Yesterday I went to work, I was about fifteen minutes late, I'm not sure how it happened, and this song came on the radio.
I lost it.
I was heading for the freeway and I had to reach for the box of tissues in the foot of the passenger seat.
I called mom every day on my way to work...
My sister gets five days of bereavement time off work. I'm home today, only because a colleague offered to work for me so I could get the day off. He's a facebook friend, too. I didn't understand it, because I TOLD my boss they were withdrawing support in a few minutes on Friday in my text to request my work assignment for Monday. To anyone medical, that means death!
Sure enough, I was at the bedside, and pushed my sister who was in the wheelchair (she'd had a test that morning and had to be careful not to overdo, she's not ordinarily in a wheelchair) into the side room the nurse told us to wait while they removed the breathing tube according to mom's wishes.
We came in, mom seemed happy, but I don't think she understood just how much work that breathing tube was doing for her. The plan had originally been to take the tube out, drive her back home in an ambulance, and let her pass with family present. Covid restrictions were horrible! I'll speak a little more on that later.
She never could have survived the transport.
I was there, the tube was out, she wanted water, but all she could get was a lemon glycerine swab, and I swabbed her mouth. She couldn't speak. But she was moving her lips. And I'm a horrible lip reader.
Her sats dropped rapidly. She couldn't breathe. The nurse had turned off the norepinephrine drip too. So within minutes her eyes were unseeing, and she was doing Cheyne-Stokes breathing seen at the end of life.
I saw the heart tracing on the EKG turning agonal.
I took lots of pictures of my sister with her, and of mom in her last moments of life, and there's one of me--mask off, shield off, just holding mom in my arms, and my face has the emotion of total grief on it.
It's true, my life will never be the same without her.
There are three sisters but the healthcare system only allows two present at end of life. So initially my two went up, then one switched out with me, and during mom's passing, we had the one who was in the car on FaceTime, and she was playing Neil Diamond on the radio, one of mom's favorites. At the end, the other sister and I switched back.
What did I see?
Ross came near, and I told him he has to carry me, I can't walk to this one. So he did.
I told my mom--with my actual voice not just my Spirit one--Go To The Light!
She wasn't in that space much, I think, the space between worlds. She wasn't sure where to go.
I saw my nana getting ready, she looked very young, a few minutes before mom was to pass. And then at that moment she did, nana came really fast and grabbed mom to make sure she found her way, just as if mom was six and heading towards danger and nana wanted her safe and home. Nana pulled mom up by the hand.
My dad was waiting for mom. He was all dressed up fancy. He said a few words to me, kind ones I can't remember, and then mom saw him.
She exclaimed, 'I did good?'
I told her, 'yes you did good'.
She never once acknowledged me or made eye contact with me.
I saw a huge, HUGE party in the distance with the most people I've ever seen on the Other Side in my entire life.
Dad took her there.
Neither one of them looked back.
There have been no signs or messages since. Ross has been very quiet, very very quiet. Before, when we got the call mother was very sick, I told Ross that I wouldn't hold her back. If he needs her, I give her to him freely, I wouldn't get in the way of plans. My heart is very giving that way to Ross.
On Saturday I couldn't stop crying. Anthony was an angel and never let me out of his sight, and always was near.
The hospital was forty miles from home. With Covid, no visitors were allowed. When we learned mom was in the ER, and my sister couldn't go in as her advocate--I called her nurses to get report. But the phone went to mom by accident. Anthony and I spoke loving things, asked how she was, and mom said, businesslike--'I really can't talk now'. Her voice was very gravelly and rough. It was a GI bleed, a lower GI bleed, we thought, but apparently there was infection too.
My mom has serious health problems and drug allergies. I knew she doesn't know these things. I always tell them to the caregiver. YES, they are in the chart, but nobody reads the chart. Seriously. If it's not in the problem list in the computer, nobody would ever see it. So I got on the line with the nurse -- it's like five attempts through the phone system!--and explained mom has critical aortic stenosis, and a transplanted kidney that's pretty old. Don't let her blood pressure drop or it won't be good. The nurse understood instantly what I was talking about (critical aortic stenosis won't come back during a code blue, you need to generate 300 mmHg pressure to get the blood out the valve during chest compressions to perfuse the body). She didn't thank me. She didn't need to. I was okay as long as she knew. She had been telling me mom was an excellent historian (about the bleed) beforehand...
