My funk did not start till driving back. Trip up there, I just remembered it was 442 times. 442 times I drove to Austin and back. That was the eight years I was in practice in Midland-Odessa and the family in Austin. Did it cause it was a calling, and for the money. Hated lots of things about all of it, but loved the people. Buddy Burns was one of those.
Buddy had been on dialysis and a patient those 8 years. He worked as an RN when he could. I know he never felt really good. Somedays better than others, but never good. Never complained. Not once. He had this big deep voice and Nat King Cole like gravel from the smokes. He'd laugh from his belly and smile that big almost goofy smile whenever I'd see him on dialysis. He always asked me how I was. And was interested. We'd share a joke and that's when that smirk and laugh would come. Sharon his wife worked on the Medical Floor at the hospital. 5 Central. She ran a tight ship. Took care of business and patients. She cared, so did Bud. People, especially chronic sick ones, know when you care. It's like radar.
They just know. If they know you do, they will love you like family. Don't and you can be the best doctor in the universe. They'll just keep quiet and real passive. But, Buddy and Sharon did nursing like everything else: the best they could. Everyday.
I got to the funeral home a little early. It's just west of the country club. Buddy loved golf, so I suspect it was good by him. Saw people I had not seen for years. Smiled and hugged. Good, deep, "I mean it hugs". Talked with Sharon. We laughed about Buddy being too stubborn to die. That was gospel truth. But I could tell she aprreciated I'd made the effort. I am glad she knew I did it out of respect.
It was a simple service. Maybe three quarters of the chapel was full. There were three full rows of family. They had a slide show that seems to be the custom these days. There was Bud with a full deck of hair, and a beard too. There he was on a derrick during his roughnecking days. He was playing golf, and sitting in a recliner, and with the kids. I don't think there were many slides in which there was not family. How pretty Sharon was and Bud handsome in a rough cut way. Him in the robin's egg blue tux at the wedding. Then the kids and the grandkids. He always seemed to be hugging one or one was sitting in his lap in that old recliner. Like an old monarch.
I felt closer to Buddy and Sharon both to see those special moments. They were days that went by fast. Like they all do. But, you could tell that getting old or losing hair or being sick made little difference. They were for each other. Family and duty and a primitive faith in something big. That's what I saw. I knew Bud at the end of a life well lived. He and Sharon had suffered the ravages of kidney disease. He lost his vigor, but never his big heart and his need to do things the right way. I suspect that with all the changes, and all the suffereing that they encouraged each other. Few harsh words, just support. I'll be there, whatever you need to be. Whatever you look like. I think that's what good relationships tend to have. Unconditional love and support. Lord knows the Burns had a hard go with the brutal nature of dialysis. I saw Buddy at his worst. Fever and chills, puking, bleeding. But, I did not have to see him pass. I am a little ashamed, but am glad for that. Lee Macmurdo, my nurse practitioner and one of the best men I have ever known, told me over coffee he had been there for the end. Buddy had a big vegetation on one of his heart valves and it finally started to shed. Those pieces of debris lodged down stream in the small arteries that feed the brain. Bud got confused, then he went down. They intubated him, but by then he was gone. Sharon, like the angel she is, said no more. Her best freind had done his best and suffered enough. She had enough courage to say goodby and let him go.
So driving back to San Angelo to spend the night. I thought about those good people. Buddy, born less than 50 miles from where he got laid to rest had lived a good life. In the end, he got born, he fell in love, he did his best at everything, he held on for as long as he could, he trusted a faith, and he went out on his own terms. Guess that's a good life however you measure. But, it rattles something deep in me. I don't know yet what it is. I suspect it's something with death and life and faith and relationships. I just suspect that. But my sleep is restless and the depression seems heavy. I'll be glad to get past this. In the meantime, I hope Buddy is walking those streets of gold the preacher talked about. I hope he can smoke like a chimney. And drink coke, Red Nehi, and cold water till he can't move. That's what I hope.
Twenty seven years have passed since that head nurse Sheila came in my office one day. I had a little window that looked out on the parking lot. I was watching the dialyis patients as they left after a 4 hour treament. Some stumbled, some vomited. Some were wheeled to waiting cars by family, too tired to even walk. Sheila was mad, and I didn't understand why she made such a big deal out of me looking outside. "Dr. Newsom, only two rules you got to live by. Two. One, never ever, ever watch the parking lot at shift change. It will break your heart. Two, never go to funerals of your patients." I think I understand now.