Tuesday, June 19, 2007


They've weaned back the complete sedation so she can nod her head and squeeze your hand for communication.
Her husband says the "plan" is to get her back to "where she was" (meaning, three days ago when she was bucking the BiPAP); his goal is to 1) keep her comfortable, but 2) able to carry on a conversation. He wants the family to be able to have final moments with her.
There are discussions about a hospice center vs home care.
Funeral arrangements and a plot purchase.
How does she do the bills? Utilities must be paid. Mortgage is due. Car payments can't be late.
She's 57. Fifty-seven years old. Bald, pale, swollen with fluid. There are many boxes of kleenex in the room, for family and friends, and to wipe the tears from her eyes and the drool from her mouth.
She'd bought a purse like she always wanted. She worried he'd be mad she spent the money. He cried now because she even had to ask.
She'd had a sudden burst of energy recently; was able to do some quilting and finish a few crafts. Started cleaning out her closets and drawers, clothes that didn't fit.
I called her house, to leave a message for her family. It was strange to hear her voice on the machine. When I was leaving her bedside today, she raised her hand up from the soft wrist restraints and gestured with a few fingers. I have no idea what she wanted to say, but couldn't. But she knew I was there. Her husband gave her a foot massage. Her sister rubbed lotion on her scalp. The flowers her son gave her are at the nurses' station.
Too many thoughts, jumbled.


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