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Rochester
Post Bulletin HOSPICE
SERIES
By Jeff Hansel Harris "Spud" Broin relaxes. At 77, he lives at Samaritan Bethany Heights nursing home. His eyes meld from concentrated awareness to a droopy, I-could-fall-asleep-right-now look. He revels in weekly massages from Paddy Hurley, a licensed massage therapist with Seasons Hospice. Hurley's job is different from that of the hospice nurse, social worker or doctor, although she has training as an LPN. Her goal? To help patients unwind and spouses learn that physical contact with a dying person -- touching, caressing and snuggling, even during the final moments of life, can be comforting for the patient and healing for the loved one. Hurley tailors massages to patient needs. "Ultimately, if they can take a nap when I leave, I always feel very complimented," she said. With Broin, she starts with his head and moves methodically to his face, neck and chest. "I had never had a massage in my life," Broin said. "It's so relaxing. É I think this is the kind of activity that could put you to sleep in a hurry." Born and raised in Kenyon, Broin wanted to be part of the "in" crowd. The other kids wanted cigarettes, so, at age 15, he started collecting them one at a time from his dad's Spuds-brand stash. "I got five cigarettes. It took me almost a week to filch them," he said. "I was Spuds. That was my name from then on. I never did tell my mother why. I suspect she knew." But when his father was 90, "I asked him, 'Did you ever wonder how I got the name Spuds?'" "He thought it was potatoes," Spud said. During his pilfering, Spud began smoking -- two packs a day for 46 years until he quit cold turkey. Cigarettes, he said, "are absolutely the worst thing that happened to me." Now, he is in the final stages of life. Small miracles "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you," he tells Hurley. "Not only are you our patients, but you become our best friends. We look forward to coming to see you; to knowing what's going on in your life," she tells him. In 1996, an insurance agent talked with Spud and his wife, Donna, about long-term care insurance. "We ended up getting it," he said. It allowed him nursing home care without financial worry. "Anybody that doesn't have long-term health (insurance), come talk to me. É It scares me to death thinking what would have happened to us if we hadn't taken it." Like many hospice patients, Broin enjoys small miracles. One day at Bethany, his eyes had strayed from the window. "I looked up and there were three deer with their nose to the window; all three of them side-by-side looking at me," he said. "Someone opened a window, and they bolted." Memories of a life Reminiscing often brings joy, and sometimes surprise, for loved ones who may have never heard certain stories. Broin remembers making 50 cents -- a day -- mowing lawn. The railroad used cheap coal that left soot behind, he said. The lawns of impoverished people who "borrowed" coal would be covered in soot. The railroad stationed men with buckshot nearby. "We young kids would whistle if it was clear, and out like hell-bent-for-leather they'd come with shovels in hand," Spud said. When alcohol wasn't legal, people drank home-brewed beer but were afraid of being caught. They hid their bottles in their coal. "Every once in awhile, one would blow up -- WHOOM!!!," Broin said. One such explosion he remembers in particular because the owner of the home the explosion came from was a cultured woman. But from her house came, "WHOOM!" The memories, the visits and the idea that someone from hospice is there if they're needed is comforting for Spud and Donna. "I'm so glad that we got hospice involved when
we did," she said.
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Seasons Hospice © 2006