|Mom, my two sisters, Ms. Duck, my uncle and myself.|
Her blood gas levels got out of whack (not sure that's an official medical term) and the docs tried a couple things to bring her ph and co2 to normal levels. Neither was successful and the realization that she would not be able to survive this disease began to sink in.
So we had "the talk." The doctor led the discussion, explaining to my mother that they had done everything they could and he didn't think she would be able to beat back her illness this time.
She nodded her head and softly said, "I know."
"Our next option is to put you on a ventilator," the doctor said. "If we do that, I believe you will be on it the rest of your life. Do you want us to use a ventilator on you?"
"No" she said, shaking her head.
"Should your heart stop, do you want us to perform CPR, knowing that it will probably break all your ribs and your sternum?"
And that was it.
"I love all of you," she said to my two sisters and I.
"And we love you Mom."
Two registered nurses entered the room, one removing her pic line and the other administering drugs to ease her anxiety. In just a few minutes the pained expression on her face relaxed as she took a long nap.
Later this afternoon the hospice service had her transferred to their impressive facility.
The move roused her long enough for my sisters and I to say our goodbyes.
"I love you Mom," I said. "I am so fortunate to have had you as my mother all these years." She looked at my, nodded her head, and smiled.
I've had almost 59 years to think of something profound to say in this situation. Although my sentiments were simple and basic, I can't think of any words that describe my feelings for this wonderful woman who taught me so many things thru the years.
And this evening we wait for death. She is sleeping, in no pain, and has a peaceful, relaxed look on her face. Very different from what we've seen the last 11 days.
Please keep us all in your thoughts and prayers as we enter the valley this evening.