Note: this is an excerpt from An Ordinary Death: Where Grief and Relief Hold Hands, available from Amazon.com.
In the few hours of sleep I had last night, I kept having dreams that I was facing multiple impossible tasks. There was also some sort of poisonous snake or lizard that infiltrated the bookcases. It would be in plain sight and then hide away again. I woke this morning in despair. I have this sense that by going ahead and arranging for her to be fed that I am condemning my mother to a life consisting of a slow descent to hell. We’ll keep her alive, and her heart pumping, and she will never get out of bed again.
My brother flew in last night and I filled him in on everything. It is good to have him here. I have this feeling that the hospital folks want her out of here as soon as possible and she will only qualify for skilled nursing at this point. If she is not at a place that has an incentive to get her from skilled nursing to rehab, then my worst fears will be realized.
When I got to the hospital today, my sister and brother were already here. They had found her as has been the case extremely unresponsive again. Not able to awaken. She was taken for a CT scan then and that did wake her up.
We talked with her for a while. She moves in and out of awareness of what is going on, but clearly does not understand the severity of her stroke. One of her Sunday School class members came by. For a number of years (I don’t know how many and when I asked her, she said she started writing it in 1940–but I think it was closer to 1970), she has written a weekly article for her church paper about her Sunday School class. Week in, week out, she has managed to condense the lesson into its main point, recognize visitors, celebrate marriages (of grandchildren and great grandchildren!), mention those who were ill, and mourn the passing of long term members. Mother said to her visitor, “I’ll be there on Sunday and will write the column on Monday as I always go.” I so wish . . .
She just mentioned that she wanted to take me and Keith to dinner and to send some food home with us so I’d have something to eat. Her incredible kindness and concern for others continues to shine through. What sweetness. When she’s awake, she thanks everyone who does something for her. The habit of courtesy will not leave her.
She wants to get up. I’m using her walker as a chair since there are not enough chairs in here. She keeps asking for it. We’re just delaying, not really speaking truth to her. Is this helpful?
We are still waiting for the neurologist to appear and give us today’s assessment. We must be patient. I know that. I also know I’m near total exhaustion and this is not good. So, the day continues. And we wait. And we wait. And we wait.
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