2013, Part 2. Or..."The Truth isn't Always a Clear Cow"
In July of 2013, just after I returned from Michigan, my sweet mother in law Jeanne died after too long of a time with Alzheimers. She who in the end, knew none of us, had taught me so many things. Like how to properly fold shirts and hang clothes on the line and to use all the leftovers. Our children taught her to say "I love you" out loud. We knew she loved all of us, but it wasn't something freely said to her when she was little, so maybe she didn't feel comfortable with it. She taught me the importance of writing letters and for a long time, we got a letter from her every week. I didn't write back as much as I should have either. Oh those regrets we always have when someone dies. I never liked her Christmas bread, Stollen , which was like fruit cake but I never told her...instead I just took it to work with me and the staff seemed to enjoy it. We always loved her cookies though and she sent them every year until she became ill. Sometimes, it's okay to lie by omission so you don't hurt the feelings of someone you love, I feel.
I remember once, how I used her disease against her. She was still living at home with Bill, her husband who was in his 90's, caring for her, and she badly needed a shower. When Bill and Bruce went to the store I convinced her that she had wanted me to help her take a shower and she came along willingly - she who was always so modest. Although it broke my heart to see her this way, it was a privilege to help her. She sat on the shower chair and sadly looked at her stomach saying "look at my ugly stomach - it is so fat". I recognized myself in that comment....we women are so critical of ourselves and will be even when our minds are going it seems. "That stomach stretched to give birth to 4 children", I told her. "And that is pretty amazing". As I said this to her I thought maybe I would try to accept my own shortfalls a little better - like my own stomach which I feared would become the dreaded apron, flopping someday over my girl parts. I noted how beautiful her back was - something I had noticed in my own mother. A person's back doesn't seem to wrinkle, like the rest of the body but remains smooth and gives away no secrets of age or hardships.
We (Bruce, Kseniya, and Dan and I) went back for her funeral - which I am sure she would have approved of - it was a beautiful Catholic ceremony. Sad that it takes a death in the family these days to get everyone together.
Now Bruce and I are both orphans. Time flies so fast and the people we love leave but we go on - and we don't forget. We are forever changed by both their comings and their goings but it is not easy.
Death and dying seemed to be a theme for the next few months. I was training to be a hospice volunteer and even before I finished that, I was asked to spend the night with a woman who I didn't know very well from my church, who was dying of Ovarian cancer. All I knew is that she was very involved, and always very positive and giving. I ended up, after that night, wishing I had known her better. But what a privilege to care for her during her last night here.
I was told that she was just going to need help getting to the bathroom and I would be there just to help her and also to allow her husband to get some sleep. But when I got there, my quick nursing assessment (which is a product of learning to actually look at patients instead of using machines) told me she was on her way to wherever we go when we aren't here. At first I panicked because I would be responsible for nursing duties - a type of nursing that I hadn't done - I was used to trying to keep people alive, not to help them die comfortably. Where was the suction and oxygen? I also wanted atropine to dry up some of those secretions. And how can you give oral morphine to a woman who is not fully conscious? It went against everything I had been taught.
It turned out to be the most rewarding time I have ever spent as a nurse. Her son was home and he stayed up with his mom and I. We discussed the Bible, different movies and what his mom was like and what he remembered the most about her. We drank lots of coffee and ate cheese and crackers. I gave her morphine under her tongue every few hours, and ativan to prevent agitation - more morphine and ativan than I have ever given to anyone at one time, but normal hospice doses I discovered. We talked to her and touched her and from time to time, it seemed she was seeing her own mother. She opened her eyes and winked at her son just before her breathing changed to what they call the "death rattle". I really wanted suction, but I knew it would only make her more uncomfortable and would not help. This wasn't an emergency room and we weren't trying to save her - only to help her die peacefully and without pain. So instead we moistened her lips and gave her little drops of water which initially she could swallow on her own.
