End of Life is a Cast-Iron Bitch

The past few weeks have been horrible, and they're about to get worse.

My MIL, as I've mentioned before, is eighty-seven - a bad eighty-seven because she didn't take care of herself when she was younger. Her body has been holding on even though her mind has been pretty much gone for years. Now her body is failing and we're facing the hard decisions children have to make for people for whom we care. It sucks, big time.

I was lucky because I grew up in a household where no one pretended that death didn't happen. We didn't discuss it, but it wasn't hushed up or glossed over either.

There were the family pets buried in the backyard with due ceremony.

Early memories that I have are of my grandmother sitting in a chair in what became my brother's room and, sometime later, standing at my bedroom window (where, I'm sure, my mom had told me to stay) watching an ambulance pull away from the house with her on a stretcher. I never saw her again but I remember the morning of the funeral - I was playing on the floor of my parent's bedroom with blocks and they were talking about whether I was old enough to go to the service. I didn't go to the service, so I was young enough not to be reasonable.

When I was in grade school, the older brother of a classmate died of an aneurysm.

It was there, around us, and recognized so while I feared it when I was younger, I understood that it happens to everyone. I've come to terms with it and, while it's not fun or pleasant, it also doesn't have to be dramatic.

I was there when my dad passed. He was surrounded by loving family - my mom, three of his four children and grandchildren.

My mom passed surrounded by most of the family when I was trying out for a new job - I couldn't be there but knowing my mom I knew precisely what she would say: "You do what you need to do. I'll be fine." Which is why I can write that, four years after her death, and not feel anything but the smallest pang of remorse. The remorse being because I feel as if I let her down, even though I know in my heart that she understood.

Hubby, however, is an only child. He never had to deal directly with the end-of-life stuff. One grandmother died in Oklahoma when he was here, in California. The other died in Los Angeles while he was in the northern part of the state. His father died, unexpectedly, when he was out of town.

Now he is facing the reality directly because MIL is dying right in front of his eyes.

Since she was released from the hospital in early April we've had nurses coming every-other-day to check on her, make sure she's improving. For three weeks I've seen what's happening - the lack of any improvement, a decline in function and ability to speak, but kept my mouth shut.

Today, the nurse said what I've recognized - we're in the end-game. Of course hubby is having a hard time coping. It's his mom and he's never had to deal with anything like this before. I also know that it's going to get harder once the initial shock passes him by. For now, though, he's going through the motions.

We had a conference call - hubby, the nurse (who is a marvel - someone who I met just the other day and instantly knew I would like to get to know as a friend) and me. The nurse recommended Hospice and I seconded it because they do such stellar work. I saw it with my Dad and recommend it to everyone and anyone dealing with a family member's End of Days. Hubby acceded to the idea - for the moment.

By the time I get home tonight I know what's going to have happened. He'll have passed through shock and probably through anger (although that's not a guarantee). Then I'll have to cope with denial. But, as I said to him on the phone, she is far enough gone that she is not going to improve, let alone get wholly better. There has been a steady decline in her physical and mental functions for weeks - and now it's time to make her comfortable, to give her the care that will ease her into that next stage.

Not fun, not pleasant, but the only thing we can all expect in this life and it sucks.

Philippa

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'tis The Season - Grumbling & Philosophy

Oh, yippitee skippitee, Scrooge is here.

The company holiday party (nope, not allowed to call it Christmas since someone might be offended) is coming up this Friday. I've had offers of hand-holding from a number of people so even though I don't really want to, I'm going. I'll sit with my hand-holding buds and shoot the breeze and will probably end up having a good time. There's going to be line dancing and, knowing me, I'll probably jump into that.

Heck - that'll be a trip down Memory Lane.

When I was about four my mom enrolled me in ballet classes not knowing that I'm a follow my own drummer personality. Or maybe she did and didn't care? I don't know. All I know is that at four years old any stage career I might have developed disappeared in the middle of a dance recital.

Black leotard with a short red tutu, a black overskirt with red polkadots. I remember that. I also remember being the one kid in the line of however many there were reaching to the ceiling while everyone else was bending to the floor and vice versa. It didn't go well. But I did get a bouquet of red roses from my favorite Aunt when it was all over.

This should be more fun though since I doubt anyone else, except maybe one or two hardcore country western listeners, will have a clue what they're doing either. In the end, it'll be fun and funny and a laugh and that's what it's all about.

With my buds and music I can pretend I'm sitting in a bar someplace. Although the room will no doubt be more brightly lit than the local bar.

Since I was in charge of the music I dove deep into my past and requested 'Twisting By The Pool' and 'The Sultans of Swing', both from Dire Straits.

Hopefully when it's all over everyone will look at everyone else and say, 'that was fun! Let's do it again next year!'

At home, we won't be celebrating the season because there's both too much and not enough going on.

MIL is becoming incontinent. Twice in the past few days hubby has been down on the floor scrubbing stains. I just hope, callously perhaps, for all of us that this phase doesn't last too long.

