To Fight Como Frida

As I stare at the painting of Frida Kahlo up on my wall, I reminisce about the time I took care of Y.L. and recount the similar strong and fighting spirit he had while I took care of him. In fact, receiving the artistic gift from him and his wife has prompted me to dive into my Netflix account and watch the revolutionary Mexican painter’s biopic starring Salma Hayek.

For those that do not know (SPOILER ALERT), just like any superhero origin story, Frida experienced a tragedy that would impact her for the rest of her life. At the age of 18, Frida was involved in a bus accident that led her to have multiple fractures and surgeries that required her to be in a full-body cast for several months. Consequently, during that period of time, Frida was stuck to her bed with her thoughts. Fortunately, her parents had provided her with a personalized easel and paint, which led to the beginnings of her world renown career as a painter. Even prior to the tragic event, Frida was charming, witty, and strong-willed. She was not afraid to give others a piece of her mind and stood up for what was right. Beneath her tough façade laid a delicate and kind-hearted woman. Her story possesses other intriguing and shocking chapters, but I will let those interested watch the movie.

But what does this have to do with your patient Cristine?

Well, let me tell you. When I first got report for Mr. L., one of the strangest facts I remember was that he was a French Canadian man who understood Spanish better than French. No, he was not half Hispanic. No, he was not raised around Hispanics. Yes, he travelled frequently in the Caribbeans. And yes, he ended up marrying a Mexican woman. But no, Frida Kahlo wasn’t his wife.

Anyway … Y. L. had skin cancer that had spread to his brain. He was recovering in our ICU after surgery, but was left with expressive aphasia. Even though he knew what he wanted to say, the words did not come out as he wanted them. Instead of being more comfortable in his native language (French), he had become more fluent with Spanish. With three years of high school Spanish classes under my belt, I spoke to him in Sprench or Franish. He would always reply with “Sí!”. Although he couldn’t talk as well as he would like, his animated expressions and determination to be understood was loud and clear.

Upon my initial encounter with him, he only spoke a few words: “Si … no … porque”. He did not seem confused to me, but rather struggling to express himself according to his needs. Throughout my shifts with him, I had coached him into saying certain common words syllable by syllable. At first, he had trouble even stating his own name. Every few hours or so, I would coach his wife to encourage him to say a few words or short sentences with very few cues. Just like physical rehabilitation, speech therapy is just as important. Success of speech rehab can make a significant difference in increasing one's quality of life. I have witnessed it myself in my own mother whilst she recovered from a permanent paralyzed vocal cord (now she is able to yell at me when I do dumb stuff lol). But, for Y.L., repeating and over-enunciating words incessantly truly helped him in regaining his vocabulary. Near the end of my shift, I was able to carry a conversation with him, both in French and in Spanish.

The next day, him and I were cracking jokes with each other. At some point, while his wife was at his bedside, he randomly blurted out "CAJONES" (for non-Spanish speakers, I will let you Google Translate this on your own). His wife with wide eyes looked at me, embarrassed and slightly amused. She shushed him like a parent would with their toddler when they'd say a bad word. She asked me, "Do you know what it means?". I laughed and repeated the word back to them with a mischievous smile on my face and pantomimed its meaning. We all bursted out in laughter and this had become an inside joke of ours.

In addition to his unique sense of humor, Y.L. spoke about his life: how he met his wife, his kids, their lives, his job, etc. I listened attentively and asked many questions out of interest and for rehab purposes. He had mentioned that he loved music and we shared a mutual appreciation for Stromae. On top of his word-finding difficulties, Y.L. also had left-sided weakness as a result of his brain tumor. I took my cellphone, went on Spotify, and put on "Alors On Danse". Instantaneously, Y.L. grooved to the music in bed. He sang out loud while raising his hands up as high as he could.

As I took care of him, I got to see his charismatic and driven nature. We shared many things in common; our childish and and inappropriate jokes, our stubbornness, our views on life, our determination to get better, our ability to see the positive in everyone, our easygoing character ... I would be lying if I said that I didn't grow a platonic attachment to him and his wife. Developing a bond with these two individuals made my heart full. Seeing his rather quick improvement also instilled in me hope that he would return home with only minor deficits.

