Roller Coaster Experience

“The things that matter most in our lives
are not fantastic or grand.
They are the moments when we touch one another,
when we are there in the most attentive or caring way.”
-Jack Kornfield

Life with Susan has changed in many ways; still, others are very much the same.That familiar "roller coaster ride effect" continues. The dawn of each day dips us low or raises our hopes high only to be brought down again by the inevitability of things like gravity and death. Today we are riding in the low zone; the place where we coast low and seemingly safe before the next turn. Susan is not good, but steady. We are hanging on, not sure if or when this ride might stop. Even more confusing is that feeling of not knowing for sure if we want it to.

We, meaning (this week): Katrina and Kyle, Kiara and Matt, Jeff and (of course) myself. This roller coaster is not so nauseating when there are buddies sharing the seat, experiencing life’s ride with us. No one should do this alone; not even Susan. We are here with her- they are here with us, at least for today. We will not worry about tomorrow; it will take care of itself.

Together we watch Susan grow weaker and frailer. She is less interested in food, drink, conversation or even who is in the room with her. She responds to pain and irritation more than anything. She sleeps more and seems almost to be fading away before our eyes. It is a very hard thing to watch. We pray for comfort and peace for Susan. For her, we can’t help but want it to end. None of us wants to watch her suffer any more.

We struggle to keep her body from bed sores by turning her bony little self every so often. We prop pillows in every possible angle to keep her knees and ankles from touching or to keep her legs elevated so that her heels don’t rub the bed. This brings back sad memories of my mother’s last four years after her brain surgery. In a way, I am thankful for that experience that helps me care for Susan; on the other hand, Susan being here has kept me from fully grieving my mother’s passing (less then two years ago). Now, as I look at Susan, I see my sweet mother as well. I don’t like to remember my mother’s pain and I certainly don’t like to watch Susan’s.

When I walked into Susan’s room yesterday her eyes were red and wet as she lie on her side starring into space. “What is wrong, Susan?” I sensed that she was having a moment of deep thought that I was not privy to. “Susan, don’t worry. You know that Jeff and I will take care of you as long as you are alive, right? And, everyone loves you.” She turned her eyes to me and more tears came, but no verbal response. “Susan, heaven is a good place to go. Don’t be scared. When you are ready to go be with Jesus, it is okay. But if you want to stay here with us a while, that is okay too.”

There we were, face to face, eyeballs connecting. I thought about this bond we have developed these past two years, two women experiencing some of this crazy life together. I smiled. She starred deep into my eyes as if she wanted to say more. I held her hand and reminded her of my love- Jeff’s love- all of her children’s and grandchildren’s love- Jesus’ love…

I can’t help but wonder if this roller coaster experience that I never wanted to have is coming to an end. And oddly enough, I feel sad if it is. Sad, because nothing on earth is better than truly giving of one’s self in a way that doesn’t give back. It is then, and only then, that we discover that we are the recipients of far greater gifts than this earth could ever give. If I had not been Susan’s caregiver, I would have missed out on all that I have learned and shared, things that can never be gotten in any other way. For that, I thank Susan.

(FYI: The pics on this entry were taken sometime this year on some of her "better days.")

Hospice

(Pictures of Susan will be protected during her most recent decline, to respect her privacy.)



Hospice was called in on Monday.
Here is what happened:

After returning home from the hospital on Tuesday, August ninth, Susan continued on a visible decline. Day after day she was weak and her appetite was slim to none, although she still suffered with extreme diarrhea. On Monday morning, I (again) found her lying in the bed with messy pants and sheets. I managed to assist her to the toilet and shower, where we cleaned her up.

Back in the bedroom she could hardly hold herself up long enough for me to change the linen. We redressed her and put her back to bed. She was weaker than usual and just wanted to rest. Other than her daily round of medication, I couldn’t get her to eat or drink anything.

The concern that Jeff and I had felt over the weekend prior, had seemed to resolve itself somewhat on Sunday. Maybe she wasn’t dying (as we had whispered among ourselves.) In fact, she was so perky on Sunday that I had encouraged Jeff to continue with his plans to go out of town on business for the week. I don’t mind being alone; I was a military wife for twenty years.

I was looking forward to seeing my friend, Martha, that Monday morning and spending some time with Kiara later in the day -not to mention, and getting a few overdue projects worked on. Who could have known? Martha was still there when our favorite nurse, Lawanda, came to check on Susan. Upon entering her bedroom, we discovered that Susan had slipped into a deep sleep that we could not wake her out of. Her blood pressure was more than dangerously low and other vital signs were somewhat disconcerting. Susan would not respond to anything, not even the needle prick from her B-12 shot! Nothing- just listless Susan sinking deeper into her peaceful sleep.

To sum up the week, my week alone turned into a shared experience with three of Susan's children who traveled from every coast to be with their mother. An entourage of nurses, aids, medical suppliers, delivery people, chaplains and even a priest, have become the norm. Susan likely has suffered several small strokes again, topped by the dreaded hospital transferred C-Diff. By weeks end, she is still breathing and perhaps even thriving! She is not walking or able to really converse, but with a woman as strong and determined as my mother-in-law, tomorrow is anyones guess! As I end this blog entry, the words to a Bill Gaither hymn are running through my mind. If you know it, sing it with me.

“God sent His son, they called Him Jesus
He came to love, heal, and forgive.
He lived and died to buy my pardon,
An empty grave is there to prove my Savior lives.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.
Because He lives, All fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living just because He lives."