If I had a gun right now,
I’d shoot the smiley face balloon
Bobbing over my mother’s bed.
With a grotesque grin it watches
Puffy, shallow breaths proving
Life still beats in a chest
Riddled with veins feeding the
Demon cells marching relentlessly
Toward their own demise.
Mother will soon be grinning, too,
The last laugh as she flies away
Leaving death behind.
Sue
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
A foot in each world
A hospice agency gave us a little booklet on what to expect as Mom nears death. It’s been extremely helpful to recognize and accept her lessening appetite and her varying states of consciousness and drowsiness (mostly the latter).
The booklet says that the person is going back and forth between life and death in a sense, already seeing people she hasn’t seen for a long time, and recalling things from the past. Mom also talks to herself but we have a hard time hearing the words, let alone understanding them.
Yesterday, she told me clearly that a woman came to see her, and I asked her who it was. She couldn’t tell me but said, “We’ll have to find out.” I wanted to ask, “Was it your mother? Was it your best friend, MJ?” I can’t help but wonder what her reunion with those and other dear long-passed people will be like.
Sue
The booklet says that the person is going back and forth between life and death in a sense, already seeing people she hasn’t seen for a long time, and recalling things from the past. Mom also talks to herself but we have a hard time hearing the words, let alone understanding them.
Yesterday, she told me clearly that a woman came to see her, and I asked her who it was. She couldn’t tell me but said, “We’ll have to find out.” I wanted to ask, “Was it your mother? Was it your best friend, MJ?” I can’t help but wonder what her reunion with those and other dear long-passed people will be like.
Sue
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Shift the pain
If you’ve ever watched someone die of cancer you know that it’s a horrible way to go. Sometimes I wonder if it would be any different if Mom’s cancer were in some unseen internal organ, rather than hanging around her neck like a gigantic goiter on a tree trunk.
Thanks to pain medications, Mom doesn’t have to feel the relentless march of the cancer around her neck, her carotid, and into her lungs. With increased pain meds this week, she’s living in a zombie-like state, waking and smiling when someone speaks to her, then dozing off again, perhaps after a nonsensical effort to talk. When meals are served, she’ll eat a few bites with help, but quickly loses interest.
This morning when I first went to her room, she said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” What could I say?
“Are you in pain?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she said, and dozed off.
My sister, who has been hospitalized all week, first with gallbladder surgery, then pneumonia, saw Mom today for the first time in a week. Though I’ve been keeping her informed of Mom’s decline, she still was not prepared.
I’ve found myself wondering if they’re giving Mom too much pain medication. Would she be a bit more awake and communicative with less medication? Then I realized how selfish I am to want Mom to be able to keep her eyes open and speak to us. The pain is now ours. She deserves a rest.
Sue
Thanks to pain medications, Mom doesn’t have to feel the relentless march of the cancer around her neck, her carotid, and into her lungs. With increased pain meds this week, she’s living in a zombie-like state, waking and smiling when someone speaks to her, then dozing off again, perhaps after a nonsensical effort to talk. When meals are served, she’ll eat a few bites with help, but quickly loses interest.
This morning when I first went to her room, she said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” What could I say?
“Are you in pain?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she said, and dozed off.
My sister, who has been hospitalized all week, first with gallbladder surgery, then pneumonia, saw Mom today for the first time in a week. Though I’ve been keeping her informed of Mom’s decline, she still was not prepared.
I’ve found myself wondering if they’re giving Mom too much pain medication. Would she be a bit more awake and communicative with less medication? Then I realized how selfish I am to want Mom to be able to keep her eyes open and speak to us. The pain is now ours. She deserves a rest.
Sue
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Charm and Sex Appeal
I read my horoscope in the newspaper every day. I’m amused when there is some congruence with the reality of my life. But I’m even more amused at the incongruities.
Take the last few days, for example. On Saturday, horoscope writer Jeraldine Saunders told me, “Your need to indulge in sensual animal pleasures and expensive playthings can be a focus point but might be a point of contention, too.”
Somehow sensual animal pleasures and expensive playthings don’t seem to fit my current lifestyle, living, as I am, among nursing home patients and others with dementia. My husband who is far away and slaves away to support me should be relieved.
Then, today, Jeraldine told me, “Charm and sex appeal are your calling cards today, and you may even be a bit embarrassed by the stir you create. Beneath that, however, you offer solid friendship and loyalty.” So far (but the day’s not over), none of the nursing home residents has seemed to notice my charm and sex appeal. But if anyone did, I guess I would be embarrassed.
Guess I’d better behave myself.
