Mom's Last Days: Chap 2
Stroking Downhill
Since Mom’s first stroke she could no longer swallow solids or thin liquids so we thickened fluids with Thicket, a ghastly, but essential derivative of corn that keeps fluids from scattering in a person’s throat, making swallowing a little easier and hopefully preventing Mom from aspirating fluids into her lungs. We also mashed and blended bananas, squash, chicken soup – anything that appealed to Mom. With luck she ate maybe four to six ounces of mashed food per day and the same amount of fluids. She had trouble getting the spoon to her mouth so most of the time I fed her.
It was much harder to transfer Mom on my own but we still managed. With my arms wrapped around her I whispered in Mom’s ear We’re goin’ for it, then I swung her in one swoop from here to there. I just needed Mom to trust that I’d keep her safe which was asking a lot given how vulnerable she felt.
When I started moving Mom into her wheelchair Friday morning, February 27th, she froze like a manikin, legs splayed, arms rigid, and sat precariously on the edge of the wheelchair in her stiffened state. She must have had another stroke. Somehow I picked her up and got her back into bed. Mom was soaking wet with urine. She said nothing as I rolled her body from side to side, tugged at her clothes and looked directly at her private parts while cleaning her. When she was in the nursing home she had resigned herself to a total loss of privacy but I knew she felt ripped off about losing one more thing, being able to sit on the toilet and go in dignity. I called Hospice and an hour and a half later Mom was catheterized.
Since Mom’s first stroke she could no longer swallow solids or thin liquids so we thickened fluids with Thicket, a ghastly, but essential derivative of corn that keeps fluids from scattering in a person’s throat, making swallowing a little easier and hopefully preventing Mom from aspirating fluids into her lungs. We also mashed and blended bananas, squash, chicken soup – anything that appealed to Mom. With luck she ate maybe four to six ounces of mashed food per day and the same amount of fluids. She had trouble getting the spoon to her mouth so most of the time I fed her.
It was much harder to transfer Mom on my own but we still managed. With my arms wrapped around her I whispered in Mom’s ear We’re goin’ for it, then I swung her in one swoop from here to there. I just needed Mom to trust that I’d keep her safe which was asking a lot given how vulnerable she felt.
When I started moving Mom into her wheelchair Friday morning, February 27th, she froze like a manikin, legs splayed, arms rigid, and sat precariously on the edge of the wheelchair in her stiffened state. She must have had another stroke. Somehow I picked her up and got her back into bed. Mom was soaking wet with urine. She said nothing as I rolled her body from side to side, tugged at her clothes and looked directly at her private parts while cleaning her. When she was in the nursing home she had resigned herself to a total loss of privacy but I knew she felt ripped off about losing one more thing, being able to sit on the toilet and go in dignity. I called Hospice and an hour and a half later Mom was catheterized.
My mother has an incredible pain tolerance. She managed the pain from four pelvic fractures and a compression fracture with only Tylenol and Lidocaine patches, no narcotic pain meds, and when the nurse inserted the catheter tube Mom didn’t flinch, not even a little. She simply told the nurse how uncomfortable the experience was.
Mom was bed bound and didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand that it was too hard on me to move her. Juan and I double-teamed her into the wheelchair once so we could show her the living room and kitchen and convince her she was not in a facility but after that it was just not a good idea to drag her frail body around.
Mom’s dementia, or denial, I’m still not sure which, kept her from realizing the extent to which her body was compromised. She kept thinking her legs would get stronger, all she had to do was work at it. Juan and I didn’t want to pretend with Mom about her physical state so we took advantage of any lucid moments she had. When she asked what was going on - translation, why she was in bed - we said her body was worn out, her circuitry shot, and she was coming to the end of her line. During one such talk Mom looked at me and simply said, “That sucks!”
Our approach may seem cruel but it was no good for Mom to think she would recover. Mom would have lingered in bed forever if she thought she could get better.
Mom was bed bound and didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand that it was too hard on me to move her. Juan and I double-teamed her into the wheelchair once so we could show her the living room and kitchen and convince her she was not in a facility but after that it was just not a good idea to drag her frail body around.
Mom’s dementia, or denial, I’m still not sure which, kept her from realizing the extent to which her body was compromised. She kept thinking her legs would get stronger, all she had to do was work at it. Juan and I didn’t want to pretend with Mom about her physical state so we took advantage of any lucid moments she had. When she asked what was going on - translation, why she was in bed - we said her body was worn out, her circuitry shot, and she was coming to the end of her line. During one such talk Mom looked at me and simply said, “That sucks!”
Our approach may seem cruel but it was no good for Mom to think she would recover. Mom would have lingered in bed forever if she thought she could get better.
The Hospice nurse, Mary Ellen, and social worker, Melanie, assessed Mom. When they saw her amber-colored urine they told us her kidneys were beginning to shut down. My brother, John, was visiting and in one of our lighter moments we all tried to pick a beer that best mimicked Mom’s urine color. Lolo Sandberg won out. (Now I'm thinking I got the name wrong - John correct me please!) Mary Ellen and Melanie also told us Mom was experiencing “Terminal Restlessness," an awful term, but it does describe Mom’s nonstop chatter, constant agitation, and repeated attempts to get out of bed. Mom was so restless I couldn't even leave her room for two minutes to dump her urine because she would fall out of bed.
