This is still rough. And yes, it’s long.
Mom had been through so much, and survived. She had been through breast cancer, pre-cancerous tumors in the other breast (so bilateral mastectomies when all was said and done), reconstruction, metastasis to her right lung (so part of her lung removed), and then metastasis to her brain (so removal of a right frontal brain tumor, roughly the size of a golf ball). In the mix, she’d also had a hysterectomy, gallbladder removal, and ankle surgery (she fell and broke it in the bathroom). There were countless hospitalizations, radiation, chemotherapy, rehab, and progressive decline.
By March 2003, mom had been cancer free for 17 years. Considering the number of sites where she’d had it , that’s pretty amazing. But the radiation for the brain cancer had left her with dementia. Bottom line- she was goofy. Her memory was horrible. She could still answer simple questions, and liked going out on rides in the car. She still had some things she enjoyed (if it came in the form of a candy bar, so much the better). The day before she ended up in the emergency room in Sun City West, AZ, she had been to an art opening and visited with friends. She may have had no memory of it later that day, but for the moment, she was happy.
Dad called me one afternoon to tell me something was wrong. She just wasn’t right. Something had ‘dulled’. I told him she may have had a seizure and to keep an eye on her. If he saw a seizure, dial 911. I got a call not long after that from him; they were in the ER at Sun City West Hospital. She’d had a seizure, vomited, and then been out cold when 911 got there. He sounded scared, and he never sounded scared with all she’d been through before this. I told him to call me with any updates. I was near Chicago, so really depending on his reports. I felt helpless. I’m an RN. I want to help ‘fix’ things when family and friends are sick.
He called me a while later saying that they couldn’t get blood from her to do tests. Huh? This made no sense; they’d gotten an IV in her and had fluids going. Her urine test showed an infection. With the change in her normal behavior and the positive urine test, that told me she was septic. That is basic, BASIC knowledge in the medical field, especially with older patients. I told him to tell them that they needed to restrain her, and get the blood. They refused to use restraints even briefly- so did an incomplete workup for their convenience. We exchanged a few more phone calls (me getting more and more angry), and the bottom line was they were sending her HOME with him on oral antibiotics (well, their rental home). A partially conscious woman with a urinary tract infection bad enough to make her lose consciousness and seize, and she was being sent home. I was beyond livid. Dad was terrified. It took three people to get her into the car (a clue?), and he had to get help from friends on the other end to get her to bed. Somewhere along the line, they got the antibiotic pills.
I’ll never believe that the ER people did what they needed to do– because mom had dementia and was a ‘no-code’ (but she wasn’t actively dying yet; the no-code was not in effect). And the hospital was full (like they couldn’t move her to another hospital; she NEEDED IV antibiotics and fluids). The doctor signed off that she was safe to fly later on… that’s nuts, but she’d be out of his hair. I’ll never know if it would have made a difference. I just wanted her to have a chance. As it ended up, dad and I have to look at the one positive: she didn’t end up curled up in a nursing home, not knowing anybody or anything.
Over the next few days, dad came up with various ideas on how to get her home. She was taking the crushed pills in applesauce, and when I’d talked to her, she sounded exhausted but was answering the usual basic questions. She was doing better- but not great. I didn’t know exactly how badly her body was doing, but I knew I supported dad’s plan to get her home. Except the plan to drive her home. I had visions of her dying en route, him being arrested for transporting a body, and mom left in the car in some car impound area…. sometimes an imagination is a bad thing. I made him promise me NO DRIVING HOME. He promised. The final option was for her to fly to O’Hare where a friend of dad’s would drive me in with his van so we could let mom lie down in the back while he drove us back home. Dad would then drive on his own, and be back in about three days. When I talked to her, I was satisfied that she was ‘back’ enough to be near her baseline.
Well, part of that worked out. Dad got to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix, and the folks at American Airlines said she could fly, but only if he was with her. He left everything but what he was wearing and got on the plane with her. A few hours later, they were in Chicago. I was allowed past the security gates to help get her off of the plane. The folks at American Airlines were wonderful. Her wheelchair was waiting (as were a few others- must have been handicapped day for flying), and the flight attendants said “Oh, you must be J”…. Uh, yeah? Mom smiled when she saw me, and we got her into her chair, and headed for the van.
