Phillips 21

Last night I went back to "Phillips 21" for the first time since December 8, 2007. That was the night my mother died. And Phillips 21 is the floor on which my mom spent the majority of her time at Mass General. It's where I slept on the couch next to her for almost two months while the cancer took over her body.

It's where she had incredibly compassionate, top-level care from some of the best nurses in the world and where she received countless visitors, endless floral tributes, piles of beautiful get-well cards. It's where she spent her last months, the worst time of her life, but the staff and the place made the best of the very worst situation.

I was there because I'm on the Patient and Family Advisory Council for the Cancer Center at Mass General (PFAC). We often meet with different staff members, and this time it was to meet with the nursing staff on Phillips 21 because the floor has recently been established as a dedicated oncology floor. That means that the majority of the patients who stay there will be cancer patients. Some of them will be very very sick like my mother, and need the kind of care that she did. Others will be there because the chemotherapy regimen they're on requires an overnight stay, or perhaps a week's stay. The nurses have been trained to treat cancer patients specifically and deliver chemotherapy, etc.

I didn't know if any of "our" nurses would still be there. I'd been told many have left because they didn't want to be oncology-specific. Some retired, others just moved on. I was hoping to see a few, and I did.

The first was Michelle, a young African-American nurse who went to Brookline High, which is where my grandmother went. She was always so patient and never condescending towards my mom, incredibly skilled and professional, and with a sense of humor that always hit the mark. She and my mother laughed together and Mom was always so much more relaxed when Michelle was her nurse for the day. I would venture to guess that Michelle was my mother's favorite. I saw Michelle first, while she was working, but she later joined us all in the lounge for coffee and cookies. We hugged. I could tell she remembered everything. My mother's extensive, intense stay at Phillips 21 was remembered by quite a few people.

I then spoke with two of the older nurses, both of whom had gone to Woodstock, believe it or not, like my Mom (one made it 5 miles from Woodstock and turned back because of the rain and mud.) We had met these older nurses when Mom was first admitted to Phillips 21. That was when she could still speak, and I remember they all bonded over some shared experiences. I think there was a mutual respect because they were baby boomers as well as a silent recognition that although my mother was the patient and they were the nurses, it could be any of them in her shoes. They'd been around long enough to know that. One of those older ladies happened to be the one who'd initially helped me decorate the room with the Christmas tree... and unbeknownst to her, Christmas trees were illegal at MGH! My decorating escapades had apparently not been forgotten...

Sheila's in her late 30's, a good Boston Irish girl, one of those no-nonsense, down to earth types. A crustacian on the outside with a heart of gold shining through. She definitely remembered us and seemed moved to see me again. I was certainly moved to see her.

Then there was Lisa. She was my one of my mother's primary nurses when we came back from Youville in our second stint on Phillips, and when it was probably obvious to the entire nursing staff (if not to me) that we were essentially there for hospice. I remember that she actually requested to take care of my mother. She was one who tried never to show emotion, but sometimes I could tell that she was very moved.

During our second stay on Phillips 21, Mom was really sick and needed a ton of care, different things at least several times an hour, for weeks. Lisa never complained. None of them did, even when I made them help me change my mother out of her pajamas (no hospital gowns for her!) and into her day clothes and back into pajamas, every single day. There were always wires and tubes to remove and re-attach, but they always came and helped me, twice a day, for two months. I have to add that my mother rarely complained either, and that is pretty incredible.

I had been really nervous about going back, worried that I might fall apart, but I didn't. Even though it was the most horrendous few months of our lives and the end result was the realization of what had always been my worst nightmare, there were some blessings about the experience. One, Mom did have time - time to see how many people loved her and wanted to show it - day after day to visit, send flowers, to call. And specifcally, she and I were able to spend time together - some of the most special time we've ever had.

Taking care of your mother in that way, when she's increasingly helpless and the roles are not only reversed, they're incomprehensible - is difficult, yes. But it's also a gift. And I hate to sound trite, but I mean it was an incredible gift to sleep next to her every night and know that I was helping to make her more comfortable and that there was no one else she wanted there but me (although there were plenty of others she loved and wanted there too). I felt a protectiveness over her that I don't think I'll feel again unless I have a child - or maybe a spouse who becomes ill. We shared things we'd never shared before- some things I could have lived without, for sure - but others that couldn't have happened any other way.

And as for Phillips 21, well it's where the Red Sox stay, the Celtics, The Kennedys. If my mother was going to be incarcerated into any hospital and told she was too sick to go home, she couldn't have been in a better place - or with better people.

There's part of me that feels like I should be over this already, but there's another part of me that doesn't think 'll ever get over it. And I don't think I want to. I don't want to forget my mom, and by continuing to write about it, to work on the MGH council, to advocate for lung cancer, to run for her, I don't forget, I won't and I can't.

She'll always be a part of my life. I will always do something to honor her. Right now, I'm doing many different things... not the least of which is running the Boston Marathon.
I can't wait to run it for her on April 20th.