Eventually, Mr. Y.L. graduated from our ICU. As I transferred him over to his new room, I told him I would come visit on the days I worked as long as he didn't return to our unit. On my visits, I met his son, his daughter and his mother-in-law. I shared some of the life lessons I had learned while my mother was in recovery, warning Y.L. that there was going to be slippery slopes ahead. However, despite the ups and downs, it is always important to take note of where one person started, and where they are at now. He made eye contact with me and said "Of course, I will always fight".

During one of my day shifts on a Sunday, the unit coordinator told me that a woman had called wanting to speak to me. She handed me the phone number and I called back.

Me: "Hello?"

Person: "Hi Cristine, how are you? It's M. (Mr. Y.L.'s wife)

Me: "Oh hi, how are you? I'm doing well. Everything okay?"

M: "Yes yes. I was just wondering if you had time to pass by to see Y.L. today"

Me: "I have time right now actually, I'll be there in a few minutes."

I made my way over to his room and saw him sitting in a chair conversing with his wife, his mother-in-law and his son. I smiled from ear-to-ear, thrilled to finally see him out of bed. His wife greeted me with much enthusiasm and expressed her gratitude for the care I provided in the last few days. "We have something for you", she said. A few seconds later, she whipped out a large cardboard box that was about 22' wide and 50' long. "Oh no, I can't take it. You guys didn't have to. I enjoyed taking care of you." She along with Y.L. insisted I open to see what was in the box. I succumbed to their requests. After struggling to open it, I slid out a painting: a portrait of Frida Kahlo. Worried I wouldn't recognize the subject matter of the piece, his wife asked me if I knew who the lady was. I nodded with a grin. I thanked them with teary eyes and hugged both M. and Y. L. I then tried to sneakily carry the box back to my unit and hid it in our lounge to bring home once my shift was done.

The next day, I went to visit Y. L. again. This time, Y. L. was in bed with an upset look on his face. His wife was sitting on a chair quietly with a concerned look on her face. I whispered her hello and asked what was going on. She stated to me that it was a bad day for him. He was slightly agitated and didn't want to be bothered. With a quick read of the room, I could tell something was up. Rather than calling him by his usual nickname (Cajones), I called him by his respective name and asked him if I should come another time. "Yes" he said abruptly while staring out of the window. I waved goodbye to his wife and went home.

Two days later, as I entered the ICU, I saw a familiar face in one of the patient rooms. The only difference was that it was partially covered by a tube in his mouth. It was Y. L. I asked my colleagues what caused him to return to ICU. They had stated that the day before, he was progressively agitated and became drowsier. When they had repeated a scan of his head, they had seen that one of the tumors in his brain had bled again and that he had hydrocephalus. He came back to ICU due to a deterioration in level of consciousness. Given the location of the bleed, going back for surgery was extremely risky. I took a moment to myself. I stood outside his room and prayed in my head that he would be okay. I recollected myself and then began to work with my patients (I was not his primary nurse).

A few hours later, I saw his wife enter the unit. Trying not to cry in front of her, I gave her a hug and listened as she voiced out her simultaneous frustration and desperation for his recovery. "They have to do something. They can't leave him like this. I have to fight for him because it is what he would have wanted". I nodded in silence, unable to find the words that could possibly comfort her at such a heartbreaking time. I could only hope for the best.

...

Y. L. went back to the operating room shortly after his re-admission. Once the endotracheal tube was out, he was no longer as jovial as he used to be. He remained lethargic, barely opened his eyes and didn't utter a word. He took deep breaths and groaned here and there. It was a tough sight to see.

I didn't see Y. L. after that day. I knew he had been transferred to another floor but I was unaware of his current status. To my unfortunate dismay, last week I had discovered what happened. Two weeks after he had left our unit, Y. L. passed away.

---

To Y. L.,

I keep our fond and fun memories in mind.

The ones where you are smiling, laughing, teasing, singing and dancing.

Cajones, I hope you're doing all of those things up there.

Muchas gracias para todo!

May you rest in peace my dear friend 🕊