Day 40 - We Decide to Accept You Into Hospice

Mom, I am not sure I have this day correct. There were a couple very busy days there when you were home. Day 40 would be Tuesday, the same day that Sandra came to help you. We not only had Home Health care nurse come by, but we also had a nurse come from TexanPlus, your insurance. Not only that, Tracey came. She was a representative from TexanPlus, and she sat down with Paul and me in the living room. While you were in the bedroom being looked over by the nurses, Paul and I were discussing your future. Please forgive me for the decision I had to make. We had to decide whether or not to admit you into Hospice. Originally we were going to have you transported to a facility near 59 and Highway 6. But then we decided no, we will keep you at home. It was explained to us that the minute we decided to take you into Hospice, you would be off Texan Plus and back onto Medicare. It was the law, Tracey said. I am sure that from a financial standpoint, Tracey was looking out for the interests of TexanPlus. After all, the combined cost of the last three hospital stays just during the last ten days had to be well over $80,000.
  I am ashamed to say that much of our worries were on how we could afford to take care of you. So when we heard that hospice nurses would be with you 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and it would all be covered by medicare, we all felt immense relief. Imagine that: We were relieved! It did not really sink in that you were dying. In fact, I was asking what happens after 7 days. I guess I thought this would only last seven days, and then we would be on our own again to change your diaper, etc. I remember while Tracey was there, the medical truck came with the bedside commode we had ordered for you. Tracey took one look at it and advised against it. It was unlikely you would ever need it. It still didn't sink in that you would not be alive that long. So I turned the commode away, and the driver took it back to his truck.
  Day 41 was the last day I was able to talk to you. Of course you couldn't talk back, but I knew you were listening. I had your shutters open in your bedroom so that you could look outside. Princess, our female cat, would often come into the bedroom and meow. She basically wanted me to come out of your bedroom and back into mine. Whenever Princess meowed, you would look, as if to say, "Is that Princess? Where is she?" A couple times Princess did reach up to my knee with her paws, and I think you saw her. I considered this a kind of consolation prize for you. You would never see Nikki again because he was too afraid to come into your room, but at least you would see and hear Princess one final time.
  One thing that amazes me is how well you were healing. This is why a large part of me could not believe you were dying. Remember that PIC line they put into your right bicep? That made a black and blue bruise as large as your bicep, and that was now all clear. Remember how puss was coming out of your right eye? Thanks to Mary Jo, that was all healed. In fact, the redness around your eyes had gone away. To me, this meant that you were healing. And I commented to you how well you were healing. Remember how you had dozens of black and blue marks up and down both your arms from every time the hospitals tried to draw blood? All those bruises were completely healed. If you were dying, why was your skin healing so well? You were looking much better to me, and I told you this, and I wonder if by telling you this, was I giving you false hope? Or perhaps it didn't matter. Perhaps you already knew. Perhaps you knew long before any of us.
  Then the medical truck pulled up front, and you saw it before I did. You pointed quizzically to it with your left hand. What was that truck doing in front of our house? What were they bringing? They were bringing an oxygen machine. I explained to you that you were short of breath, and that we were going to get you some oxygen to breathe. Mom, I am so sorry! I didn't know that you would soon be gone. I truly did have hope. Part of me thought that you would show those hospice people. You would live another seventy days, not just seven. You would show them what survival is all about. You were a fighter. You proved that in all those hospital stays under excruciating pain and embarrassment.
  I am not really sure when the hospice nurse arrive. I want to say it was around 1:00 in the afternoon. I forgot her name, but she was very good with you, and she stayed with you constantly. She would even hold your hand. You were, of course, moaning and groaning like you had been for the last six days. While we all thought it was pain, the hospice nurses told us, no, it's not pain. It's anxiety. So the whole course of our mission would shift now: to give you comfort. It all sounded so good. You would be less anxious, and you would be comfortable. You would be given anti-anxiety medicine as well as a little morphine. I remember John came over around 6:30, and he was downright happy. I knew he was relieved that you were getting 24-hour care. Well, so were we all. We as a family could finally relax, knowing that a huge burden had been lifted from us. I am ashamed to say that: that you were a burden. But there is no denying it. I had probably lost ten pounds from not eating, and I think Mary Jo lost about ten pounds herself. We were both running ragged these 40 days since your stroke.
  The hospice nurse would be there until 8:00 the following morning, I think. We all went to bed that night. Then something remarkable happened: the power went off! It was not just our house; it was all the houses down the block west of us. I had heard two transformers blow. That was about 9:30 I think. So, we could no longer use the oxygen machine. And since we had candles it, we could not use the emergency backup oxygen tank they brought over either. That might provoke a fire. But now you were sedated, and you were sleeping, and all of us were all so relieved that you were finally sleeping. In the last six days I don't think you slept more than 30 minutes a day. Now it makes sense that it was anxiety. I remember that same morning when I was explaining about the oxygen, that I had told you that some nurses would be coming to help calm you down. You were oddly calm the whole time I was explaining this to you. You were intensely curious, I could tell. I never once used the word "hospice" with you. I just said that they were here to calm you down. I had mentioned that you were keeping us all awake, and I will never forget how sorry you looked. I didn't mean to lay a guilt trip on you, but I could clearly see you felt bad that this was happening.
  Luckily the temperatures actually started falling. I don't remember a September night that cool in years in Houston. It was September 19th, and it reached down to about 63 degrees. I had my window open, and I was using my Xoom to write emails to John, my buddy in Illinois, and yes, I was even playing Scrabble with him. It was about 10:30 when an electrical crew came to look at the transformer box in the back corner of our neighbor's yard. This was all within thirty feet of my bedroom window, so I could see them all. The crew left and didn't come back for another 45 minutes, and then finally around midnight, the power went back on. I will always wonder if that was you, Mom. They say how spirits can control electricity. Was it you that blew the transformer? If so, was it because you were angry? God, I hope not. I'm hoping it was just a way to reach out to me. Maybe you were already in the astral world travelling to the backyard, and you wanted me to look out the window to see you.