Yesterday Aaron called those people who we figured would be interested in my mother's impending death. A few gave us messages for her. Aaron and I went to the hospital this afternoon to say goodbye. Then the tubes were taken from her throat while we waited in the chapel.
She was able to breathe on her own, a scenario I had not expected. This had been presented as an outside chance. I thought this would be the end, but the drama continues.
She is now receiving only an IV with fluid, glucose, and antibiotics, and morphine on an as-needed basis. When we left, she was still heavily sedated. I'll return tomorrow morning. My neighbor suggested I speak with the hospital ethicist. Perhaps this would give me some idea as to what to expect.
I just have to protect myself psychically from this as much as possible. The stress of this situation has caused me to lose sleep and has sent my blood sugar level skyrocketing. I have to take care of my own health.
I strongly suggest to everyone who is reading this to make sure your affairs are in order so that you and your loved ones do not go through this emotional rollercoaster ride.
1) Fill out an advanced directive.
2) Make sure as many people as possible have a copy of the directive--your doctor, your spouse, your best friend, your children, the hospital to which you would most likely be taken.
3) Appoint a power of attorney for healthcare. This is a legal document that appoints one person to make your medical decisions in case you cannot. Make sure your doctor and your hospital have the person's name and contact information on file.
4) Talk openly and honestly with your significant others about your wishes.
5) Encourage your parents and other loved ones to do the same.
Taking these steps can prevent a hospital from taking extraordinary measures that may prolong your existence but greatly diminish your quality of life and add to your suffering and the suffering of those who love you.
If I had not been my mother's power of attorney, healthcare power of attorney, guardian, and trustee, I am sure she would still be hooked up to a breathing apparatus. That's because it is legally more difficult to withdraw treatment than it is to withhold it in the first place.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Something I Wouldn't Wish on Anyone
As I have really been struggling during the past few weeks since my triple bypass on Nov. 18, I have been unable to care for my mother. Even today I am so weak and tired, winded from walking a short distance. My son, Aaron, has gone over to see her and run errands for her during my absence. He was disturbed about how significantly she had declined--staring at a blank wall when he arrived, unresponsive or saying incoherent things. Saturday I drove for the first time post-op and was shocked by my mother's behavior--ranting, saying the same few words over and over, highly anxious, didn't know who I was, then screaming that I leave. I asked the staff to check her for a stroke. They said she checked out fine. The night nurse, however, felt Mom was in a bad way--unresponsive to questioning--so she called 911.
I was awoken by a call from my mother's facility around 12:30 a.m., then several calls throughout the night because info was missing from her records. As I was hooked up to the dialysis machine for 10 1/2 hours, I could not see her in the ER. Sunday morning, however, I drove to the hospital.
What I saw saddened me. She had tubes everywhere. Her eyes were rolled back. She was struggling with the restraints. It all seemed so cruel and pointless. I was crying. The nurse gave her morphine to relax, but now she just lies there with a blank stare. No response. I asked her to nod her head, squeeze my fingers, blink her eyes, but she didn't do any of this.
She has pneumonia, a sore on her foot, fever, water retention. Her blood sugar was almost 1,200, something I didn't realize was possible, as normal blood sugar is between 70 and 120.
Her wishes have always been not to be put on artificial life support, but because the facility did not provide that paperwork to the hospital, she was put on life support. I talked with the doctor, who was very kind and understanding. I said this is not what she wanted. She said Aaron and I could be with her, say our goodbyes, pass along any messages from others, and then the breathing tube could be removed. She may breathe on her own, or if not, the amount of morphine will be increased and she will drop off into a peaceful sleep from which she does not awake.
I just went through the breathing-tube ordeal with my surgery and the hours afterwards when the anesthesia was wearing off. It was absolute torture. I was frantic, trying to pull out the tube. I made a writing motion in the air, and someone brought me a pen and tablet. I did my best to write how awful this was, the feeling of the tube against my throat. I felt like I couldn't breathe. Absolute torture. And when I saw my mother struggling, I knew exactly what she was feeling.
For the last few months, my mother has given up. She gave up on walking and now is pushed in a wheelchair. She stopped dressing herself and brushing her teeth. She stopped watching TV, drawing, reading, writing letters, going out of her room. She no longer wanted to go for rides. And the most important thing in her life--chocolate--no longer holds any appeal. I bought chocolates for her before I went into the hospital on Nov. 18, and they were still there on Saturday, a month later.
This is all very hard. This has been an exceedingly difficult four weeks. I just want my mother to know peace. What she's going through now is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
I was awoken by a call from my mother's facility around 12:30 a.m., then several calls throughout the night because info was missing from her records. As I was hooked up to the dialysis machine for 10 1/2 hours, I could not see her in the ER. Sunday morning, however, I drove to the hospital.
What I saw saddened me. She had tubes everywhere. Her eyes were rolled back. She was struggling with the restraints. It all seemed so cruel and pointless. I was crying. The nurse gave her morphine to relax, but now she just lies there with a blank stare. No response. I asked her to nod her head, squeeze my fingers, blink her eyes, but she didn't do any of this.
She has pneumonia, a sore on her foot, fever, water retention. Her blood sugar was almost 1,200, something I didn't realize was possible, as normal blood sugar is between 70 and 120.
Her wishes have always been not to be put on artificial life support, but because the facility did not provide that paperwork to the hospital, she was put on life support. I talked with the doctor, who was very kind and understanding. I said this is not what she wanted. She said Aaron and I could be with her, say our goodbyes, pass along any messages from others, and then the breathing tube could be removed. She may breathe on her own, or if not, the amount of morphine will be increased and she will drop off into a peaceful sleep from which she does not awake.
I just went through the breathing-tube ordeal with my surgery and the hours afterwards when the anesthesia was wearing off. It was absolute torture. I was frantic, trying to pull out the tube. I made a writing motion in the air, and someone brought me a pen and tablet. I did my best to write how awful this was, the feeling of the tube against my throat. I felt like I couldn't breathe. Absolute torture. And when I saw my mother struggling, I knew exactly what she was feeling.
For the last few months, my mother has given up. She gave up on walking and now is pushed in a wheelchair. She stopped dressing herself and brushing her teeth. She stopped watching TV, drawing, reading, writing letters, going out of her room. She no longer wanted to go for rides. And the most important thing in her life--chocolate--no longer holds any appeal. I bought chocolates for her before I went into the hospital on Nov. 18, and they were still there on Saturday, a month later.
This is all very hard. This has been an exceedingly difficult four weeks. I just want my mother to know peace. What she's going through now is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)