I will always remember your mother fondly. Her down to earth delivery of great insights was wonderful for me as a young person. How she aged was wonderful to read about as a person who is aging myself, with gratitude.
I found you again after years of not much computer time.
My daughter had her 37th birthday in the hospital, fighting a horrible pneumonia, on a ventilator and nitric oxide. She hated the mask, but her doc had felt the extra trauma of a trach could kill her on the spot. (lots of details omitted)
On Saturday she told me she wanted to go home. I replied, just as soon as we lick this thing. She shook her head no, and pointed up; "I want to go HOME." She had had enough. She was done.
Sunday came and the doc on duty informed us that they couldn't do any more, her organs were shutting down. Her sister gathered family and friends as quickly as she could.
Monday came. Everyone there gathered round as the nurse gave her morphine, and the RT removed the hated mask. She reached up in a gesture that could have been "Yay! No more mask!" but I will always think that she was reaching up to grab the hands of her beloved Gramma, who went on before, and was now offering her a hand up and out of her tired body. Her hands came down and we all held her, her hands, hands on her legs, her sister started singing I'll Fly Away, and she breathed once more, twice, three times and no more.
The doctor leaned over with his stethoscope, listened, and said, "Time of death is 1:45pm"
My daughter runs a nursing home in Montreal, Canada. She's told me stories quite like this one. Some of the elderly clients just say "good by" and then die in their sleep. Or "I'm done" and not long afterwards, they really are.
I will always remember your mother fondly. Her down to earth delivery of great insights was wonderful for me as a young person. How she aged was wonderful to read about as a person who is aging myself, with gratitude.
can't believe it's been that long. great post
I found you again after years of not much computer time.
My daughter had her 37th birthday in the hospital, fighting a horrible pneumonia, on a ventilator and nitric oxide. She hated the mask, but her doc had felt the extra trauma of a trach could kill her on the spot. (lots of details omitted)
On Saturday she told me she wanted to go home. I replied, just as soon as we lick this thing. She shook her head no, and pointed up; "I want to go HOME." She had had enough. She was done.
Sunday came and the doc on duty informed us that they couldn't do any more, her organs were shutting down. Her sister gathered family and friends as quickly as she could.
Monday came. Everyone there gathered round as the nurse gave her morphine, and the RT removed the hated mask. She reached up in a gesture that could have been "Yay! No more mask!" but I will always think that she was reaching up to grab the hands of her beloved Gramma, who went on before, and was now offering her a hand up and out of her tired body. Her hands came down and we all held her, her hands, hands on her legs, her sister started singing I'll Fly Away, and she breathed once more, twice, three times and no more.
The doctor leaned over with his stethoscope, listened, and said, "Time of death is 1:45pm"
My daughter runs a nursing home in Montreal, Canada. She's told me stories quite like this one. Some of the elderly clients just say "good by" and then die in their sleep. Or "I'm done" and not long afterwards, they really are.
Genug Syndrome - I like the sound of that.
Touching post and very witty ending! Always a pleasure to read.