One morning while I was gathering fresh clothes to change Mom into, she asked me to pull out her black sneakers, a pair of shoes she hadn't even thought about wearing since living with us. My dress sneakers. Where are they? I need them, Mom urged me. Pull them out so I can wear them.
I loved the fact that my mother had "dress sneakers." It leant some insight into where I had gotten my particular style - shabby chic! I had to rummage around a bit, but retrieved Mom's sneakers from under the dresser. They were covered with dust. Later that same day Mom kept insisting, Bring my winter coat, my hat, and my boots. I’m ready to get out of here! Who wouldn’t be? It made sense to us.
One morning while I was gathering fresh clothes to change Mom into, she asked me to pull out her black sneakers, a pair of shoes she hadn't even thought about wearing since living with us. My dress sneakers. Where are they? I need them, Mom urged me. Pull them out so I can wear them.
I loved the fact that my mother had "dress sneakers." It leant some insight into where I had gotten my particular style - shabby chic! I had to rummage around a bit, but retrieved Mom's sneakers from under the dresser. They were covered with dust. Later that same day Mom kept insisting, Bring my winter coat, my hat, and my boots. I’m ready to get out of here! Who wouldn’t be? It made sense to us.
After Mom had finally fallen asleep I vented my frustrations to Juan. He admonished that I soak up every word my mother uttered because once she started morphine she would not speak another word to me - ever. Don't buckle now, he said. It’s only going to get worse. You’d better step up.
To help Mom calm down we took her off her low dose of antidepressant. It had given her two good months of energy and focus in which she had been able to read again after not having been able to focus long enough to read for most of the past year. But now was not the time to be energized. We needed Mom's engine to idle down.
At this point we were still sleeping in our own beds at night, the baby monitor - our constant companion since Mom moved in - buzzing quietly next to our pillows. Each morning when I walked into her room, I never knew where Mom's mind would be. A consistent theme for her was watching some boys climb the ponderosa pines to place stars on top of them. She cowered one morning as I started raising up the head of her hospital bed so she could watch the chickadees feed. Don’t let them see me! she blurted. Who? I asked. There are two groups of people by the stream out there. They are climbing trees putting stars on top and they want me to climb a tree too. Keep me down low for a while! I don't want them to see me! Mom also saw a number of people visit her room that Juan and I could not see. She never seemed to recognize them but they didn’t disturb her. She just saw them coming and going, bringing flowers, talking with her.
Juan and I knew that we had a short window in which to say our goodbyes to Mom so we availed ourselves of any opportunity to converse with her. We asked her what she thought was next, did she have a belief in what happens after death? No, she said. She had no idea. What did she need? Peace. I asked Mom when she got to the other side if she discovered any way to signal me that she please do so. She would try, she assured me. Mom never shared her hesitations about dying with me but she did with Juan. She worried because she didn’t know what was next.
Son, Jeff, called every weekday - a tradition he and Mom had when she lived back East which he continued once Mom moved - so he spoke with Mom whenever she was lucid. Son, Fred, called on Sundays and did his best to carry on a conversation with Mom after her strokes.
Mom had made a flower order from a catalog, which I hadn’t sent off yet and I promised her I would plant the seeds and bulbs she wanted and would speak with her through her flowers. Then Mom told earnestly shared her thoughts with me. Don’t dig too hard. Let Juan help you. Drink water and breath, but most of all make sure you sit down and look at what you’ve done.
As Juan walked out the door, Mom said, Now there’s a person you can count on always. I told her that was why I was with him and she smiled. I was happy Mom finally understand Juan; a miraculous turn about after all her fears of him "being bigger than life."
When I told Mom that taking care of her had made me a better person, Mom’s immediate response was I should think so! And then she told me that looking out and seeing my face always there made her feel deeply cared for. I couldn’t have felt more grateful. That had been our goal all along.
Juan and I were content with our exchanges with Mom. We were ready...now it was up to her.
Son, Jeff, called every weekday - a tradition he and Mom had when she lived back East which he continued once Mom moved - so he spoke with Mom whenever she was lucid. Son, Fred, called on Sundays and did his best to carry on a conversation with Mom after her strokes.
Mom had made a flower order from a catalog, which I hadn’t sent off yet and I promised her I would plant the seeds and bulbs she wanted and would speak with her through her flowers. Then Mom told earnestly shared her thoughts with me. Don’t dig too hard. Let Juan help you. Drink water and breath, but most of all make sure you sit down and look at what you’ve done.
As Juan walked out the door, Mom said, Now there’s a person you can count on always. I told her that was why I was with him and she smiled. I was happy Mom finally understand Juan; a miraculous turn about after all her fears of him "being bigger than life."
When I told Mom that taking care of her had made me a better person, Mom’s immediate response was I should think so! And then she told me that looking out and seeing my face always there made her feel deeply cared for. I couldn’t have felt more grateful. That had been our goal all along.
Juan and I were content with our exchanges with Mom. We were ready...now it was up to her.