Two Doctors, Two Mothers
The respite my two siblings and my nephew have provided in the afternoons allows me to come home and put the stress behind me if only for a few hours.
But yesterday while I was gone, the cardiologist came in and had a "frank discussion" with them. He told them, as he told me on Saturday when I signed the DNR papers, about her weakening condition. But he added that prompting her to eat was only prolonging the inevitable. He said something like, "I would just make her comfortable. That's what I would do if it were my mother."
My nephew was clearly upset when he called me with the day's report before I went back in. Mom hadn't been eating well again since Monday and staying with her during meals had become an almost impossible task - both mentally and physically - for both of us.
My respite yesterday really focused on if I should talk to our family doctor again about the feeding pick before her planned move this morning to a rehab hospital. After I spoke with my nephew, I set aside my feelings about the cardiologist having an inappropriate conversation with my family when he knew I wasn't present.
I got ready and headed for the hospital early - even forgetting the special soup I bought for Mom hoping to entice her to eat that evening.
It was a nice day and I couldn't decide if I should park on one side of the building by emergency or on the front side of the building. Emergency was closer, but provided a very lonely walk to the car late at night. The front of the building passed by the gift shop, was a little cheerier and would give me the opportunity to walk in the late winter warmth longer.
At the last minute, I swung toward the emergency lot. I think things happen for a reason and I realized why this decision was made when I ran into Mom's lung doctor on the way in.
We had a conversation the morning before about Mom's eating and the feeding pick. I told him then she had started eating and I didn't think it would be necessary.
But yesterday afternoon I told him what the cardiologist told us and asked him the point of sending her to a rehab hospital as was planned today if we should just make her comfortable and basically allow her to starve.
He told me he would be up in her room in a few minutes.
When he arrived, he asked her condition before she got sick. Was she living on her own? How was her quality of life?
I answered honestly, yes, and fair to good, given she was getting around on her own most days alright.
"If it were my mother, I would do the feeding pick," he said. "There's still a chance, with proper nutrtion, that she can come back from this."
Mom is a small woman, all of about 90 pounds, soaking wet on a good day. She didn't eat 1500 calories when she was well, it was unreasonable to expect her to do it when she doesn't even feel like eating. Yet extra nutrition is exactly what she needs now if she is going to have a chance.
Mom was lucid enough to agree to the minor surgery, relieving me of the talk one of my siblings was trying to have with me about her suffering, our need to accept the inevitable (I already had on Saturday by my talk with mother) and knowing where to draw the line.
The lung doctor asked Mom if she wanted to get better. She shook her head unmistakenly "yes."
I'll be with Mom on whatever path she chooses. And right now, she still wants to fight so the line is not drawn yet.
But yesterday while I was gone, the cardiologist came in and had a "frank discussion" with them. He told them, as he told me on Saturday when I signed the DNR papers, about her weakening condition. But he added that prompting her to eat was only prolonging the inevitable. He said something like, "I would just make her comfortable. That's what I would do if it were my mother."
My nephew was clearly upset when he called me with the day's report before I went back in. Mom hadn't been eating well again since Monday and staying with her during meals had become an almost impossible task - both mentally and physically - for both of us.
My respite yesterday really focused on if I should talk to our family doctor again about the feeding pick before her planned move this morning to a rehab hospital. After I spoke with my nephew, I set aside my feelings about the cardiologist having an inappropriate conversation with my family when he knew I wasn't present.
I got ready and headed for the hospital early - even forgetting the special soup I bought for Mom hoping to entice her to eat that evening.
It was a nice day and I couldn't decide if I should park on one side of the building by emergency or on the front side of the building. Emergency was closer, but provided a very lonely walk to the car late at night. The front of the building passed by the gift shop, was a little cheerier and would give me the opportunity to walk in the late winter warmth longer.
At the last minute, I swung toward the emergency lot. I think things happen for a reason and I realized why this decision was made when I ran into Mom's lung doctor on the way in.
We had a conversation the morning before about Mom's eating and the feeding pick. I told him then she had started eating and I didn't think it would be necessary.
But yesterday afternoon I told him what the cardiologist told us and asked him the point of sending her to a rehab hospital as was planned today if we should just make her comfortable and basically allow her to starve.
He told me he would be up in her room in a few minutes.
When he arrived, he asked her condition before she got sick. Was she living on her own? How was her quality of life?
I answered honestly, yes, and fair to good, given she was getting around on her own most days alright.
"If it were my mother, I would do the feeding pick," he said. "There's still a chance, with proper nutrtion, that she can come back from this."
Mom is a small woman, all of about 90 pounds, soaking wet on a good day. She didn't eat 1500 calories when she was well, it was unreasonable to expect her to do it when she doesn't even feel like eating. Yet extra nutrition is exactly what she needs now if she is going to have a chance.
Mom was lucid enough to agree to the minor surgery, relieving me of the talk one of my siblings was trying to have with me about her suffering, our need to accept the inevitable (I already had on Saturday by my talk with mother) and knowing where to draw the line.
The lung doctor asked Mom if she wanted to get better. She shook her head unmistakenly "yes."
I'll be with Mom on whatever path she chooses. And right now, she still wants to fight so the line is not drawn yet.
posted by Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell at 3:40 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home