When we got to the van, it’s like mom knew she was near home, and partially collapsed. She didn’t have to fight. I was getting nervous that we wouldn’t make it back home to the hospital where her doctor practiced. (why do they call it ‘practice’? Shouldn’t they ‘know’ at that point?) I’d brought a blanket to use as a sling to ‘arrange her’ in the back of the van- which dad’s friend helped me do while dad put the wheelchair in the way back part of the van. Dad was muttering about getting her home to bed, and after a good night’s sleep, she’d be fine. I looked at dad’s friend via the rearview mirror, and shook my head no. We weren’t going home. We were going to the ER. If I had to get out at some toll booth area, and do some psycho dance, we were NOT going home.
Mom moaned most of the way back to our home town. Somewhere along the way, dad knew that we needed to go to the ER (thank God). We got her there, moved to a stretcher from the parking lot, and thus began the end. The ER people knew by looking at her that she was going to be admitted, and when they started an IV, they got blood. Hear that, Sun City West ‘Hospital’??? (there are more than one now; back then, it was pretty much the one w/a different name). It was BAD. She was septic (duh) and her kidneys were failing. She also had a high blood sugar (she wasn’t diabetic and not on steroids). She did know the name of her doctor when he came in to see her. Dad and I stepped out into the hall with him and one of his first questions was about resuscitation measures that we wanted. We’d discussed this before. If it got to this point, comfort was the primary issue. It was fine to do fluids and antibiotics in this situation since she was in and out of lucidity, and she theoretically could get better…but her kidneys had never looked “terminal”. She was dying. The blood sugar issue wasn’t helping anything. Her white blood count wasn’t good. We decided to get her admitted, see her through that, and then go home to bed since she was relatively stable.
I’ve seen so many people die I’ve lost count. That sounds rather cold, but as an RN of 18 years at that point, it just wasn’t possible to remember them all. I knew the signs. I was seeing some of them, but I was still in and out of denial. I felt OK going home that night though. Dad and I told the nurses to call us if anything changed; we lived about 5 minutes away. We went home. She was awake, and tired, but looked ‘settled’.
The next morning, mom was getting the last part of her bath when we first got there, so we waited in the hall for a few minutes. When we went in, she was awake, and recognized us. She was even drinking some nutritional juice-type drink (not the milky based stuff). She’d had a seizure during the night, and got some IV medication for that, but was doing a bit better. The nurses were wonderful about letting me see her lab work, and her white count was down, mostly from being diluted somewhat from the IV fluids. It was still in the septic range, and her kidney function was still in the ‘not-going-to-get-better’ range. But she looked a bit perkier. That was nice for the moment.
At lunch, dad’s friend (who did the van driving the day before) had offered to fly to Phoenix, and get the stuff from the rental house. He then offered to drive the car back to the Chicago area. Wow. We all went to the hospital cafeteria to talk about the plans.
We got back to mom’s room about an hour after we’d gone to the cafeteria, and there had been a huge change. She was beginning to mottle, and was groggy. I’d seen that mottling SO many times, and that is one of the things that people don’t come back from. It’s when the circulation starts to shut down, and blotchy dark purplish-blue areas are visible. Hers had reached her knees. I ‘knew’. I told dad that if he wanted to tell her anything he needed to get after it; she was dying. He figured she’d be fine (after all, she always got better, right?), but must have sensed something about my reaction. He asked me to step out for a few minutes. I did. She was quickly going into a coma, and even at that point, I’m not sure how much she was hearing. But it wasn’t just for her. I wanted HIM to have ‘closure’. Then I took my turn.
During that afternoon, she went deeper into the coma, and I’d let her nearby brother know earlier that if he wanted to come, it was probably better to do so sooner rather than later; he and his wife and daughter came. I was also in contact with mom’s other brother, and only sister. Mom’s mother was on her way back from the winter in Florida and with the brother in Tennessee. They were making plans to drive up. Her sister was looking for a flight ASAP. A very few family friends also came; we didn’t make it broadly known what was going on.
