"She's not going to recover from this"
Infectious Laughter came to see me and Mama on Thursday evening. Mama was lying on the couch. She recognized Laughter, but made a few statements later in the evening to indicate that she wasn't fully with it.
At one point, Laughter was talking about her condo. Mama asked me, "Where does she live?" Granted, Mama has never been to Laughter's condo, but she knows where Laughter lives. Mama showed how really confused she was when she looked at me and asked, "Where do you live?" I answered, "Just about 2 or 3 miles from here." Then Mama made some comment like, "I don't know where I live anymore." I answered, "Right now, you live on this couch." Mama nodded weakly and said, "That's the truth."
Later, Laughter told me that I was hysterical for answering Mama that way. I don't know what was so funny about it. That's the way Mama and I talk to each other. She knows I wasn't serious and I knew she would respond to what I'd said. I think she knows that she shouldn't have asked me where I live. She knew that she should have been able to answer that question. I guess my answer was an unconscious effort to distract her from that, a way to not let her get upset about not knowing.
We put Mama to bed a little early. She was asleep by 7. Laughter and I then went to dinner. I don't know how I didn't fall asleep in my plate. I was completely exhausted, more tired than I think I've ever been in my life. So far, I've been able to discuss my mother's death rationally. I know it's going to happen and I know that her future is secure. But there was one brief moment during my conversation with Laughter when I felt a wave of nausea wash over me at the thought of losing Mama. It felt very, very wrong to be sitting there, eating steak, while the most important person in my life wastes away. I pushed that feeling aside and was able to finish my dinner. Rationally, I know that my life must continue. I have to work and eat and sleep. But every once in a while, that wave of nausea pulses over me again. Yesterday, it left a knot in my stomach that I haven't been able to get rid of.
I stayed home from work on Friday. I slept until 8:30 or 9:00. I watched a little TV in the morning and then climbed back into bed around noon. I slept until 4:00 in the afternoon. I had no idea how badly I needed sleep. I got to Mama's around 6:00 as I normally would have. Daddy was preparing to go to out of town to deal with his rental property the next day. The Doctor's husband and son were out of town, so she was able to spend the night with Daddy. Friday was the first day that Mama did not get out of bed. She has not been out of bed since. Laughter was the last visitor to see Mama in the den, on the couch.
The weekend was rough. On Saturday, The Doctor and I were at the house while Daddy was out of town. Mama just laid in her bed and wouldn't take anything we offered her - a couple of sips of water, but no Boost. She slept most of the day. Sunday, I was there with Daddy while The Doctor went to the meeting. Super Mom called just before going to her meeting. She asked if I thought Mama could talk to her for a few seconds. At first, I didn't think she could, but then I realized that she was awake enough to talk a little. I held the phone up to her ear. Her voice was very weak and thready. She responded to the few things Super Mom said, but didn't initiate any conversation. I took the phone away to speak to Super Mom. She was in tears. Even though she expected Mama to sound badly, it was still difficult to hear. Mama continued to respond to the things Super Mom had said after the call was over. I answered for Super Mom until Mama decided that the conversation was over.
I think the most difficult thing for me is to see her lying in the bed awake. On some level, she knows you're there. If you speak to her, she will respond. It may take her a minute to process what you've said to her, but she will answer. But she doesn't say anything unless she's first spoken to. I feel like I should be right there by her bed, telling her witty stories, keeping her mind engaged. But I don't have it in me. I've thought about reading to her, but I don't think that would do it. I think I need to actively tell her stories. There's nothing going on in my life that I can talk to her about. So I sit there. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I hold her hand, and sometimes I scratch her head until she falls asleep. When I finally get up to leave, I tell her that I'm going home. She seems confused about that, as if she thinks that I live there with her.
As I collected my things to go home yesterday, Daddy finally came in to tell me, "I don't like the things I've seen over the last couple of days. I guess it's obvious now that she's not going to recover from this." What about her situation made him think that she had a chance of recovering before? She doesn't have a fever that we're hoping will break. Her body can't heal itself from cancer. She hasn't eaten food in weeks. Has he honestly not noticed all of this? Was he deluding himself? Does he think he was "protecting" me by only now admitting that she is going to die? I don't guess I'll ever have an answer to those questions. It just seemed an odd thing to say.
