Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Last night, before retiring...
...I had the impression that Mom would die sometime in the night. I wasn't upset by the impression, just, well, surprised. I never expect, although I'm always prepared for, what I know will be the final outcome of this life of ours. I guess the impression was really a personal accumulation of all the events that have transpired in her life, thus in mine, over the last two days. As I always do, I checked in on her this morning as soon as I arose, even before going to the bathroom. She was sprawled on her bed, face to the sun, our Girls (the cats) warming themselves, too, in the direct rays streaming through her bedroom window.
As I petted each of The Girls and scrutinized Mom to pick up reconnaissance on how her day might go from her perspective, I recalled a story related to me by a close friend here in Prescott about some close friends of hers, two sisters who'd emigrated here from Russia and now live together in a community close to me, both, at the time of the story, in their very late 80's. The oldest sister had a serious heart attack, the damage so extensive that the physicians decided operating on her to repair vessels and muscles was beside the point and would probably hasten death. She was in the hospital for weeks then was moved to a skilled nursing facility under the expectation that, since she was not recovering, she would die there. Her sister tended to her every day without fail, prayed copiously over her, harassed physicians to apply treatments that offered even a tiny speck of hope but as the weeks passed and her sister declined, she accepted "the inevitable" and prepared to confront her sister's passage. She bought a new dress for herself for the expected funeral, one she knew her sister would've loved to have worn. Within a week of purchasing the funereal attire, her sister began to perk up. Slowly but surely the elder sister healed. At a certain point her doctors felt she might be strong enough to endure some reparative surgery but she refused, saying that she'd already been "through the Valley of the shadow of death" without reservations and wasn't interested purchasing a ticket. The doctors, of course, offered only dire predictions of her outcome without surgery but she persisted and finally returned home. The sisters are now in their early 90's, once again living together. The one who'd been at death's door, peaked through and decided, nah, not right now, still staunchly refusing to join her younger sister on her daily afternoon walk, saying that if she'd been doing this regularly she'd have "perished of heart failure" long ago. She also, by the way, inherited the funeral dress, which her sister didn't like, anyway.
I'm prepared for anything. I have been for awhile. In the depths of my concern and despair, though, yesterday, when I was at Costco, I purchased a couple of new blouses for my mother that I knew she'd love. I was right. Luckily, we aren't the same size so, if they are to be worn, my mother is going to have to do the honors.
Considering that she retired at a few minutes after 0200 this morning, I'm waiting until she has eight hours and some minutes under her belt before awakening her. We are going to the lab, today, regardless, for her blood draws. I have no idea what to expect. Some hours she looks robust. At others she looks anemic. Every time I look at her I remember an article to which I created a link somewhere in this journal over a year ago, the best medical article I've read so far about anemia in the elderly. Although this bit of information from it didn't make a conscious impression on me at the time, I've never forgotten it. The physician who wrote it speculated that perhaps it is "normal" for certain of the elderly to run anemic throughout their Ancient One years.
Impressions, impressions, impressions. In some way, impressions carry molecules of truth, I think. Perhaps, last night, my mother was considering that the last few days of weak knees and having to depend on her daughter to pick her up off the floor had been enough, maybe she's still considering this. This morning, though, unfolding in the sun, her eyes slit to register the light on her cranial lobes, she looks as though she might be ready for another round.
We'll see.
By the way, at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds I've caught up with all the stats over the last few days that have languished on their computerized devices since July 24th.
Later.
As I petted each of The Girls and scrutinized Mom to pick up reconnaissance on how her day might go from her perspective, I recalled a story related to me by a close friend here in Prescott about some close friends of hers, two sisters who'd emigrated here from Russia and now live together in a community close to me, both, at the time of the story, in their very late 80's. The oldest sister had a serious heart attack, the damage so extensive that the physicians decided operating on her to repair vessels and muscles was beside the point and would probably hasten death. She was in the hospital for weeks then was moved to a skilled nursing facility under the expectation that, since she was not recovering, she would die there. Her sister tended to her every day without fail, prayed copiously over her, harassed physicians to apply treatments that offered even a tiny speck of hope but as the weeks passed and her sister declined, she accepted "the inevitable" and prepared to confront her sister's passage. She bought a new dress for herself for the expected funeral, one she knew her sister would've loved to have worn. Within a week of purchasing the funereal attire, her sister began to perk up. Slowly but surely the elder sister healed. At a certain point her doctors felt she might be strong enough to endure some reparative surgery but she refused, saying that she'd already been "through the Valley of the shadow of death" without reservations and wasn't interested purchasing a ticket. The doctors, of course, offered only dire predictions of her outcome without surgery but she persisted and finally returned home. The sisters are now in their early 90's, once again living together. The one who'd been at death's door, peaked through and decided, nah, not right now, still staunchly refusing to join her younger sister on her daily afternoon walk, saying that if she'd been doing this regularly she'd have "perished of heart failure" long ago. She also, by the way, inherited the funeral dress, which her sister didn't like, anyway.
I'm prepared for anything. I have been for awhile. In the depths of my concern and despair, though, yesterday, when I was at Costco, I purchased a couple of new blouses for my mother that I knew she'd love. I was right. Luckily, we aren't the same size so, if they are to be worn, my mother is going to have to do the honors.
Considering that she retired at a few minutes after 0200 this morning, I'm waiting until she has eight hours and some minutes under her belt before awakening her. We are going to the lab, today, regardless, for her blood draws. I have no idea what to expect. Some hours she looks robust. At others she looks anemic. Every time I look at her I remember an article to which I created a link somewhere in this journal over a year ago, the best medical article I've read so far about anemia in the elderly. Although this bit of information from it didn't make a conscious impression on me at the time, I've never forgotten it. The physician who wrote it speculated that perhaps it is "normal" for certain of the elderly to run anemic throughout their Ancient One years.
Impressions, impressions, impressions. In some way, impressions carry molecules of truth, I think. Perhaps, last night, my mother was considering that the last few days of weak knees and having to depend on her daughter to pick her up off the floor had been enough, maybe she's still considering this. This morning, though, unfolding in the sun, her eyes slit to register the light on her cranial lobes, she looks as though she might be ready for another round.
We'll see.
By the way, at Mom's Daily Tests and Meds I've caught up with all the stats over the last few days that have languished on their computerized devices since July 24th.
Later.