Sue
Take the last few days, for example. On Saturday, horoscope writer Jeraldine Saunders told me, “Your need to indulge in sensual animal pleasures and expensive playthings can be a focus point but might be a point of contention, too.”
Somehow sensual animal pleasures and expensive playthings don’t seem to fit my current lifestyle, living, as I am, among nursing home patients and others with dementia. My husband who is far away and slaves away to support me should be relieved.
Then, today, Jeraldine told me, “Charm and sex appeal are your calling cards today, and you may even be a bit embarrassed by the stir you create. Beneath that, however, you offer solid friendship and loyalty.” So far (but the day’s not over), none of the nursing home residents has seemed to notice my charm and sex appeal. But if anyone did, I guess I would be embarrassed.
Guess I’d better behave myself.
Sue
Hospice
How do you know when it’s time to call in hospice services for someone nearing death? That’s the question we’ve asked ourselves and others for weeks without getting a clear answer; probably because there is no clear, “right” time. It’s not a one-size-fits-all kind of service or decision.
Nevertheless, we did our homework. I attended a presentation by one of three hospice agencies that have contracts to work inside Mom’s nursing center. Then, while Mom was in the hospital for a few days last week, Sis and I interviewed a second hospice representative. Then, after input from the nursing facility staff, we decided to be thorough and meet with the third hospice. We ended up deciding on the third hospice company, not because of any perceived difference in services, but because their representative made the best impression. Emotional times seem to call for gut decisions.
The hospice nurse came to assess Mom and review her chart. Mom seemed to like her but wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the whole situation. The next day a hospice social worker paid a visit when I wasn’t with Mom. When I asked Mom later about her visits from the nurse and the social worker, she didn’t say much but seemed to have a negative feeling about them.
Then, the following day I arrived at Mom’s room to find a smiley face balloon and smiley face decals on her windows, along with a little framed verse designed to be comforting or inspiring. When I commented on these additions to her room and asked who had brought them, Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, you know.”
Well, I didn’t know, and began guessing all her friends who visit on a regular basis. All these guesses were met with a negative shake of the head. For a minute I wondered if Mom had simply forgotten where they came from. But then it occurred to me – hospice – and Mom is having a hard time even saying the word!
People have told me that there are no right or wrong decisions, that we have to do what we feel deep in our hearts is best for Mom, but I did have a twinge of guilt. When Mom looks at me, I can feel her thinking, “You traitor, you’ve given up on me!”
Sue
Nevertheless, we did our homework. I attended a presentation by one of three hospice agencies that have contracts to work inside Mom’s nursing center. Then, while Mom was in the hospital for a few days last week, Sis and I interviewed a second hospice representative. Then, after input from the nursing facility staff, we decided to be thorough and meet with the third hospice. We ended up deciding on the third hospice company, not because of any perceived difference in services, but because their representative made the best impression. Emotional times seem to call for gut decisions.
The hospice nurse came to assess Mom and review her chart. Mom seemed to like her but wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the whole situation. The next day a hospice social worker paid a visit when I wasn’t with Mom. When I asked Mom later about her visits from the nurse and the social worker, she didn’t say much but seemed to have a negative feeling about them.
Then, the following day I arrived at Mom’s room to find a smiley face balloon and smiley face decals on her windows, along with a little framed verse designed to be comforting or inspiring. When I commented on these additions to her room and asked who had brought them, Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, you know.”
Well, I didn’t know, and began guessing all her friends who visit on a regular basis. All these guesses were met with a negative shake of the head. For a minute I wondered if Mom had simply forgotten where they came from. But then it occurred to me – hospice – and Mom is having a hard time even saying the word!
People have told me that there are no right or wrong decisions, that we have to do what we feel deep in our hearts is best for Mom, but I did have a twinge of guilt. When Mom looks at me, I can feel her thinking, “You traitor, you’ve given up on me!”
Sue
Saturday, July 7, 2007
The Most Wonderful Day
As my mother's cancer marches on toward the now-inevitable end, the family and friends are surrounding her with as much love as possible without smothering her or making her feel like her last gasp is near. My youngest son, Mom's second grandson, visited this week, along with former neighbors and a continuous stream of friends from the senior community where they live now.
At the end of one day filled with visitors and constant distractions, Mom said, "This has been the most wonderful day!" to which I responded, "Mom, we want every day to be wonderful for you."
On another afternoon this week, Sis and her partner, along with Dad and myself, were stuffed in Mom's little room. Mom said, "It feels so good to have all my family around."