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At one point, Laughter was talking about her condo. Mama asked me, "Where does she live?" Granted, Mama has never been to Laughter's condo, but she knows where Laughter lives. Mama showed how really confused she was when she looked at me and asked, "Where do you live?" I answered, "Just about 2 or 3 miles from here." Then Mama made some comment like, "I don't know where I live anymore." I answered, "Right now, you live on this couch." Mama nodded weakly and said, "That's the truth."
Later, Laughter told me that I was hysterical for answering Mama that way. I don't know what was so funny about it. That's the way Mama and I talk to each other. She knows I wasn't serious and I knew she would respond to what I'd said. I think she knows that she shouldn't have asked me where I live. She knew that she should have been able to answer that question. I guess my answer was an unconscious effort to distract her from that, a way to not let her get upset about not knowing.
We put Mama to bed a little early. She was asleep by 7. Laughter and I then went to dinner. I don't know how I didn't fall asleep in my plate. I was completely exhausted, more tired than I think I've ever been in my life. So far, I've been able to discuss my mother's death rationally. I know it's going to happen and I know that her future is secure. But there was one brief moment during my conversation with Laughter when I felt a wave of nausea wash over me at the thought of losing Mama. It felt very, very wrong to be sitting there, eating steak, while the most important person in my life wastes away. I pushed that feeling aside and was able to finish my dinner. Rationally, I know that my life must continue. I have to work and eat and sleep. But every once in a while, that wave of nausea pulses over me again. Yesterday, it left a knot in my stomach that I haven't been able to get rid of.
I stayed home from work on Friday. I slept until 8:30 or 9:00. I watched a little TV in the morning and then climbed back into bed around noon. I slept until 4:00 in the afternoon. I had no idea how badly I needed sleep. I got to Mama's around 6:00 as I normally would have. Daddy was preparing to go to out of town to deal with his rental property the next day. The Doctor's husband and son were out of town, so she was able to spend the night with Daddy. Friday was the first day that Mama did not get out of bed. She has not been out of bed since. Laughter was the last visitor to see Mama in the den, on the couch.
The weekend was rough. On Saturday, The Doctor and I were at the house while Daddy was out of town. Mama just laid in her bed and wouldn't take anything we offered her - a couple of sips of water, but no Boost. She slept most of the day. Sunday, I was there with Daddy while The Doctor went to the meeting. Super Mom called just before going to her meeting. She asked if I thought Mama could talk to her for a few seconds. At first, I didn't think she could, but then I realized that she was awake enough to talk a little. I held the phone up to her ear. Her voice was very weak and thready. She responded to the few things Super Mom said, but didn't initiate any conversation. I took the phone away to speak to Super Mom. She was in tears. Even though she expected Mama to sound badly, it was still difficult to hear. Mama continued to respond to the things Super Mom had said after the call was over. I answered for Super Mom until Mama decided that the conversation was over.
I think the most difficult thing for me is to see her lying in the bed awake. On some level, she knows you're there. If you speak to her, she will respond. It may take her a minute to process what you've said to her, but she will answer. But she doesn't say anything unless she's first spoken to. I feel like I should be right there by her bed, telling her witty stories, keeping her mind engaged. But I don't have it in me. I've thought about reading to her, but I don't think that would do it. I think I need to actively tell her stories. There's nothing going on in my life that I can talk to her about. So I sit there. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I hold her hand, and sometimes I scratch her head until she falls asleep. When I finally get up to leave, I tell her that I'm going home. She seems confused about that, as if she thinks that I live there with her.
As I collected my things to go home yesterday, Daddy finally came in to tell me, "I don't like the things I've seen over the last couple of days. I guess it's obvious now that she's not going to recover from this." What about her situation made him think that she had a chance of recovering before? She doesn't have a fever that we're hoping will break. Her body can't heal itself from cancer. She hasn't eaten food in weeks. Has he honestly not noticed all of this? Was he deluding himself? Does he think he was "protecting" me by only now admitting that she is going to die? I don't guess I'll ever have an answer to those questions. It just seemed an odd thing to say.
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