What A Difference A Day Makes!

My mother passed away very suddenly at 11:30 this morning. What a difference a day makes! At 7 a.m. this morning, she was fine. Last night at 11 pm, I got a call from Lourdes saying that she had had a difficult evening, nausea, a little vomiting, a little trouble breathing. But by the time they called at 11 p.m., she was doing much better, very comfortable, even smiling and conversing with the nurses.

Then at 10 a.m. this morning, Janie, her nurse, calls again. At 7 a.m. she was fine. 99 degree fever, tested positive for another UTI, began her on antibiotics, but otherwise fine. At 8 a.m., they checked again. Her fever had spiralled to 103. She was now on IV antibiotics and being hosed down with ice packs. Now, 10 a.m., breathing very fast, this has become critical. I am pouring sweat, in the middle of a workout. Let me finish my workout, shower, and I’ll be right over. 10:15 a.m., another call. Her breathing has now become erratic, they think she’s in the final stages. I cut my workout short, jump in the shower and am at Lourdes at 10:50 a.m.

Mom is unconscious and the chaplain is in the room saying prayers. A few minutes later, the priest comes in to annoint her. The priest, Fr. Larry, tells me that, even though she’s unconcious, it’s important to talk to her, let her know I’m there. She’s aware of my presence and she can hear me. Tell her that we’re going to be okay. It’s very much a comforting thing for parents to hear their children’s voices at this time for them to know that life will go on, everything will be okay.

So for the next half hour, I hold Mom’s hand and tell her that I’m there and that I will be there for as long it takes. I’m not leaving her. But I know from past experience that this can go on for hours, even days. I’m hoping that Marijo gets my message and can come up and relieve me later this afternoon. But I will stay with Mom until the end.

At 11:30, Janie comes in and checks Mom over. "Oh, she’s much cooler now. And her breathing seems more regular now. She may just pull out of this."

"That’s what I’m hoping for," I tell her. "I’m not ready for this today. I’m not prepared to have relatives come to the house this week quite yet. On the other hand, are you ever ready for something like this?"

Janie smiles at me and nods agreement, leaves me alone with Mom.

No sooner does Janie leave the room when Mom takes her last breath. She’s definitely in the final stages. This went on for hours with both Dad and Fr. Joe. In fact, I remember Fr. Joe going as long as 15 minutes between breaths during his last few hours. Just out of curiosity I check for Mom’s pulse. I can’t find one. But then I’m hardly an expert in finding pulses. I wait until 11:35. Mom still hasn’t taken a breath. I go to the nurse’s station and ask Janie if they’re monitoring Mom’s heartbeat from the station. She says they are. "Well, are you getting a heartbeat? She stopped breathing five minutes ago and I can’t find a pulse."

Janie immediately comes into Mom’s room with a stethescope and spends the next couple of minutes pouring over Mom’s chest listening for a heartbeat. There is none. Janie tells me she’s gone and declares time of death at 11:37 a.m. It is over.

A few minutes later, Fr. Dutton, one of the residents who lives just a few doors down the hall, comes in and anoints Mom again. Two of the nuns come in and pray the rosary. I’ve already made some phone calls to prepare the family. Now it’s time for another round of phone calls to tell everyone that the end has mercifully come.

Since 1998 when Mom was first diagnozed with Alzheimer’s, we’ve all been praying that she dies peacefully in her sleep before the Alzheimer’s drugs wore off. The Aricept was only supposed to last for five years. However, there have been so many cases of patients going beyond five years, some considerably beyond, that a couple years ago I was told that they’re no longer putting expiration dates on these drugs. Some people have gone well beyond ten years. In Mom’s case, it was 13 years. We had all prayed that she would not have to suffer through the catastrophic plunge that her body would be going through for weeks or months once the drugs wore off and she was finally forced into the depths of the Alzheimer’s. We had been praying that she would die suddenly and peacefully in her sleep from a heart attack or stroke before that happened.

Our prayers were answered. We could not have asked for a better death. She got a fever and it consumed her in a few short hours. She did not suffer at all. This was better than dying in her sleep. This way, I was able to be with her when she died and I was able to say goodbye to her. I will be grateful for that the rest of my life.

She died exactly the way we wanted her to die. Tomorrow morning, Marijo and I will go to the funeral home and make the final arrangements. But as for Lourdes, our business there is over now. As I write this, her body has already been transferred to Pixley Funeral Home and her belongings have been boxed up. We are shooting for a Friday visitation and Saturday funeral and burial. There will more details coming as I get them.