I am home. I boarded the plane leaving Australia in the early morning hours on December 19th, I boarded that plane with trepidation in hand and anguish in my heart. In the long hours that passed as I flew over Hawaii, Fiji, and all of the fantastic spans of ocean I attempted to prepare myself for what awaited me, this proved to be impossible, so I settled for Tylenol PM, in flight movies and Dustin's shoulder as a pillow. After over a days worth of traveling time logged, we arrived at the Moline airport, we were beyond tired and stressed. I am such a nostalgic mess that I cried when we landed, for no reason other than I was happy to be home, that ceased the moment we reached the gate that harbored our friends and family that had come to welcome us home. The first person I saw was my sister Amy, she was crying (which I chocked up to her being happy to see me/sad to see me under these circumstances)as I got closer, I realized that not only was she crying, she was sobbing and shaking...my heart hit the floor, I cannot recreate with words that feeling, I though for sure I was too late, that somewhere between Sydney and Los Angelas my mother had lost her fight. I was quickly swept away, away from friends and Dustin's family that were there to welcome us home, I was ushered in a trance-like state through the doors into a waiting vehicle. On the way to the hospital I was informed that my mom had been taken off of her life support without the presence of any family. I knew I was coming home to say goodbye to her, but I thought I would at least have that, well she hung on. I got to the hospital, wiped my eyes and soldiered my way through the doors of the intensive care unit, she was surrounded when I entered her room, but attention was quickly turned my way, she cocked her head ever so slightly and smiled at me, my heart melted. I walked to her side picked up her hand and told her how much I loved her, I told her all of the things you say to a person when you think it is your last time seeing them, I told her all of the gossip that I had been ever so eager for her to hear, I stood there beside her with nothing but the sound of beeping and breathing and accepted that I was soon going to have to face life without her. It is the weirdest feeling, accepting the most painful thing you could ever endure for the peace of someone you love without limits. In that room, among the beeps I looked at my withering mom, saw the pain in her eyes and accepted the terms of my future.
I accepted the loss of my mother, but my mother it seems has other plans. After days of being stuffed into the waiting room, sleeping on the floor (if at all), eating what my aunt was kind enough to cook for us, and showers that consisted of washing your armpits in the bathroom sink, all nine of us children met in her tiny room with her primary doctor to discuss where we were. We had already talked to the Dr. but wanted her to be present as her hallucinations at the time were pretty bad, and we wanted her to hear for herself what he said, that her lung capacity had shrunken to less than 16%, and that her chances of a full recovery were impossible, that the best choice in this situation would be to give her Morphine and let her painlessly slip away. She sat herself up in her bed (the most movement she had done in over 2 weeks), and declared that that wasn't an option. It was explained to her again that a full recovery was far less than likely, and that strenuous amounts of physical therapy would be necessary, and she just shrugged and accepted the challenge.
Well these last four weeks have been almost as emotionally taxing as the intensive care unit, but I am so happy to say that she is doing so much better, she is eating on her own, (full meals even), hasn't had a hallucination in about two weeks, and took seventeen steps today in physical therapy. She is herself again personality wise, she cracks jokes and watches tv, she wishes to see more of her children and grandchildren, but you can't force people out of their comfort zones and into their mother's life. She has visitors daily usually at least two, but sadly enough there are days that I go up at 9 PM and find out that I am the only one that has been there all day. This is not by any means me acting like a saint, because I am anything but, however people need to realize that the fears we had while we huddled together in that waiting room are not finished, she is going to get that ill again, and next time all of her fight will be used up and we will lose her, please I beg you, do yourselves a favor and go spend an hour with her, talk to her, laugh with her, and be damn thankful for the opportunity!
I accepted the loss of my mother, but my mother it seems has other plans. After days of being stuffed into the waiting room, sleeping on the floor (if at all), eating what my aunt was kind enough to cook for us, and showers that consisted of washing your armpits in the bathroom sink, all nine of us children met in her tiny room with her primary doctor to discuss where we were. We had already talked to the Dr. but wanted her to be present as her hallucinations at the time were pretty bad, and we wanted her to hear for herself what he said, that her lung capacity had shrunken to less than 16%, and that her chances of a full recovery were impossible, that the best choice in this situation would be to give her Morphine and let her painlessly slip away. She sat herself up in her bed (the most movement she had done in over 2 weeks), and declared that that wasn't an option. It was explained to her again that a full recovery was far less than likely, and that strenuous amounts of physical therapy would be necessary, and she just shrugged and accepted the challenge.
Well these last four weeks have been almost as emotionally taxing as the intensive care unit, but I am so happy to say that she is doing so much better, she is eating on her own, (full meals even), hasn't had a hallucination in about two weeks, and took seventeen steps today in physical therapy. She is herself again personality wise, she cracks jokes and watches tv, she wishes to see more of her children and grandchildren, but you can't force people out of their comfort zones and into their mother's life. She has visitors daily usually at least two, but sadly enough there are days that I go up at 9 PM and find out that I am the only one that has been there all day. This is not by any means me acting like a saint, because I am anything but, however people need to realize that the fears we had while we huddled together in that waiting room are not finished, she is going to get that ill again, and next time all of her fight will be used up and we will lose her, please I beg you, do yourselves a favor and go spend an hour with her, talk to her, laugh with her, and be damn thankful for the opportunity!
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