Photoessay #1068 - Final Days

This image is somehow almost too powerful to post.

My mother spent her last days in a room in the oncology ward of Rockford Memorial Hospital. Not an oncology patient, but they sometimes used this room for hospice patients, a little bit bigger at the end of the hall. My mother had decided that she wished to discontinue all of her medications and turn off her pacemaker, Comfort medications only. Hospice, please.

My mother had always stressed that she did NOT want to be kept alive past her time. No machines for her. When I pause to reflect, I remain happy (relieved? joyful?) that she could make this decision for her own care. A strong and merciful directive she was so fortunate to be able to handle herself.

At the time, there was no discussion though my brother, who had responsibility for health care, wanted to make sure that she was in 'her right mind'. Clearly she was. She asked for our support and that was it, no question. She was able to give her deathbed speech (she specifically mentioned the booties) but by that afternoon her abilities to speak and have a conversation deteriorated.

I did have to remind myself that this was a one way street. Only led to one thing.

Later, I wondered, what made the difference for her? The day before but I heard that she had 'breathing problems' something that congestive heart failure could present. Somebody may have told her that there was little more to be done, intubation was next. Somebody, I don't remember who, mentioned that to me on one of the first days I was there. So, as both my neighbors said "Intbuation? (shudder) no thanks". If my mother heard that, that would make the difference. And surely how could you (and why would you) convince an 85 year old woman in poor health with congestive heart failure to accept intubation?

So she had made the decision and it was being honored by the time we got there. So from then on out, iv morphine all the way. The morphine can hasten the dying by suppressing some vital processes yet it helps breathing, not sure why. So, with the correct dosage, her breathing became easier.

In the regular ward, sometimes we had a hard time getting the pain medicine when she needed it. Too many patients, not a quick enough response. Terrible times. But with hospice in charge, never a problem. They administered the morphine without interruption, never a worry about getting the next vial. As a hospice patient, you only have your vitals taken once per shift.

We arrived on Wednesday, she died Sunday afternoon. One or all of her children (all in our 50s) were with her from morning into the evening. We watched the winter olympics, she was looking forward to those. We chatted about the athletes and cheered, we shared the arrangements we were making for the memorial, we worked on photographs. We hung out.

My mom feared 'being alone'. She wasn't.