Since the doctors haven’t found anything else to blame for Mom’s decline, they’ve attributed it to the post-polio syndrome (which they should), and Mom’s decided to have home hospice.
So, no more trips to the ER, no more of Mom’s never-ending struggle to adapt. Dad was in home hospice as well, and I recall many trips to the grocery to buy him whatever he wanted to eat. My last run was for Jalapeño Bologna; Mom was getting him Tapioca Pudding when he died.
Sad. I don’t know how long it will be. I do know Mom even cried today, and Mom never cries. I was physically dragged down the hall by a nurses assistant to sit in the lounge and talk to her boyfriend for a while because she felt I was spending too much time in Mom’s room, crying.
ANYway. See? And you made all those encouraging comments. Don’t feel bad.
29 responses to “Hospice is almost an anagram of Hopesick”
Home hospice is big help to the patient and the family.Don’t forget to take care of you too.
Zayrina’s right. You should take care of yourself, too. And I know of at least three people in the vicinity ready to help you with that.
Sorry,Ellen,I’ve been away. I’m thinking of you and the Queen Mum. Hospice is about the only branch of medicine that I have any use for, they really know how to make everyone feel better.
Oh, Ellen. I’m sorry you’re hurting so much. I hope the Queen Mum gets lots of the most fun drugs, and that you get a sense of peace, and that you two get the most possible good time together.
I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry about what you’re going through. Cherish this time… and allow yourself to ask for help when you need it.I’m here.
Hospice can be wonderful and I hope that your mom has a long, comfortable tenure with them. In the meantime, we’re thinking about you. and don’t hesitate to have a tall glass of something alcoholic. It sounds like your soul needs some. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through and if I had a helicopter, I’d let you fly it right now.
Ugh. So so sorry.
Suck it up, cry-baby. Go home and wash your pajamas.
Hospice is indeed a wonderful thing. I have seen many people deal with hospice – and the experience is always night and day compared to doctors and hospitals because their goal is totally different. I’m sorry you are having to deal with this, but keep blogging, you need the outlet.
I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I am so glad you are surrounded by the wonderful friends that I often see comment on here.
I am so sorry. Hospice is a wonderful thing, under the circumstances.
Ellen, I’m so sorry.
Sigh. I just called hospice for my mother. and then I googled blogs to see what others were going through. Take care of you, too.
I do feel worse, you’re right. I’m still keeping you and Queen Mum in my thoughts. I have many hopes for you, but I’m not sure which ones are realistic and which aren’t. I’ll just keep hoping.
Ellen, I’m so sorry. I’d not only let you ride in the helicopter, I’d wrap up Anderson Cooper and give him to you as a present.Hospice is amazing. I will continue to think good thoughts for you and the Queen Mum (and even Gary).
Hugs and love for you and the Queen Mum, who I love though I’ve never met.
Ok, this is going against the general wave here, but I’m gonna be honest. I’m a little jealous.My mom dropped dead in the living room with a vacuum cleaner in her hand — stroke. Well, she didn’t officially die until much later that night, but she went brain dead as I helped her sit on the couch. I heard her lose speech and I saw the life go out of her eyes. 25+ years later,I am “over” it to the point of joking about it (housecleaning kills, leave it to the professionals), but tt’s not gone. I got my goodbye to her, but there was so much unsaid and unasked. So, so much.My dad died in his sleep, unexpectedly, and even after 8 years, I sometimes can’t believe he’s really dead. It’s always amazing to realize it’s been 8 years this year. I did better with him, but I didn’t get in any goodbyes. My husband and brothers didn’t let me see his body because they were scared I’d totally lose it and never get it back, so it still feels unfinished. At least I talked to him. I’m a goodbye sort of person. I need all that stuff. I’m really careful to say things when I think them now just in case. I didn’t get to ask so many questions. I didn’t have a chance. I didn’t realize the time was so short.So, do me a favor, if you would. Give your mom an extra hug from me and tell her I am glad to have known her even through the slight passing of your weblog. She’s made me laugh, and I love the stories she’s told you.Make the absolute most of this goodbye you have. Get everything said, and ask all those questions you didn’t have guts to ask. Look at every old picture. Go through all the stuff and learn its history.Right now I am crying. I am crying hard because I feel bad for you and your mom, and because I still mourn for my own parents so long gone, and the chances I lost because I just didn’t know. Make the most of your goodbyes, because they will make you feel better later when you feel completely miserable. You’ll be able to tell stories to people who remember you mom and share memories (I only know one person now who ever knew my mom. I’m luckier about my dad) and you’ll laugh when you cry. It won’t be long enough, the time you have, but it will be everything. Try not to spend too much of it crying when you could be talking and laughing. You’ll have enough time to cry later.And I know I’m just one of hundreds, but if you want to talk, you can find me. I’ll listen.
Oh, I’m so sorry. My dad passed when he was in his early 50s and we did hospice there at the end and I have to say, it was wonderful, all things considered. We loved everyone from the BJC Hospice program and they were all wonderfully supportive while giving us all a very clear picture of what to expect. Many hugs to you and your family.
I’ve envied the tales you’ve told about your adventures with the Queen Mum, that you love each other so much and can always count on each other. For that, you are very, very lucky.My thoughts with you both. Any kind of prayers (although my Hebrew is limited) you want will be sent your way.
Call any time. Meetings can be rescheduled. Husband can watch kiddo. I can hold your hand or make fun of your tears, whatever helps most.Tell you mom the heartless cows will do anything for you and her.
Aw, man. I’m so sorry. Your mom sounds like a wonderful lady it would be a privilege to know – and you’ve known her all your life. She’s done a good job with you.
You’ve got my number and you know I’ve got experience. As soon as you give the word, I’m at your doorstep with chocolate cake shots. Hell, I may just show up anyway.My love to the Queen Mum. And, I have a skillet ready for Gary any time you need.
What Caroline and Hot Mom said. We love you and your mom.
Yes. That’s what I said. Deal.
Everybody – Too many comments! Bed … comments … Bed.(Well, except for Sherri – I don’t think you are going against the trend, I think you articulated that beautifully.)(Oh, and the troll. Bite my ass, troll.)
I’d like to throw in my two cents if you don’t mind: I’m sorry. I’m thinking of you. Also, F OFF, STUPID TROLL. GOD.
Hi there- I’m one of the masses from the Lush forum turned to your blog by Jammies.I am so sorry to hear about your mom. I work in hospice as a volunteer director and bereavement counselor, and I just wanted to say I am sorry. I know there’s nothing I can really say as a complete stranger except that I’m sorry and I hope you have a wonderful hospice team to work with. If you have any questions or need to talk, please feel free to give me an email.You are all in my thoughts!
My heart is aching for you. I’ve lost both my folks, and I’d give anything to back and just have one more day. Introduce them to their grandkids, that sort of thing. Cherish the time left, but watch out for the maudlin. Sometime tells me Queen Mum doesn’t need any of that.
Catherine – Don’t poke the troll. I will say I cleaned the pajamas I’m in about 2 weeks ago.Yookie (Hi, yookie!) – Thank you, yookie.Candy – You are right! No maudlin, even while in the hospital.