“I just want to see my world one last time.”

Once I followed one of my Hospice outpatients into the into the Hospice wing at  St. Joe’s hospital and she then was able to go home (this doesn’t happen too often),  I was asked by the staff to do some volunteering time there. I’d arrive weekly to the morning meeting where the palliative care doctors where conferring with the nurses about the patients and their needs. Usually they’d assign three or four people for me to treat,  most often  for pain and anxiety.

This day was a little different. There was a man who had a dramatic facial infection that had left him blind. He was bandaged completely around his head with only his chin, mouth and nose visible. It would be a bit of a oozy and gory sight, but would I be willing to see him?  This was my first venture into working with someone that truly appeared injured.  I said yes, not knowing if Jin Shin Jyutsu could help him in this condition.

Joe was a friendly and agreeable man in his 70s. When I introduced myself he was sitting up in bed quietly. It was quite a stretch for a man of this age to understand energy therapies but he was uncomfortable and willing to try anything. This is often the case in palliative care. People are at the end of their rope and are willing to grab hold of mine.

While I gently worked with him, he began describing his life. He had grown up in Lexington and fondly remembered the way things had been as a child. Riding his horse into town on Richmond Road. Fishing often at what is now Jacobson Park, and the freedom of roaming the Bluegrass area with his childhood friends. He missed the way it was and described his early days fondly and his full Kentucky life. When we finished he asked me to return the next week to see him saying he felt “better and more relaxed”.  

I was excited to be able to see Joe again the next week. I love hearing people’s life stories with all their ups and downs and his was no exception. I could feel his deep kindness and love for life and hoped to offer him more relief. I didn’t get the opportunity.

When I walked through the double doors to the hospice wing there he was, dressed, in a wheelchair, looking at me clearly with both of his piercing blue eyes. Not a single bandage wrapped around his head.  I greeted him with surprise and told him who I was since he’d never seen me through all his bandages the week before. “I can see again!” he said excitedly. “Do you mind if I skip our session today? My friend has come to drive me around so I can see Lexington again. Can we do it next week?”  No bandages, no oozing pus, just bright eyes and joy. Of course I agreed!  Off he and his buddy went down the hallway. What had happened? None of the doctors knew but everyone was thrilled for him.

I never had the opportunity to work with him again. I returned the next week to find that Joe had passed peacefully a few days earlier. He’d gotten one last look at a place he loved and was ready to go.