The sun came up and her son went to tell his dad that things had changed and death was probably imminent. He came in and took one look at her and got out atropine - he had been trained so well by the hospice nurses. As I left, I kissed her on the cheek, thanked her and told her she could go when she was ready. Later that afternoon, her husband called to tell me she died at around 2pm.
A week later, Pirate and I stayed up all night while Hanzo, our sweet Boston terrier, keeping him warm and petting him. Pirate circled him nervously and seemed to know what was going on. Hanzo was dying, despite our best efforts to help him. In three days he got ill and was finally diagnosed with dilating cardiomyopathy. This is a bad disease in humans and usually requires a heart transplant. It is almost always fatal in dogs, within 6 months to a year.
What a hard loss it was - Hanzo had a great personality and such dignity. He and Pirate were good buddies. They helped me realize that walking dogs can be as pleasant as running with them. I used to walk with them most days after my run and I liked the slower pace and noticing more about the neighborhood than running allows.
The St. George marathon came along like it had for me for the last 19 years. I finished my favorite marathon and thought of those lost and those I still have and was grateful to be able to complete it once again. I don't think I ever take my ability to run and my health for granted.
I finished my hospice volunteer training in October and started visiting people in the hospice hospital. It is sad but mostly inspiring to see people at this stage of their lives, and sometimes a little humorous too. I believe it is a privilege to spend time with someone who is dying and much less scarey than death in the ER. Some of the patients are still lucid and talk about their lives and most are at the stage of acceptance.
One woman who was in the latter stages of some form of dementia talked away happily about many things that only she understood. She was helping to build a new LDS Temple, in the parking lot of the hospital, she said, and was so tired. She grabbed my hand when I was leaving and said seriously, while looking into my eyes, "The truth isn't always a clear cow, you know".
My 60th birthday came and went and the gifts I received made me know how much I was loved. I started entering my own stage of acceptance - finally letting go of parts that were finished and realizing how much good there is still to be.
We got Toby, the new dog - a Catahoula mix - a breed I had never heard of. He is becoming my new running buddy and has a lot of energy. Pirate loves him and is glad to have a buddy. He is a loving, smart dog and I am happy we were able to rescue him - thanks to Bruce and Kseniya who picked him out of the many dogs needing homes at the shelter.
I am not sure why I felt I needed to write about last year before I could go on. It seemed like a turning point for me in a lot of ways. Acceptance of what is, comes to mind.
Oh and Christmas was great. Everyone home, grandkids, dogs, and family.
Now it is almost the end of 2014. And back to our regularly scheduled program.
I remember once, how I used her disease against her. She was still living at home with Bill, her husband who was in his 90's, caring for her, and she badly needed a shower. When Bill and Bruce went to the store I convinced her that she had wanted me to help her take a shower and she came along willingly - she who was always so modest. Although it broke my heart to see her this way, it was a privilege to help her. She sat on the shower chair and sadly looked at her stomach saying "look at my ugly stomach - it is so fat". I recognized myself in that comment....we women are so critical of ourselves and will be even when our minds are going it seems. "That stomach stretched to give birth to 4 children", I told her. "And that is pretty amazing". As I said this to her I thought maybe I would try to accept my own shortfalls a little better - like my own stomach which I feared would become the dreaded apron, flopping someday over my girl parts. I noted how beautiful her back was - something I had noticed in my own mother. A person's back doesn't seem to wrinkle, like the rest of the body but remains smooth and gives away no secrets of age or hardships.
We (Bruce, Kseniya, and Dan and I) went back for her funeral - which I am sure she would have approved of - it was a beautiful Catholic ceremony. Sad that it takes a death in the family these days to get everyone together.
 | |
| After the funeral |
Death and dying seemed to be a theme for the next few months. I was training to be a hospice volunteer and even before I finished that, I was asked to spend the night with a woman who I didn't know very well from my church, who was dying of Ovarian cancer. All I knew is that she was very involved, and always very positive and giving. I ended up, after that night, wishing I had known her better. But what a privilege to care for her during her last night here.