I spent an hour of my evening last night Googling about incontinence and its various forms. Imagine spending an evening Googling about excrement. Not pleasant. Not how I wanted to spend my evening, but what I did because we're looking for solutions. Is it dietary? Probably not, although it could be. We'll remove what we think is problematic - sodas, milk and dairy - and see what happens. Is it related to her diabetes? Probably. Nerves don't work so she doesn't necessarily know when it's time. It's also simply a part of aging. And this is where it gets into things I really didn't know about, and won't share because, who knows, maybe you'd like to spend a couple of hours Googling about incontinence in the elderly and its causes.

Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any solutions. This is end-stage and it's only a question of how much longer. Weeks, perhaps months but no longer based on what I read. This isn't something that goes for years, so there is a bright spot - caused by bleach on the carpet in the living room.

Maybe I shouldn't say this here, but I am determined, after seeing how my parents went out and seeing how MIL is going out, not to do it as she's doing it.

Dad died of cancer at home, surrounded by family. It was hard to watch but it was over in a matter of months. No dragging it out.

Mom, sadly, died of a long-term infection, but she retained her dignity up to the last several months when the pain for her and the burden of caring for the infection got to be too much for my SIL and brother. Up until the end she had her marbles. She could speak and decide for herself, and she decided when the time had come to move into assisted living. She did, and a few months later was gone, but there was none of the stress of caretaking a senile person who has trouble formulating sentences and thoughts, who struggles to get to the bathroom on time and who has trouble swallowing and throwing up half of what she eats on a regular basis.

If I reach that stage, I'm outta here. I will not burden my family with this kind of thing. I will not spend months or a year or more living like half-a-vegetable which is where we are with MIL. There are ways and I'll find one.

I think that's a major difference too. She fears death and I don't. I don't want to die, don't get me wrong, but thinking about it doesn't scare me. It's inevitable and is as much a part of living as being born.

I also wonder what's next because I don't believe it's a one-and-done. If it is, I won't know it anyway so I won't have a chance to be disappointed. If it's not, the next phase is something to look forward to. I think. Unless it's like Dante's Inferno and this is Level Three and I'm heading for Level Four or something. But, again, if it is, if I am, there's nothing I can do about it.

So the Holidays will come and go and January 1st will start our next calendar trip around the Sun. Things will change and others won't and it will be interesting to see what happens.

In the meantime, I hope you have a wonderful day and month and year and... Whatever the future brings your way.

Best~
Philippa

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Monday Meanderings

Five thirty in the morning and I haven't got a clue what I'm going to write.

Work today, obviously. Have to hit the shower in thirty minutes. Coffee is sitting here, down about a third and Sam is still asleep. Or at least he's not meowing at the door.

He's on his way out, I'm afraid. Eighteen years plus a few months is pretty good for a cat, so I won't fret too much when the day comes, but it's getting close, I can tell.

Lately, in the past month or so, he's started having trouble with his balance, falling over when he tries to get up after lying down, or stumbling when he walks. He never was graceful, the way people think of cats. He's always been just a tiny bit clumsy, running into things, etc.

All the signs of age are there.

He's lost his hearing in the past few months. He's gotten so finicky about his food he won't eat most of what I put down but I can't just opening can after can, hoping to find one he'll eat. Watering is together time since he won't drink out of his water bowl. It has a pump and a flow of water but he isn't interested. I keep it up - washed and filled - in his room at night in case he gets thirsty.

This morning, though, and tonight after I get home, and again before he goes to bed I'll stand at the bathroom basin and run a small stream of water into the palm of my hand. It's the surest way to get him to drink. If it's a good morning, I'll fill the bowl in which I catch the runoff more than once (yes, we save this, adding it to the drought buckets we keep in the bathtub).

It's hard, but it's part of life and he's a member of the family so I will do for him everything I can until it's obviously time. Perhaps another couple of months... I hope it's that long. Maybe longer but maybe not. We'll see. What I won't do is keep him going for me. If he's in pain, obvious pain, I will call the vet and not make him suffer because I can't bear to let go. That wouldn't be fair or right for him.

He's the last of my kitty-babies and he's my lap warmer so it's going to be hard, but we've had a great run together and he's still here, still hanging in (he's crying at the door, now - 'Mom! Mom, where are you? I'm hungry!')

There's so much else going on, I feel as if I'm flailing against a running tide. This will pass - it always does, but for the moment, just now, I feel a little overwhelmed with stuff. Family and work and writing and trying to balance and juggle it all so I feel fulfilled without going insane. Keeping up, keeping at it and managing, but once the tide turns slack again, I'll be happier.

I did get a lot done this weekend, so there's that. I made another batch of stir fry - without the chow mein. I made rice, instead. I also remembered the carrots and bamboo shoots, this time. The rice will be better for me - higher fiber. I used a whole grain wild and brown rice mix. Now, I won't have to scramble to figure out lunches this week. A side benefit of the mess I made is that the kitchen is clean. Really clean. Cleaner than I expected, actually, since I spilled oil on the floor in front of the stove...

I also spent some time editing one of my stories on Saturday, and am debating whether to serialize one of my books for this blog.

Thinking of it now, I could do 'Matters of Friendship'.

The chapters are fairly short. It's not 'distasteful' - no erotic or explicit anything. It's just a story about a recently divorced woman attracted to a married man. They're friends and...

Something to ponder since it would involve reading and editing each chapter before posting, but I'm doing that anyway as I get it ready for self-publishing (next year, probably). So, we'll see.

Whoops! Later than I should be so gotta run... Take care and have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

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