was just a profound silence in the room. I could hear my heart beating. I took a tissue from the box, and wiped the tears from Mr. Berk's face. I would soon need one for myself. I again turned to Caroline, hoping for some help in understanding...she smiled warmly and thanked me from the bottom of her heart...and told me that Mr. Berk's tears were simple tears of joy.

On that morning, i had discovered the true meaning of Christmas.