Thursday I went to work. And during my cases I tried to contact the hospital and got the runaround so bad I accused them of trying to hide something about her care.
With Covid, the doctor only calls the 'contact person' once a day to explain the patient's care/progress/prognosis. And my sister, who isn't medical, was it. She'd say things like, 'mom's potassium is going higher and higher' that were so much in lay language I found it extremely frustrating and disturbing not to know what was happening to mom. Finally I got through the nurse and understood intubated, sedated, and on norepinephrine drip.
That means really bad.
I got a text I didn't hear, and my sister bless her, called me to make sure I got the news--mom had code blue twice in the ICU early Friday morning. It took twelve minutes to get her back. (read--every bone rib and sternum was probably broken at that point). They could allow two visitors. Anthony needed to see mom. So here's the chance.
At three a.m. we got in the car and drove. Anthony was magically, 'eighteen' and permitted inside. We did the temperature checks and went up because mom was 'critical'. At the door where you call to be buzzed in, they said where are you? You can only have two visitors. We said, 'outside the door right here'.
They were merciful and let us in.
Mom made eye contact, and Anthony told her lots of stories. But to me, she kept gesturing and pointing, but I don't read lips at all. I'm horrible at it. She shifted her weight a lot because it looked like her back hurt her.
She had said before she never wanted the tube again, but people change their minds. And sometimes get better. She has in the past, and was glad she had it. She also said when her kidney failed, that was it. She was really puffy. Anasarca. But I hadn't thought it was kidney failure because she was clear headed and people weren't telling me anything. We told her she was a good mom, and got kicked out after ten minutes.
It was a long drive home.
I heard from my sister she had seen the video where mom said she didn't want the tube and my sister believed her. So at some point it was going to come out. The hospital told us to wait for the 'real doctor' and to arrive before five p.m.
I dropped everything and came back to the hospital, another forty mile trip. Anthony was with me. Since it was three sisters, we were told it was okay, Anthony was going to be with my brother in law and his cousin.
You know the rest of the story.
Mom had a policy that wasn't right in my book, but she swore by it: she had three separate relationships with each of her daughters and wouldn't tell the other two about news of the one. She did a lot of comparisons, favoritism, but to get what she wanted from each one. She's Sicilian by birth, I'm not sure if it was her or her culture or her upbringing.
The week before, mom gave my sister who lives near her and cares for her daily by bringing food and cleaning the house--some pushback. The nurse had said she needed her toenails trimmed. So my sister asked mom, what is your plan?
Mom said she would do it.
Mom needed total care at that point.
I was in the O.R. and got a call from her in a voice, I'd never heard before, conspiratorial, asking me to 'do her a favor' and explained to trim her toenails.
I asked the other sister if I'd get in trouble for doing that or not, usually podiatry does this for diabetics. It's risky. She said I'd be the hero. Nobody wanted to trim the toenails.
I dropped everything after work, and bought new trimmers, creams, soaking tub, salt and vinegar--my colleagues at work told me how to do it, how to soften the nails, to trim straight across. I spent seventy dollars...
I got there, and realized that her legs were open sores from venous insufficiency. and bandaged. I couldn't soak more than the soles of the feet. And her caregiver who washes her came. I had to wait.
I had gloves on, and used alcohol to wipe the trimmers, and got to work. She was grateful. It was hard, the lighting was poor, I couldn't see, and the nails were shaped like U upside down. I had to get the trimmer lined up and slide it along the nail nip by nip.
We agreed that would be my job and I'd come back every month.
The nurse the next day noticed and was pleased with the work.
I find physical movement helps a lot with the grief process. I get Anthony and me walking. Around the neighborhood. By the beach. The other night Ross suggested we go to the beach to say goodbye to mom. We did. It helped to verbalize a goodbye when in that clinical situation we couldn't.
I still haven't heard from mom.
Oh well.
Ross nods and acknowledges you. He is still very quiet.
clap! clap!
Aloha and Mahalos,
Namaste,
Peace,
Ross and Carla
The couple
