1 post tagged “hospital”
There are some days that live in your mind clear as a bell. For a lot of people, in North America, that day is September 11, 2001. Almost all those people’s memories are about the terrorist attacks in America that fateful morning. My memory of that day wasn’t about planes or terrorism, at least not on the forefront. I remember that day, clear as a bell, because it’s the day my mom died.
I rode the train into work that morning, per usual. I was totally clueless as to what was just occurring in the US as I had my CD player on. I turned my player off just as the train was hitting the downtown tunnel and I heard the radio mention something about a plane running into the World Trade Centre just before the train entered the tunnel and the radio signal was lost. I quickly ran to my office to find out more about what I had just heard on the radio.
While we were trying to find out more info, my desk phone rang. It was my sister. Sometime was up with Mom, who was back in the hospital since the previous day. She told me that the hospital had called early and our Dad was at the hospital. My sister wanted me to find out what was going on since the hospital was near my work and she lived just over 1 hour away.
My Mom had recently been re-admitted, a few days previously, to the hospital due to another infection. She had spent the good part of that year in the hospital due to her deteriorating condition. Her kidney disease was wreaking havoc all over her body. And for most of that time, she wasn’t even aware of what was going on. We had been thinking she would never come home from the hospital. But she did recover, and had been home for a couple of months when infection hit again. This infection was not happy news as that meant she would be put on hemo-dialysis which to her was a death sentence. She was happy on peritoneal dialysis because that meant she wasn’t tied down and she could travel. Because of this fear of the hemo-dialysis, my dad practically had to force her back into the hospital even though she had an infection that needed treating.
I decided to call the hospital and see if I could find out what was going. I was able to get put through to my mother’s ward and was able to speak to the doctor on duty. I remember her telling me a bunch of doctor/medical speak. The only phrase that stood out, like it was a neon sign, was “loss of brain stem reflex”.
I remember hearing that and the whole world felt like it went silent.
Do you ever ask questions that you already know the answer to but you hope that you get a different answer?
In almost surreal fashion, even at the time it was happening, I remember myself asking the doctor, point blank, that doesn’t loss of brain stem reflex mean the same thing as brain dead. She hesitated but answered the question with a yes.
In a fog, I called my sister and told her to get her ass down to the hospital. I said “no brain stem reflex” and she said “I’m on my way”.
My hubby picked me up and we went to the hospital together. It was near my office, but I couldn’t go alone. I remember the hospital parking lot being full so we parked on the street. What we didn’t know or even pay attention to, when we parked on the street, is that we would be there all day and our car would end up getting towed because the street we parked on had no parking during rush hour. Who thinks about their car when they are in an emergency situation?
I remember being at the hospital before any of my siblings and being there with my father and our family priest (he married my parents and they were long time friends) as we stood around my Mom’s hospital bed in ICU. I remember our priest giving my mother the last rites (for the 3rd or 4th time that year…you can never be too careful) and his old,frail, arthritic hands shaking so much that I ended up holding his bible for him so he could read the passages and do the oil sacrament, without much trouble. This made me feel useful for a few minutes.
I remember when everyone finally arrived and we are all around the bed. I remember sitting there holding my Mom’s hand and not really noticing anyone else in the room. It was surreal. As I held her hand, I swear I could hear her laughing. Not a mocking laugh, but a laugh of joy. I heard her voice saying, “Don’t worry about me. I am fine. I am free now.” It was weird…but it was all I could do to not smile sitting there holding her hand. It was like she had the last laugh, which was so like her.
The doctors talked to us all together in a meeting room. They wanted to talk to us about our “options”. They had her on a ventilator and they could keep her there for as long as we wanted. There was very little chance of her reviving. Ha! I wanted to laugh. Brain dead is dead. Why couldn’t they just say that? But I could see that not all my siblings and my dad were quite ready for my simplistic view on things…so I stayed quiet. They were still trying to process that my mom was doing fine up to a few days ago when she got an infection and then today she just stopped breathing and had to be put on a ventilator.
A ventilator keeps the body functioning, even if the brain is not functioning. As long as oxygen is pumping through, the heart keeps going. And as long as your heart is beating, you are considering “alive”. Turn off the ventilator, on someone whose brain is not functioning, and the heart winds down like a watch….until it beats no more.
I remember we all hung out together all through the afternoon and put off the inevitable. We all knew and agreed that the ventilator needed to be shut off….but not yet.
That afternoon, we just hung out, got some food, rescued our car, sat in the hospital’s rooftop garden, watched my brother’s kids play in the garden pond, talked about other things, and sometimes just sat in silence.
My brother’s kids were my parents only grandkids at this time. They were 5 and 3 at this time, and they had spent almost everyday of their lives with their grandparents. My Mom was a very big part of their lives. They knew my Mom was sick and had watched her get sicker and they had handled it well.
My brother and SIL debated over whether to bring the kids in to say good-bye to their Grandma. They even talked to a hospital counselor that afternoon about it. And, at the end of it all, they decided to have the kids say good-bye. They were told that Grandma was going to heaven and she was going to be with Jesus. And the kids handled it well…..they said good-bye but it wasn’t a big deal to them as they were still a bit young to understand the finality of it. Afterall, Grandma just looked like she was sleeping.
At 7:00pm, we gathered in a private room at the very far end of ICU. We all held hands around my Mom’s bed as the priest said some last prayers and the most wonderful nurse, Patrick, turned off my Mom’s ventilator. We all said our final good-byes and kissed my mom one last time.
I remember my Dad holding my Mom’s hand until the very last heartbeat.
As we left the room, my brother’s 5 year old daughter asked if they could go visit Grandma in heaven. Very gently, my SIL explained that no, they were not going to be able to visit Grandma. It was then that my niece understood the finality of the situation and let out the most sorrowful moans of pain as she cried on my SIL’s shoulder as we walked the length of the corridor that led out of ICU.
All the doctors and nurses, in the ICU, stood up, came to the windows, and watched us leave the ward. They all had tears streaming down their faces as they watched the group of us leave. It’s an image that I doubt I will ever forget.
Its been six years, Mom, and I will always miss you!
I am betting that heaven has never been so organized and that you are on all the committees.
Is Jesus a good dancer? I know you would know! :)
September 12, 1934 ~ September 11, 2001
“ Some people move our souls to dance.
They stay in our lives for awhile;
Leave footprints on our hearts,
……...And we are never the same. “
