“Well, I think I’m done. I guess ain’t nothing to do ‘bout it now, so might as well spill.”
The portly older man sat on his bed on the other side of the glass, his voice coming over a tinny speaker. It was a cruel joke, the bed, but it was also the best care we could give him.
“If you need a confessor I can call for the chaplain,” I said, checking if the previous nurse had made any note of hallucinations yet. He was still early days.
“‘T’ain’t that kind of spillin. Guess it’d be your kind, I s’pose.”
I glanced at the clock while I checked his monitor. His heart rate was elevated, but that was par for the course. I had a handful more people to check before lunch, but I was nervous. Mrs. Ramirez had gone fully mute a few days ago. All that was left for her was the panic and pain.
Mr. Dougan spoke again, nodding at my chart “Might want a fresh’n there. You’ll wanna write this down.”
“When was the last time you were able to get some rest, Mr. Dougan?”
“Nine days, if your computer’s right”
I jotted that down in his chart. Beyond a week we had to start daily weight monitoring. James had filled out the chart two days ago, but I guess he decided the standard was “beyond seven days” not “seven days and beyond”. Whatever. I can’t fault him. I heard his little sister just started menopause. She was only 19.
“Well Mr. Dougan, it looks like I need to check your weight. Do you think you can stand or should I come in and give you a hand?”
“I can stand, but you oughtta sit first. I gotta talk at ya a minute.”
I sighed. He wasn’t moving. I checked my watch and pulled a rolling stool over from under the nurse’s station.
“What is it you need to discuss, Mr. Dougan?”
“Well it’s just,” his eyes looked crestfallen, “it’s just I heard ‘bout my little girl.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I remembered her. It was always worse with the teens. They waited too long to come in, they were always convinced their sleep schedules were just always terrible. They had to suffer through the paranoia and hallucinations without any support. Mary-lou had only been 14. I wasn’t on shift when it happened, and I hadn’t had her in my rounds, but James had mentioned her to me. He was a talker. He had to talk. I guess Mr. Dougan did too.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I-I’m sure she’s in a better….”
Usually grieving parents aren’t also patients. It’s even rarer that they suffer the same fate.
“I know. I know she’s not hurtin’ now. I just wish I hadn’t caught it till after. I wanted to be there with her, y’know?”
I nodded as sympathetically as I could.
“Anyway. That’s not rightly what I wanna talk at you about. It’s just. It’s just that I don’t got anyone left.”
I nodded again.
“Ain’t nobody to leave the ranch to.”
“What?”
I’d heard of this of course, hospice patients leaving things to their nurses, but usually they had long relationships, or some special connections. I hadn’t formed those with any of my patients yet.
“Ain’t got no one to leave my farm to. Ain’t no one for y’all to take it from. Might as well tell ya, I guess.”
That threw me. The CDC doesn’t take farms. Unless…
“I’m pretty sure I started all this mess.”
"It all started last spring. I got a bit of a dairy operation. It started with just the one, to make the Missus happy, but then the conservation service stopped by to check our prairie patch and said we could get some costshare if we ever expanded. I had 'bout eighty head before folks started gettin' sick."