The Art of Caring

I Am Jack

Debby Pfeiffer

My name is Jack. I have been in this hospital way too long. The days seem to blend into one. There is too much time to lie in bed; stare at the bare, white walls; and think. There is nothing to watch on TV. I just stare at the clock and pray to God to help pass the time. I wait every day for the doctor to come in and deliver news about when I can get out of here, but it seems like things are not working out in my favor. The cancer appears to have spread, my heart is causing me to have breathing complications, and I seem to keep getting infections. My body is deteriorating little by little.

I get so lonely here. I am envious of others who get visitors. A man of my age, 88 years, does not have too many friends left. My beautiful wife, whom I was married to for 62 years, is now in a nursing home. It broke my heart when I moved her there a couple of years ago. She was diagnosed with dementia, and I found it extremely difficult to give her the proper care she needed. I miss her so much. I think about her all the time, but I know she is being attended to and is in a safe place. My son and daughter-in-law come to see me twice a week. I know they have their own lives and are busy with their work, but I wish they were able to visit me more. Though my son and I differ on many things, I would really appreciate his company right now. I don’t tell him this. I don’t want to add pressure to his busy life. So, as I said, I have a lot of time to think of my life and what I know very soon will be my death.