Of course, we can't be there every minute. On two mornings this week, when I went to Mom's room around breakfast time, I found her in tears. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again," she cried on one occasion. The next time I found her in tears she was frustrated because no one was around to help her eat breakfast. The aide hadn't propped her up enough for her to feed herself and swallow safely. Though she had tried to call for help, she felt like she had been abandoned.
Into this mix of wonderful days and those filled with panic and fear, we have introduced a hospice team to help us provide Mom the comfort she needs. We were concerned that the word "hospice" would set off a panic attack, but Mom has seemed grateful for the extra attention and care. And we are hoping the hospice team will be able to help us prepare Dad for Mom's death and all the changes that will follow.
Sue
At the end of one day filled with visitors and constant distractions, Mom said, "This has been the most wonderful day!" to which I responded, "Mom, we want every day to be wonderful for you."
On another afternoon this week, Sis and her partner, along with Dad and myself, were stuffed in Mom's little room. Mom said, "It feels so good to have all my family around."
Of course, we can't be there every minute. On two mornings this week, when I went to Mom's room around breakfast time, I found her in tears. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again," she cried on one occasion. The next time I found her in tears she was frustrated because no one was around to help her eat breakfast. The aide hadn't propped her up enough for her to feed herself and swallow safely. Though she had tried to call for help, she felt like she had been abandoned.
Into this mix of wonderful days and those filled with panic and fear, we have introduced a hospice team to help us provide Mom the comfort she needs. We were concerned that the word "hospice" would set off a panic attack, but Mom has seemed grateful for the extra attention and care. And we are hoping the hospice team will be able to help us prepare Dad for Mom's death and all the changes that will follow.
Sue
M'iTunes
I first became aware of the emotional impact music has on me when that Bobby McFerrin song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” was popular. If I heard it on the radio on my way to work, I’d walk into the office with a bounce in my step, a smile on my face, and the song humming through my head.
Music connects me with times and places. For Mothers’ Day, my son sent me a special CD mix of songs that includes the closest thing we have to a “family theme song” – “New Attitude” from the Beverly Hills Cops soundtrack. That song takes us back to a summer when the boys and I drove from Maryland to Atlanta to visit my folks. While there, Dad recorded the Beverly Hills Cops soundtrack to a cassette for us to listen to on the long drive home. I think it might have saved my sanity and our lives. When the boys got restless and began annoying each other (“Stop touching me….Mom, he’s getting on my side…Mom, he took my…” and so on), I’d put on that song and crank up the volume. I’d warn the boys that if they didn’t get a “new attitude” right quick, Mom would turn into a monster (and they knew what that meant). Sometimes this was accompanied by a bribe – ice cream at the next McDonalds.
The new CD has an eclectic mix of other tunes that are less connected to the past but are quickly taking on meaning in the present. Some are sing-along – “Down to the River to Pray.” Some are dance-along – “If I had a Hammer.” Some are inspiring – “Take my Hand.” Some are just good listening, and I listen over and over in the car and on my iPod. This and other music CDs in my play list are comforting, invigorating, connect me to others, and keep me centered in my faith.
All this makes me wonder how music could enhance Mom’s life at this time. The music channels on her TV are limited. Perhaps it’s time to get a CD player and play some personal and meaningful selections.
Sue
Music connects me with times and places. For Mothers’ Day, my son sent me a special CD mix of songs that includes the closest thing we have to a “family theme song” – “New Attitude” from the Beverly Hills Cops soundtrack. That song takes us back to a summer when the boys and I drove from Maryland to Atlanta to visit my folks. While there, Dad recorded the Beverly Hills Cops soundtrack to a cassette for us to listen to on the long drive home. I think it might have saved my sanity and our lives. When the boys got restless and began annoying each other (“Stop touching me….Mom, he’s getting on my side…Mom, he took my…” and so on), I’d put on that song and crank up the volume. I’d warn the boys that if they didn’t get a “new attitude” right quick, Mom would turn into a monster (and they knew what that meant). Sometimes this was accompanied by a bribe – ice cream at the next McDonalds.
The new CD has an eclectic mix of other tunes that are less connected to the past but are quickly taking on meaning in the present. Some are sing-along – “Down to the River to Pray.” Some are dance-along – “If I had a Hammer.” Some are inspiring – “Take my Hand.” Some are just good listening, and I listen over and over in the car and on my iPod. This and other music CDs in my play list are comforting, invigorating, connect me to others, and keep me centered in my faith.
All this makes me wonder how music could enhance Mom’s life at this time. The music channels on her TV are limited. Perhaps it’s time to get a CD player and play some personal and meaningful selections.
Sue
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