First of all, thank you all for all of the cards and flowers and food for recognition of Veterinary Team week.  I have the awesomest team in the world, you know it and I know it, but now they really know it.

One of the things that bring us together as a team is compassion.  Last year I found a rock at Coyote Moon in Belfast inscribed with Compassion. I had been looking for 2 years and thought I would never find one. So if you were thinking about walking off with that rock, don't because I will have to kill you.

I think that would make an interesting headline in the paper though....

"Local Veterinarian Held on Murder Charge of Compassion Rock Thief."

Anyway, there was never a time in my life that I was reminded more of the power of compassionate care than when the tables were turned and I was a patient.

10 years ago I had several  episodes of abdominal pain. I was at a conference with Mary in Boston and had tried my first Caramel Macchiato. But about an hour later I started having pain and vomiting. As the night progressed it got worse....alot worse.  We went to the Emergency room in Boston where they assumed I had an ulcer and treated me.

When we got back home I went to my doctor and had a variety of tests.  Upper GI barium, endoscopy....no ulcer.  Again a few weeks later I had the same pain. Another trip to the emergency room and I was diagnosed with Gall bladder "sludge" and they sent me to a surgeon.

The surgeon brusquely came in and told me I would have to have it out and that they did it with the scope now and I would be back to work in a week or two.  "Can't I manage this without surgery?" I asked.  "You can if you want, but one way or the other, you are going to end up getting it out of there. Its no big deal."

But suddenly I wanted my gall bladder.

I read on the internet (do you see why I tell you guys to be careful with this?).  Perhaps I could control fat in my diet, the sludge would pass and I would be fine.  Prove little Ms Brusquey pants wrong.

I eliminated almost all fat from my diet.  I knew when I did have some fat, because it would cause persistent, although usually manageable pain. I went out to dinner with friends, had the pain....went out to lunch with my vet colleagues, ouch ouch.

Finally I had another night where I felt horrible and had the pain again and Mary brought me to the Emergency room.  They ran bloodwork and Mary's face turned white as she read the report that the doctor (a good friend of hers) had brought. I had critical liver values. The bile duct had blocked totally and the liver had no way of getting rid of the bile.  They admitted me for more tests and surgery.

First they scheduled me for a procedure to go down with a scope and roto rooter (Ok, there's a more medical name for it I know) the end of the bile duct to release the obstructed "sludge". They wheeled me into the GI doctor. I remember so clearly that the orderly seemed angry and when I got to the room where the procedure would be done there were a lot of patients. The nurse grabbed my chart and never looking at me, turned around to complain to another nurse about a coworker.  She plopped the chart on my abdomen (did I mention it hurt?) and left me. Later another nurse came and wheeled me into have the procedure done.

I woke up much more comfortable but knowing there was no way I could avoid the surgery.  I was in the hospital room, and all I could think of was that I didn't bring a tooth brush.  This all had happened and I hadn't had time to take a shower, or brush my teeth.  It was difficult to get up not because I was in pain but because the Johnny I was wearing showed the world my butt.

The nurses came in with a smile and a blood pressure check around the clock that first night and Mary brought me a toothbrush. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and felt better.

The next day I had the surgery. When I woke up it hurt a lot. I thought it was going to be two little camera incisions and back to work in a few days.  They explained to me that because the gall bladder was so chronically inflamed it had formed adhesions and they could not perform the surgery with the scope. They had to make an incision the old fashioned way.

It was awhile before I could look at the 6 inch scar across the right side of my abdomen. I was 37 and hadn't accepted that my body was going to look worse as I got older anyway, so the scar seemed like a pretty big deal. Plus it hurt like a bear. 

I stayed in the bed with two catheters (I let you figure out where they were), unable to get to the bathroom without a herculean effort with poles and tubes.  Mary was my advocate, she made sure that it all was as humane as possible.  But I have to say, except for her advocacy, I felt pretty much like a piece of meat.  The machinery of human medicine is much larger than veterinary medicine.  The disturbing part was the lack of personal connection.  

That was until I met a nurse named Ruth.  On the second day in the hospital I was feeling the least human I had yet. Mary had left to attend to our lives...her mom, the kids, her own job...and I was in bed feeling pretty sorry for myself. I had to be out of work for 4-6 weeks, I had no idea how I could afford to do that.  I had a huge scar across my abdomen. I hadn't slept well for days and the pain meds made me feel kind of zoned out. It was about time for my next dose and Ruth was coming in to get my vitals and check on me. But she did so much more than that.  She came in and left the blood pressure machine at the door. She looked me in the eyes and asked me how I was doing.  Her words weren't automatic, they made me think she was present with me.  I told her I felt pretty crummy.  She touched my arm. Her hands had very prominent joints like perhaps she had rheumatoid arthritis, although she was probably in her 40s.  She kept the contact with my arm and eyes and asked me what would help. I told her a toothbrush and a warm washcloth....at least that is what I tried to say through the tears.  She sat with me for a long time and I felt like she had nothing else to do but make sure I was ok.  I put the warm washcloth on my face and the pain seemed to go away.  She rubbed my shoulder and asked if that felt better.  She sat with me as I composed myself.  She squeezed my shoulder and told me I would be out soon and needed to focus my energy on healing. She brought me fresh water.  I don't even remember if she took my vital signs, and I'm sure in the long run it didn't matter.

The moment of compassion she gave me reminded me as caregivers there is nothing more important than that in nursing care.

So now, when Christina feeds a kitten with a syringe, I think of Ruth

When Betsy covers up a shivering puppy waking up from having surgery  I think of Ruth

When Vicki or Donna comes back with tears in their eyes because someone is here to have their pet put to sleep, I think of Ruth

When Erin holds a poodle in her lap while it wakes up and talks to it, I think of Ruth.

I never saw Ruth again and have no idea if she is still in the area. If you know a nurse named Ruth, send this to her.  I figure even if it isn't THE Ruth, they can be reminded how important it is to be A Ruth.