Watching someone die entails:
making a schedule for yourself to babysit.
making time for hospice meetings.
learning all about medicines and pills.
when to give medicines.
when not to give medicines.
this one every 4 hours, this one every 6, this one for sleep, this one for nausea.
asking them to give you a sign once their gone.
laying next to someone and getting scared that they just stopped breathing.
having to wipe someone's behind after a #2.
having to change diapers.
having to have conversations about "when i'm gone, do this."
having to watch your mom eat 2 bites of food and then just be done with it. Eating maybe 12 bites total that day.
watching someone who was never very big in the first place, lose weight. (She was 80 or 90lbs at the end.)
The list goes on.
It's a lot of work. Its not work for the weak. You don't get paid and it isn't fun, whatsoever. It's going to school or work and having to be happy. It's being 1 smile away from crying in the bathroom or the basement. It's forcing yourself to be okay when your world is on fire and crumbling around you.
Something that really pisses me off to hear people say is, "i'll never go in to a nursing home." We all think it. Because everyone wants to die at home. Well let me tell you something, do you want to see your loved one in a hospital bed in your living room? Do you want your final hours to be in a house but with medical equipment all around you, also while your family is doing their best to take care of you while not sleeping much at all. Being told to give these pills that you can't remember what they were for or how often they should be taken. Saying that pisses me off more than a lot of things anymore. My mom didn't want to go into a home and we never wanted to put her there. But it was the best option for everyone. Her days were numbered. The emergency hospice nurses would have to be called at 2am and they'd come over and talk to her and check her out. We'd put her back to bed, then the count down turned to days, maybe weeks. A 21 year old and a 24 year old, sitting side by side being told that their mom is "declining" and it won't be very long.
One day, my sister, aunt, and myself decided that it would be best for all of us to put her in a nursing home. The social worker told me that the minute my mom says "okay" that I need to call her so that we can start "looking for a bed" at one of the facilities around town. The social worker finally found one and the next day we moved her in. This was all around Christmas time to boot.
After that, my mom would call me and say, "Jennifer, when are you coming to get me? Can I come home now? I promise I'll be good." She would cry. She was the kid, and I was the parent. It broke my heart. It still does to this day and i'll never forget it. I feel guilt. All sorts of it. She finally started getting used to the place and the first week she hated me for it. I didn't blame her.
She was there for a few weeks and finally it was Christmas Eve. We brought her home and planned on making shrimp, lobster, and mashed potatoes (because that's all she would talk about while she was gone.) So being a chef, she got everything she wanted. Bringing someone home who can barely walk and breathe is a real trip. She was sooooo excited! And we were too. I was on my way to have an emotional break down/panic attack (which happened more often than not at that time.) She was sitting in the living room in her wheel chair and she started having a panic attack because she didn't think her oxygen was working, so she got on her cell phone and called 911. On Christmas Eve. We ran into the living and checked her recent calls and then my aunt and uncle walk in to see mom and then we surprise them and tell them she called 911. So the firemen show up and check her oxygen and everything was fine. And she felt better but we were pissed. My aunt and uncle dropped off catholic medallions to us 3 to wear which was really nice. Then me, mom and gina went into the kitchen to eat and my mom barely ate anything. The fantastic meal we cooked and she took two bites.
I've never felt so sad before. We took her back to the home and she couldn't come with us to my cousins to celebrate Christmas. I didn't buy her a Christmas gift because she was gonna die. Why buy a dying person a present? I'd rather just have more time with her which I'd never get.
The week of New Years came. New Years eve was on a Wednesday. I had to work 12 hours. Biggest night of the year. That Tuesday, I spent as much time with her as I could. We were talking about switching her to a new nursing home because where she was at really sucked. That day we had a meeting with nurses and board members and my mom was doing so well that day! She was breathing better and strong and not as tired and I thought things were looking up. I spent my Tuesday night with her and I laid in her bed with her with my head at her feet and she rubbed my feet for the last time. The next day, that new years eve, she had gotten diarrhea and no one came to clean her up. My mom was laying in her own shit for god knows how long. Her a.m. nurse found her and was pissed and told me everything when I got there that morning. I wouldn't have seen her that day if it wasn't for my aunt calling me at 7am and waking me up because the nursing home wouldn't answer their phones anyways. So I went there and was told this story. She had shit all over her and not to mention the floor where she could've slipped and hurt herself. She needed assistance with everything she did. And I had to leave for work. I proceeded to have one of the best nights of my career. That Wednesday was the start of her decline. Her final week.
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