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September 16, 2005
Mom
I was asked to tell my “story” at an AA meeting tonight. I have been sober since 1987. For the very first time I wasn’t nervous. Beats me why. Of course, I forgot most of the really significant events of my life, so I’ll bore you with one of them here.
My mother had COPD from years of smoking. Her illness was long and difficult as I’m sure mine will be. The last time she was taken to the hospital, in 1999, my stepfather, Ed, allowed them to put her on a respirator even though she had a DNR. After she regained consciousness, was obviously pretty angry about it and blamed my stepfather for the fact that she was still alive and so uncomfortable. I will never forget the first time I saw her on that horrible machine. I literally couldn’t talk. Every time I tried to ask the nurse a question, I would hyperventilate and the tears would flow.
We came to realize that this episode left her with a very small bit of brain damage. It wasn’t bad but she was having trouble remembering times of day. Since my mother was never anything but cooly efficient, I’m sure this really bothered her. She was a great person, very warm, loving, smart and lots of fun, but she expressed her love with actions and wasn’t big on extravagant shows of emotion. Consequently, whatever she thought was happening at the time, she tried not to let on. It was obviously difficult for her to contain her anger at this point, though. I swear, she didn’t speak,or try to, at least,to Ed for weeks. Thankfully for him, the respirator made her unable to speak.
I went to the hospital every day. (I had a cool Miata and an even cooler boss at the time.) One Sunday, after she had been on the respirator for a couple of weeks, she wrote me a note. “Tell them to take me off this thing and let me go home to die.” Gosh, thanks for choosing me to take care of this, mom. My sister, Eileen, is a fucking nurse but I get to be the lucky go-between. Sigh. Suddenly I had to act like a grown-up and, amazingly, it took no effort at all. First I asked my boyfriend, Cecilio, to go home. I’m sure he was grateful.
I found the doctor and explained what my mother wanted as well as the DNR situation. I got lucky. The doctor did was nice and understanding. (At the beginning of this hospitalization a doctor said to my sister, “I know this must be difficult for you but…” Eileen interrupted him with an explosive “How DARE you talk down to me, you pompous ass! I’ve been a nurse in a cardiac ward for ten years!” It was fucking hilarious.) He explained to me that, if we left my mom on the respirator for another week or so, she could really improve and might buy herself a good amount of time. If we disconnected her that day, she probably wouldn't even make it home. Well, that certainly made everything a lot less abstract. I asked him if he would explain that to my mother and I told him that he should be direct and not try to protect her from the facts.
When he told mom the possible consequences of disconnection, her eyes widened. She couldn’t hide her shock and fear. It was obvious she hadn’t realized how close to death she'd been in the first place. I asked her if she wanted me to call my sister. Of course, she said to call her and, of course, we all finally decided to keep the machine running. Whew. Crisis averted. I thought Ed was going to faint in relief.
My mom was in the hospital for a couple more weeks and then in a pulmo rehab for a while. They released her when she had made as much progress as she was able and they sent her home. She lasted a few weeks and was actually able to walk around, cook and pay bills for a while. I was amazed at her energy. Eileen and I decided that we should spend as much time with my parents as possible to help out. Ed, sweet as he is, was too overwhelmed and panicked to do it by himself. My brother, perhaps the angriest person alive, decided he wanted no part of it, the fucking coward.
It was shockingly easy for me to help my mother with things that I thought would be impossible for me to do, like helping her get on and off the toilet or getting her dressed and undressed. She certainly had more embarrassment about it than I did and I can’t say I blame her. She never liked to appear weak. (Years before, when I told her I was HIV positive, she waited until I left the room to cry and I didn’t politely return until she was done.) This was actually one of her better qualities. She took the three of us and left my alcoholic father to raise us on her own in the early 60’s when this just wasn’t done. Afterwards she endured incredible, insane harassment from him without ever showing us that she was afraid as she surely must have been. She was incredibly brave.
Eventually, she just ran out of strength and asked us angrily to just leave her the hell alone. She was dead within a day. We were all grateful for the extra time we got with her. (My sister has some issues with the timing to this day but that’s another, weirder story altogether.)
So what was the point of bringing this up at an AA meeting? Well, as depressing and sad and horrible as this period of time was, I treasure it like nothing else. I was able to help and comfort my family in ways I never could have if I had been drinking. I was able to be an adult when I had to be without even thinking about it. My parents and I had long since resolved our issues and we were able to spend time with each other comfortably. My mother's death didn’t leave me with things I regret never having said. We could enjoy the things we had in common and respect our differences. We were friends. What more could I ask?
OK, was that sappy enough??
Posted by HighStrungLoner in The High Strung Loner at 12:34 AM
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