I'm a writer. I tend to write things fairly well without trying, and when I apply myself, I think I do a pretty good job with words.
And yet I haven't updated on my mom in a while because I don't know what to say. Just when I think it's impossibly bad, it gets worse. Medically worse, worse to live through, worse to watch, worse in prognosis, just worse in every possible way.
They've moved her to what they call a "Comfort Care Suite." If this were a hotel room, it would get four stars. It has a view of the Bay, Golden Gate Park, St. Ignatius Cathedral, downtown, Marin, the East Bay hills, the Presidio, Alcatraz... spectacular.
I never look at it.
It has a comfortable bed, designed to prevent bed sores. It has a kitchenette, nurses and aides who are gentle and truly helpful, doctors checking on her often but never suggesting tests that torture her body and frighten her -- since she fell, she's terrified of being dropped. It even has a sofa bed for me, and they said I could bring the dog to stay with me here.
I just wish we'd found the magic to actually make my mom comfortable. As soon as we get her that way, something happens -- and after the night of hell that was Sunday, the worst night I've ever spent, watching my mother vomit and cough and never once sleep or rest or relax, I'd do anything to give her some peace.
We thought we had it after we got into the suite, but when her IV blew, and they couldn't do another one because her veins were shot and she's too swollen, we had to change all the meds. We've never gotten her breathing back under control, and now her neck has gone rigid; she can't let her head fall back, so she has to h0ld it up all the time. They've been trying different drugs, hot packs, a million different ways to fix the pillows... I don't know anymore.
This morning, when she felt somewhat well, she was considering whether she wanted hospice care. She said maybe she'd try to fight this. And just like the last time she made that decision, it's all fallen apart almost immediately afterward.
I'll blow out my brains before I let this happen to me. If she were my dog I'd have put her to sleep. I hate our medical system, I hate my life right now, I hate these words and I fucking hate this view.
Oh, Christie, I'm so sorry that you are both going through this. How incredibly, impossibly difficult this must be for you. Not to mention how it must be for your mom. My thoughts are with both of you.
Posted by: Susan Fox | 16 September 2009 at 10:10 PM
having watched my mother die with cancer that had metastasized to her brain and bones, I know too well the desperation and hopelessness. I just wish I had any words to comfort you.
Posted by: Debra | 16 September 2009 at 10:24 PM
My families thoughts are with you, your mom, and your family. I know right now it's tough not to hate.
Posted by: jeff barringer | 16 September 2009 at 10:26 PM
Love you Christie.
Posted by: Heather Smith | 16 September 2009 at 10:32 PM
I wish I could put my arms around you and remind you that all over the country, people are holding you close in their hearts. And then I would give you an evening where magically you could forget all of this, and let yourself breathe, relax, and be you for a few hours.
I know that's a long way away. I am so sorry.
I don't know the details of your mom's condition, but the hospice my mom went into (it was part of the hospital in Boca) was incredible. They were so competent, so compassionate, not just to her, but to my family, they saved what little sanity we had. The key is, they deal with these situations every day, and they are focused on the comfort and needs of the patient, and the needs of the family.
I've said it before. You are in my thoughts and if I can help in any way, you have but to ask.
Posted by: Susan | 16 September 2009 at 10:47 PM
Christie, my heart is breaking for you right now. Having had to watch my own mother succumb to cancer many years ago, I've felt the same way many a time. I have hated beautiful days, wondrous views, because how dare the sun shine, or flowers grow- while in closed, airless rooms, we have to watch the ones we love go through unimaginable suffering?
Sometimes I think we're kinder to our animals than we are to our own species.
Posted by: K.P. | 16 September 2009 at 11:08 PM
having been in a little bit of your shoes, I can only share that it is the hardest thing you will ever do and share your sadness, anger and frustration. You are doing the very best you can do. Know that your mom understands appreciates and loves you for it.
Posted by: EmilyS | 17 September 2009 at 12:57 AM
Sending my love to you and your mother.
Posted by: Travis | 17 September 2009 at 01:22 AM
I'm so, so sorry.
You echoed my own thoughts a few years ago, when I learned my best friend had incurable cancer. I had no words, none, to express my grief. I don't know why I thought I should...when she finally passed, I laid my hand on her forehead--the only part of her that was warm--and sent a wordless thought to her: It's time. You can go. Thoughts to that effect. She died moments later. (My grief hit me weeks later, when I broke down completely at a writers' conference luncheon key note speech.)
Hang in there. We're thinking of you. Glad you can be with her.