Mom never regained consciousness, and I decided to spend the night at the hospital. She couldn’t tell anybody what was going on, and I wanted to keep track of how hard her breathing was (or wasn’t), and if she showed any signs of pain. It was a long night. She did start having some respiratory patterns and sounds that indicated she was having a bit of trouble. I asked for some medication to be ordered, and the nurses were great about contacting the doctor (at about 3:00 a.m.) and getting her something. That helped her breathing ease up.
That was the same night Elizabeth Smart was found alive in Utah. I’ll never forget that. One family was welcoming someone back home, and I was watching someone leave this earth. I still remember that so clearly. CNN was all over it. Mom would moan occasionally, so I’d move the chair closer to the bed and hold her hand and talk to her. I also let her know (whatever she could hear and understand) that dad and I would be OK. If she wanted to keep fighting and come home, that was great! We wanted her with us- but if she was just so tired of fighting all of the medical stuff she’d had go on over 20+ years, it was OK to stop, and let go. I also let her know that whatever had gone on in our relationship, everything was OK. We were good. It’s important to let folks know that the living will be OK, and give them ‘permission’ to be free. Dad felt like it was telling her to ‘go away’, and everybody handles things differently. I talked to her.
She made it through the night, and remained in a coma. Dad came back up in the morning, and we both stayed during the day. Another couple of friends came by, but mostly we answered the phone calls, and just talked to each other. Mom would only respond to discomfort, so we let her be. I did agree to the air mattress the night before to make her skin less likely to break down- nobody knew how long this was going to go on (though the mottling is not generally something that happens until near the very end-within 24-36 hours usually). By that morning, her blood pressure was so low they needed an ultrasound gizmo to check it- so we didn’t bother with that other than once a shift. The blood sugar wasn’t going to get fixed- so no point in making her wince and groan with each fingerstick and insulin shot; they weren’t doing much good anyway. Had she shown signs that she was going to get better, I would have agreed to those things. At that point, it was just pain. She had no periods of even being remotely awake, and the mottling was getting darker. She needed peace and comfort.
Dad’s friend had made it to Phoenix, and found the obituary mom had written for herself many years earlier, and left in her address book. He faxed it to his wife, who brought it to the hospital for us to have handy. That was a huge help.
I was so torn about what to do that night. I didn’t want her to be alone, and dad wasn’t up for pulling an all-nighter (understandably at age 70). I needed to get some rest if I was going to work the next night at 7 p.m. But I really didn’t want her to be alone. The nurses were great, but it’s not the same as having someone next to the bed, watching. I finally had to make the decision that I’d have to go home that night so I’d be OK to work the following night. I hated that. Dad knew I was struggling with that, but we knew that we could both be at her bedside within 10 minutes of getting a call from her nurse. And we told the nurses to call for anything. Anything.
Around 8:30 p.m. or so, her breathing got funky. Like ‘here it comes’ kind of funky, but also somewhat labored, so I asked for the medication for her breathing to be more comfortable. The nurse gave it, and it did help. Her breathing became less gravelly. (She didn’t have the ‘rattle’; it was different). At about 8:55 p.m., her breathing became sporadic, and I told dad this was the last pattern I usually saw ‘at the end’. He was still hanging on to the idea that his partner of 46 years was just going through a rough patch and would recover. I told him no. This was it. And it was fast. Really fast when it finally happened.
At 9:00 p.m. my mom took her last breath. She was gone. Dad and I were on either side of the bed, holding her hands. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have any more pain or confinement to a body and mind that had been ravaged by disease and the effects of radiation. She was free. There were a few seconds after she died when she looked like she had 30 years earlier. I don’t know if my fatigue was making my vision wacky, or what- but I saw my mom. The one I’d known before anything was medically wrong with her. She was at peace. I’d like to think that’s when she saw Heaven, and the Lord she loved so much. She finally got to see the two baby boys that had each died soon after being born, that she’d never seen in life. She wasn’t held back by anything.
On March 13, 2003, she was healed.