"I'm ready for this to end."
Earlier today Mom wanted to sit up. Her back has really been hurting her, so much that she's lying on her side right now, and for the very first time since the palliative care began she cried. Dad just knelt next to the bed and held her while Aunt Kim held her hand.
A little while later she said "I wanna get up."
Dad: "What do you want to do?"
Mom: "I wanna get up."
Dad: "What do you want to do?"
Mom: "Get up."
Dad: "I know you want to get up. What do you want to do when you get up?"
She didn't answer.
We were all positive she'd be gone by this morning. Eight of us crammed into the family room around her bed sleeping on top of sleeping bags and chairs and couches, often just sitting up to make sure her chest was still rising. Suddenly at 5:30 this morning she sat up in bed and demanded water. Later, when the nurse came, her blood pressure was better, as was her chest cavity when she breathed. She was fairly active today, getting up a few times for the bathroom, spending time in the rocker, and at one point just standing next to the bed holding onto Dad for dear life.
Yesterday she kept saying "I'm sorry". Over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and we kept stopping whatever we were doing just to kneel down in front of her, try to get her attention, and then tell her with gentle force that she has absolutely nothing to be sorry about. This isn't her fault, she didn't choose this and we're not going to take her out back and shoot her like a lame horse (we didn't actually say that last part).
About an hour ago the last member of Mom's family finally arrived. Polly and Ken, new grandparents, tore themselves away from their hospitalized grandchild in Maryland and drove here, making it in time for dinner. We were very glad to finally see them, and to see the pictures of our beautiful new great-grandchild, great niece, cousin that they brought along with them.
We're still waiting. Mom's still here, she still gets up, still breathes, often she still talks! And it's not just the "I wanna get up" "drink" "bathroom" "yes" "no" and "I wanna go home" stuff it usually is. Today the nurse changed her medication and its frequency and Mom asked, quite clearly, "How often?". Sometimes she's here, but most of the time she's not. We're pretty sure she's waiting for something. Perhaps she was waiting to see her sister Polly. If that's the case then it definitely won't be long. If not, we have no idea. She passed her original time line days ago. She's a fighter. Dad called her the energizer bunny.
I know I keep saying that I'm ready for her to go. She's in pain, nothing really helps, she's not really here. Her water intake is less, sleeping is more. She looks terrible, nothing like the woman I will forever keep in my memory to block out this skeletal image. I stand by my feelings, though I know that once it finally happens the strength I have held for this long will disappear all at once and I'll probably leave to go drive really fast when I'm not blinded by tears. Or maybe it won't. There's really no way to know how I'll feel until it happens. Maybe I'll be numb. Maybe I'll be fine. Maybe I'll be glad. Not glad that she's gone, but glad that she's out of her misery. Maybe.
4 comments:
I'm so glad your aunt arrived! I've been praying that she would be able to make it.
I remember when we got the news that Grandpa Jim's colon was dead and the emergency surgery wouldn't fix it. I just went numb, and I had emotional tunnel vision: I was just thinking about the next step, the next meal, the songs, the plans, the flowers. Jeanna fainted and then vomited into a trashcan in the waiting room. It hits us all kinds of ways. I'm not saying that losing my grandfather was anything like what you guys are going through. Remember that our offer still stands, if you need a place to run away to, my parents house, June's house, and my house are all open for you. We'll join you in your grief or distract you, whatever you want. That offer is for you and all of your sisters. I'm so sorry you've got to go through this, Emily. Really really sorry.
Jaynell
Emily I find it extremely hard to read your blog because I feel like I'm reliving my summer all over again. The pictures are dead on to everything that I went through... only I only had picture I wasn't there. But I do want you to know that the feelings of "I'm just ready for it to happen... I'm ready for this to be over" are natural. You're ready because 1. you hate to see the person you love suffering and in pain. 2. You're exhausted. It's exhausting watching the person you love suffering. When it happens your gonna all of sudden think, "omgosh... I'm not ready for this!" and thats okay too. It's all okay Emily. You're allowed to feel how ever you want to feel right now. I remember feeling so selfish for just wanting it to be over.
On a side note, the fact that you keep thinking the day is here and it doesn't come... hasn't surprised me. Eventually my Nanny went to sleep and didn't wake up for a week. We went through the stage that you guys are going through now.... and her liver failed which is one reason she started spouting random things that made absolutely no sense at all. It broke my moms heart- my uncle chose to laugh it off instead of cry about it. Eventually she went to sleep for a week... and then one day, opened her eyes, saw that all of her children and her husband were laying next to her by her side, and closed her eyes again. And that was it. I hope that your mom goes peacefully. I hope they mange to get her pain under control. And I am SO glad that all of her family is there with her. I think of you every day and read your blog, as painful as it. Keep your chin up... and if you ever need to talk to anyone let me know.
ellen
It's probably hard to imagine this now, but I bet you will forget the way she looks right now, and only remember her as she was months ago. My granny looked bad at the end, literally skin & bones, but now even when I try I can't remember clearly how she looked. All I can picture is the peaceful expression on her face when we would sing to her around her bed.
I've been reading the blog each day now since Aunt Lauri sent me the link. Some days I read it several times and look at the pictures. The recording of her voice was awesome. Each time I visit, I have to hold back tears. But, I do thank you for sharing your most intimate thoughts with us, since we cannot be there. My heart breaks for all of you. I've known Lynn and Lauri since kindergarten. That's 47 years. She is a beautiful person and I will remember her that way.
My mother passed away this past June at 89. She also became just skin over bones. When she went home to be with the Lord is was so relieved. I have not wished her back even though I miss her very much.
Love to All,
Debi Sigetic
Post a Comment