Posted by: KathyF | 17 September 2009 at 04:01 AM
I am so so sorry Christie. I've been keeping you and your mom in my thoughts.
Posted by: Lori | 17 September 2009 at 09:10 AM
I'm so sorry :(
I'm thinking of you often and sending good thoughts for your mum.
Posted by: Leanne | 17 September 2009 at 09:12 AM
It's an unbelievable struggle. I read your posts because you are willing to write them. I hope you get something out of writing the posts, some relief of some kind. The intensity ... it's important to know what people go through. It might make us all treat each other just a little bit better.
Posted by: keenwell | 17 September 2009 at 10:41 AM
I'm sorry Christie. I know how hard it is for both of you. Try to stay strong.
Posted by: Therese | 17 September 2009 at 11:05 AM
{{{{{ Christie and Kathleen }}}}}
Posted by: KT | 17 September 2009 at 11:13 AM
Words can't convey my - and your - sorrow. My thoughts are with you both.
Posted by: Liz Palika | 17 September 2009 at 12:03 PM
I'm so sorry. Everyone's journey is different, yet all of us who have been in similar shoes know how unbearably awful this is. But bear it and get through it you will, one breath at a time. You and your mom are in my heart and prayers.
Posted by: Cindy R | 17 September 2009 at 12:05 PM
Christie,
I don't know what to say, Except for I'm so sorry. I can't Imagine what you are going through. You and your Family are in my thoughts and prayers. {{{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}
Posted by: Sara turk | 17 September 2009 at 01:00 PM
Christie- Please know that you and your Mom are in my thoughts and prayers. I wish I were close enough to help. I've been through this with both of my parents and Fil and we are now going through it with Mil too. You are so right,its ridiculous that we can't give the same dignity to our parents that we can our pets. Hang in there and give your Mom a hug from me please.
Posted by: Lesliek | 17 September 2009 at 01:06 PM
Christie,
I wish there were words that could help. I can only offer my prayers for you and your mother. Sometimes we are kinder to our animals.
dottie
Posted by: dottie | 17 September 2009 at 01:07 PM
This is the defining moment of our fifties. My hope is that her suffering is short and that she does not go in pain. Hospice usually has the good drugs. That may give you a moment together of peace before she dies. I'm so sorry for your deep hurt.
Victoria
Posted by: victoria | 17 September 2009 at 01:16 PM
I'm so sorry that you and your mom are having to go through this. Hugs to you both.
Posted by: Susan | 17 September 2009 at 02:18 PM
There are no words, Christie. We send our love to you and your mom. Terri, Tor and Lili
Posted by: Terri Campbell | 17 September 2009 at 03:12 PM
I am so very sorry, Christie.
Posted by: Paula Joseph-Johnson | 17 September 2009 at 03:38 PM
That is one of the most horrible things I have ever read. I am so very sorry. Sending good thoughts to the west coast. So very sorry.
Posted by: Nancy Freedman-Smith | 17 September 2009 at 07:25 PM
Christie and Kathleen please consider yourself (gently) hugged.
I thank my lucky stars both my parents went quite suddenly, this is just torture for all concerned.
I'm so very sorry.
Posted by: Alison | 17 September 2009 at 09:02 PM
Wishing you and your family peace and comfort.
Posted by: kb | 17 September 2009 at 10:55 PM
Oh Christie, I feel your pain. During my mom's decline from brain cancer, she lost the ability to speak and perform physical functions and yet we could see in her eyes she was still there. She tried to be so brave for "the kids." The experience was horrifying. I am only grateful that we stayed so close to her during that time - it was really all we could do and it never felt like enough. My dad decided on hospice with a cancer that was never fully diagnosed. His pain came from degeneration of the spine. This was a man at 79 years old who had run 7 miles three times a week just the year before and had been lean and strong throughout his life. He wanted to die and we waited it out by his side through so many ups and downs. You are not alone in what you are going through. That doesn't really help to know - nothing really helps. But you will be grateful for the decisions you are making now to be there for your mom. I am keeping you and your mom in my thoughts and prayers.
Posted by: Susan Tripp | 18 September 2009 at 03:44 PM
Oh Christie, I'm so very sorry for what your mother and your family are going through. Our medical system does suck, and we should have the ability to "help" our family members when needed. It's amazing how an animal's life is not given much regard, but it's because of that we can give them the biggest gift of all. I'm truly wishing your mom peace.
Posted by: Laura Bourhenne | 18 September 2009 at 09:45 PM