Mom can’t talk because she can’t fill up her lungs enough to force out noise. (Marcia, I’ve tried using the diaphragm-pushing technique you’ve used with your friend, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt her.) So, we’ve had trouble the last few days with understanding what she says. (I’m still not ready to relate The 1815 Incident, though.)
So, this was the conversation we had this evening when the new night nurse’s assistant showed up:
Mom gasped something. I tried to translate, but I couldn’t get it. The new night nurse’s assistant (NNNA) helped me get the respiratory mask off.
“I told … Rachel … no pain … was wrong … Danny.”
Rachel’s my pseudo-cousin, and Danny’s my Dad, who died in hospice 20 years ago.
She continued breathing out, “Danny … Danny … Fuck.”
“Frank?” David asked.
“Fuck,” Mom gasped distinctly.
“Yeah, I heard ‘Frank’ too,” the NNNA agreed.
“Who is Frank?” David asked.
“Fuck.” Mom whispered. “Fuck fuck fuck.” Then, “Wash out my mouth.”
Of course, “wash out my mouth with soap,” was what she meant, but the NNNA happily got the toothbrush and scrubbed and had her spit, while David went on about anyone she might have known named Frank.
“Stop it. Fuck,” I said. “Not Frank. Fuck.”
NNNA immediately said to Mom, “Oh! Do you want some pain medicine?” And though the medicine wasn’t due for six more hours after her last dose, the NNNA suggested we could give her half after three hours, and it’d been one hour, and it would be okay after two or even one and a half hours.
I like her for the way the timeline kept getting shorter and shorter. “Give it now,” I said, and she handed me the pills. Then I called the agency and increased her dose.
I know from the experience with Dad that if the increase goes to a full dose of morphine, they won’t wake up. Of course, Mom isn’t on morphine, and I don’t know what a full dose of it would be equal to, but I know the nurse who answered the prescribing hotline didn’t sound alarmed by my dose increase request. I also know the medicine they decided to courier out only contained one patch. All I know is I can’t have my Mom being in so much pain she says Fuck.
14 responses to “In Which Hell Freezes Over”
I’d like to say something about you being a good daughter or hoping that I have people who care about me like that one day, but the only thought I can complete is ::hugs::. ::hugs::
When people are getting very short on oxygen in the blood they are apt to say any number of things. This is NOT in any way to suggest that increasing the pain meds is wrong. It’s just to suggest to you, to offer what comfort that I can, that what is going on with the Queen Mum may not necessarily be all about pain. It could be hypoxic rage. I have seen it with any number of patients, and my own mother. Mom died of congestive heart failure which is very smothery. She even took a few swings at her caregivers which was completely out of character.By all means keep those pain meds rolling, but keep in your heart that is not all that is going on. You are doing all the right things and I know if she could tell you she knows that she would.
Ouch.On Saturday I told my mother that my sister’s birthday was the next day and she said “shit”. and then rambled about “I have no place to shop, and I can’t get out”. But she said “shit”. She never says that.Peace, friend. You’re doing a great job.
Hospice care is wonderful, but also so hard. It’s hard living in that sort of limbo. The emotional yo-yo, the trying to read the actions of someone who can’t tell you what they need or feel anymore, is so, so hard. You are doing an amazing job, and your Mom knows and appreciates it. I’m praying for you all.
Hugs. And then some more hugs.
I’m glad you’re still finding the time to post, Queen, because all your friends round the world are so concerned and want to send you and the QM their very best vibes. Also, later, when you’re going over and over it, the blog will help you to keep things straight in your head and reassure you that you did the right things at the right time.
I am sending you big, squishy, completely non-ironic hugs likely to suffocate you but meant to be supportive. This right here, this is the really hard stuff, and you are doing it and doing it right.Hugs to the Queen Mum, too. If she ever uses that word again, you may assure her that she’s earned the right, no soap needed. I do believe that after a certain amount of years and/or a certain level of pain one achieves cursing amnesty.
Many hugs to you both. Can she write or type to communicate?
Add my hugs to the pile. You and your mom are both truly courageous and I’m proud to say I know you, even if it is just through the internet.
adding even more hugs and thoughts and prayers and good vibes to the pile. . .thanks for keeping us updated
Jesus. I’m sorry, but that just plain sucks ass. There is nothing about that that doesn’t. I hope that they get her pain in better control.My mom says fuck all the time, so I’m really not sure how I’ll know the difference in her. At least you have a good pain gauge (I mean, relatively good, in the worst kind of way).
All – thank you all. Zayrina – I’m very sorry to hear your Mom had CHF. When the doctor was describing what would happen in Mom’s death, he said it would be the opposite of CHF, specifically. Instead of the oxygen deprivation, she’d have carbon buildup, drift off in a coma and die. He tried to make me feel better by contrasting it to a CHF death. I cannot imagine going through all this and experiencing that too. How awful.
I’m out of words here, Queen. But I am thinking about you and the Mum. She has such incredible spirit. I’m quite sure she was saying fuck. and I agree with her.
Candy – She has a great spirit, you are right. I am lucky she’s my Mom.