I was told that she was just going to need help getting to the bathroom and I would be there just to help her and also to allow her husband to get some sleep. But when I got there, my quick nursing assessment (which is a product of learning to actually look at patients instead of using machines) told me she was on her way to wherever we go when we aren't here. At first I panicked because I would be responsible for nursing duties - a type of nursing that I hadn't done - I was used to trying to keep people alive, not to help them die comfortably. Where was the suction and oxygen? I also wanted atropine to dry up some of those secretions. And how can you give oral morphine to a woman who is not fully conscious? It went against everything I had been taught.
It turned out to be the most rewarding time I have ever spent as a nurse. Her son was home and he stayed up with his mom and I. We discussed the Bible, different movies and what his mom was like and what he remembered the most about her. We drank lots of coffee and ate cheese and crackers. I gave her morphine under her tongue every few hours, and ativan to prevent agitation - more morphine and ativan than I have ever given to anyone at one time, but normal hospice doses I discovered. We talked to her and touched her and from time to time, it seemed she was seeing her own mother. She opened her eyes and winked at her son just before her breathing changed to what they call the "death rattle". I really wanted suction, but I knew it would only make her more uncomfortable and would not help. This wasn't an emergency room and we weren't trying to save her - only to help her die peacefully and without pain. So instead we moistened her lips and gave her little drops of water which initially she could swallow on her own.
The sun came up and her son went to tell his dad that things had changed and death was probably imminent. He came in and took one look at her and got out atropine - he had been trained so well by the hospice nurses. As I left, I kissed her on the cheek, thanked her and told her she could go when she was ready. Later that afternoon, her husband called to tell me she died at around 2pm.
A week later, Pirate and I stayed up all night while Hanzo, our sweet Boston terrier, keeping him warm and petting him. Pirate circled him nervously and seemed to know what was going on. Hanzo was dying, despite our best efforts to help him. In three days he got ill and was finally diagnosed with dilating cardiomyopathy. This is a bad disease in humans and usually requires a heart transplant. It is almost always fatal in dogs, within 6 months to a year.
 |
| Hanzo on the left, and Pirate |
The St. George marathon came along like it had for me for the last 19 years. I finished my favorite marathon and thought of those lost and those I still have and was grateful to be able to complete it once again. I don't think I ever take my ability to run and my health for granted.
I finished my hospice volunteer training in October and started visiting people in the hospice hospital. It is sad but mostly inspiring to see people at this stage of their lives, and sometimes a little humorous too. I believe it is a privilege to spend time with someone who is dying and much less scarey than death in the ER. Some of the patients are still lucid and talk about their lives and most are at the stage of acceptance.
One woman who was in the latter stages of some form of dementia talked away happily about many things that only she understood. She was helping to build a new LDS Temple, in the parking lot of the hospital, she said, and was so tired. She grabbed my hand when I was leaving and said seriously, while looking into my eyes, "The truth isn't always a clear cow, you know".
My 60th birthday came and went and the gifts I received made me know how much I was loved. I started entering my own stage of acceptance - finally letting go of parts that were finished and realizing how much good there is still to be.
We got Toby, the new dog - a Catahoula mix - a breed I had never heard of. He is becoming my new running buddy and has a lot of energy. Pirate loves him and is glad to have a buddy. He is a loving, smart dog and I am happy we were able to rescue him - thanks to Bruce and Kseniya who picked him out of the many dogs needing homes at the shelter.
I am not sure why I felt I needed to write about last year before I could go on. It seemed like a turning point for me in a lot of ways. Acceptance of what is, comes to mind.
Oh and Christmas was great. Everyone home, grandkids, dogs, and family.
Now it is almost the end of 2014. And back to our regularly scheduled program.
Comments