Saturday, April 10, 2010
Blogging from the Hospital
I had a lovely long sleep last night, followed by a lovely large breakfast my brother-in-law cooked for me, followed by a lovely long hot shower.
The rest of the day was less tired than yesterday, but more teary. Liz and I showed up at the hospital to find Mom pretty unresponsive. I sat next to her, holding her hand and stroking her hair and weeping, while I told her over and over how much I love her and talked about various childhood moments I remembered: trips we took, my first day of kindergarten (a half day starting in the afternoon) when she held me on her lap all morning as I asked every thirty seconds, "Is it time to go to school yet?"
Liz sat in the family room during a lot of that. Around noon, Mom became a bit more responsive -- also more restless -- and we both talked to her and touched her and tried to make her more comfortable, a task at which Liz seemed much better than I. (Well, Liz has been living with her for seventeen years now.)
At some point the hospice doc showed up, examined Mom very briefly and gently, and said that her guess would be that Mom had about half a day left.
I was still really teary when my uncle and cousin and nephew and BIL showed up. My uncle took us out for a lovely sushi lunch, and then we went back to the hospital. (Before lunch, I'd had a crying jag on Liz's shoulder, and Liz and her son and I cried together too.)
Everyone but Liz and I said bye to Mom and left; the two of us resumed talking-and-touching duty. At one point Mom became very agitated; we tried various things to calm her, with mixed success, and she wound up bellowing at me, but not Liz, to get out of the room. I fled into the hall, where Mom's nurse gave me a pep talk. "Don't take it personally!" Later, I went back in and she seemed fine with my being there.
In the meantime, the nurse had called the doctor and gotten Mom's morphine dosage upped (to every hour instead of every two) because of the agitation.
Liz and I decided to spend the night at the hospital. We went downstairs for a quick cafeteria dinner, and then her husband brought us our meds and toothbrushes.
Liz is lying down on the couch in the family room. I'm stretched out on the recliner in Mom's room, trying to rest my back, which has had a hard day of it being twisted into pretzel-like positions at Mom's bedside. (I also took some Advil.). Mom's asleep, and seems peaceful.