In spring of last year, mom started having some gastrointestinal symptoms (I won't go into detail). Anyway, after a while of nothing helping that she could get over the counter, and not having had a primary care provider in years, she decided to look up the OBGYN that delivered me 25 years ago. She found him working at Vandy over at 100 Oaks. So, she went to see him and he did a routine exam including a pap smear.
Jeremy and I went to buy new bedding one day at Kohl's, and mom called while we were sitting in the parking lot. "The pap smear came back abnormal," she said, "So he wants me to come back in next week." I was frozen. I was taking the classes at school that explained abnormal paps. I knew what it could mean. I remember going to work that night. I was still on orientation with Jay. He was the first person, other than Jeremy who was with me when I got the news, that I told.
Jay ended up switching shifts with me so that I could go with mom to that next appointment. As we sat in the exam room at 100 Oaks, Dr. Zimmerman put his hand on my mom's knee and said, "It looks like cancer, Carolyn, but we're going to beat this. You're going to beat this." Again, I sat... frozen.
We drove home, not in silence, but coming up with ways to tell my dad. She left that up to me since I'm a nurse. Great. I remember driving through Captain D's on the way home to grab dinner and I said to her, "If this is really cancer, I'm getting pregnant. I'm giving you a grandchild." Obviously, I never did.
We told dad. He was frozen, but we all stayed very optimistic about everything. Mom would have the hysterectomy in May and do chemo after that. Everything went well and as planned. She tolerated surgery like a champ, although she had some recovery issues with fluid. Chemo never made her nauseous. She didn't mind it at all. It did not slow her down much at all, and I was so proud.
Mom was fine at Christmas. Her Ca125 (cancer indicator lab) had come down to normal. She was regaining strength and was able to do almost whatever she felt like doing. She got tired easily, but other than that, everything was going great, and we were happy.
This May, almost suddenly, it seemed, mom started to deteriorate. She had worked during the annual Studebaker Show like it was nothing. But, something was changing. Mom was getting weaker, and her Ca125 was climbing. In early June, Dad called me at work one night just before it was time to clock in and told me that mom's Ca125 was over 1000. I knew at that point that this wasn't good. On June 25th, Dad's high school reunion took place. He had bought tickets for himself and mom, but mom was too weak to go, and also too weak to be left at home by herself, so I stayed with her while he went to the reunion. We watched TV, I painted my nails, and everything was as normal as it could be. The next night, a Sunday, a had a singing gig at a local church, but mom was too weak to attend. My parents never, ever, missed me sing. I knew she would have come if she were able, but it still hurt that they couldn't be there. Jeremy, my in-laws, his grandparents, and my friends Evelyn, Jay, and Mark came to hear me. After church, Jay and Mark stopped by to see my mom, which none of us really figured would be the last night she ever spent at home.
On Monday morning, dad took her to the Vandy emergency room and she was admitted to the hospital. I was on my way to the hospital when dad called and said that she had gotten a room on 4 round wing, the floor on which I began my nursing career. I knew at least some of the people that still worked there, and knew she would be in good hands. I stayed with mom from that point on, every night, only leaving for a couple hours a day to eat, sleep, or get clean clothes. She was able to get up with my assistance to go to walk to the bathroom, but had a really hard time getting comfortable in the bed. That lasted all week. Friends stopped by to see us, brought food, flowers, and cards. The support was overwhelming. Still, I felt so alone. Dad stayed with us during the day, especially during the couple hours a day when I was gone to keep my sanity, but he left around 6pm every day. As mom would sleep, I would stay up and just look at her, thanking God for giving her to me to have as a mother, but already mourning because I knew what was coming quickly. One night it stormed, and although I knew I was probably about to lose my mom, the storm felt, to me, like a showering of God's provision and love. I knew I was not alone in that room.
I made a couple trips up to the SI, and as one of the charge nurse asked me how mom was doing, I responded back with, "I give her a year. I don't think she'll be with us in a year."
Doctors came and went. They had found a mass on mom's liver, which I found out on Wednesday, so the ideas of a liver resection, or trying to increase her strength with TPNTPN, it was never started. I still don't know why, and I will wonder why we didn't at least give it a shot for the rest of my life. I wonder if it could have made her stronger.
On Friday afternoon, mom started getting a little worse. She was just barely jaundice, but she started smelling like a liver patient to me. I would sit on the bed with her and rub her back where all the fluid was collecting, and I could smell the ammonia coming through her skin. Her heart rate began to increase, her blood pressure dropped slightly, and she was so full of fluid that she could barely breath. I started texting my friend Jay, and another nurse that happened to be working in the SICU that night to get their opinion. The nurse on my unit talked to the charge nurse and he walked over to the round wing to see mom. Before he left, he told me that he only had one bed on the unit, but that if she needed it, it was hers. After repeatedly mentioning to mom's current nurse that I thought she needed albumin and Lasix, and getting no reasonable response, I asked the charge nurse to call a doctor. Finally, a doctor came to see mom. I had told mom to act extra pitiful, because I wanted more than anything for her to be transferred to the SICU where I knew she would get the monitoring that she needed. The doctor agreed that she did, in fact, need albumin and Lasix (go figure), and consulted with the attending physician on call. She explained to mom that because the combination of albumin and Lasix could sometimes cause a drop in blood pressure, she wanted mom to be on a monitored floor, and she put in 'transfer to 9 north' orders. The SICU's back hall is the same as 9N, so I immediately called the charge nurse in SI to let him know and to see if mom could be transferred to one of our back hall beds. He said he was sorry but that it turned out the only bed he had open was an ICU bed and he could not take mom. I was heartbroken, but I figured that at least we would be just across the hall from the SI, so I knew my friends were there if I needed them. We started packing up our stuff to transfer, and in 5 minutes, the 4 round wing charge nurse came in and said they had opened up a back hall bed in the SICU for mom. I was ecstatic.
We got mom moved over, and all my coworkers in the SICU seemed shocked to see me as a patient family member. Mom was transferred to room 9645, and Hollie assumed her care. I tried to stay out of the way, but it was difficult. Mom was tired, so as soon as she drifted off to sleep, I crept around the unit, got something to eat, and went back into the room to stay with mom. But I never slept. I couldn't sleep. They always say, "Sleep when the baby sleeps." But I couldn't. The next morning, I left the hospital around 8 am, drove to Jay's, started a load of laundry, drove home, got some more clothes, went back to Jay's, tried to sleep for 3 hours, finished my laundry and went back to the hospital. When I got back to mom's room, I think it was around 3pm. My mom's friend and her husband, who is an attorney, were there. They were signing mom's last will and testament. DNR/DNI paperwork had been filled out, and the attending physician had told my parents that there was nothing else that could be done. I knew this conversation was coming, I just didn't know how close it would be until the end.
Our preacher came by and talked to mom about her salvation, making sure that she was as peace with her life after death. She was scared. So scared. She said that as many times as she had asked Jesus into her heart, and believed it with her mind, she never felt it to be real in her heart. We prayed with her one more time, and asked God to alleviate her fears of death.
Mom started to get super uncomfortable. The night nurse gave her some Ativan, and it knocked her out from 7pm until 1am. I could not sleep. When I finally tried to lay down at around 1, mom woke up from the Ativan. The effects of it made her feel funny, and she didn't like it at all. She kept saying, "My head feels so fuzzy." It was funny, but I know she didn't like the feeling. I could not keep her comfortable. It didn't matter what position I put her pillows in, she hurt. We tried Lortab and Dilaudid, but they didn't help much. All night long, we were up and down with her. I stood her up, even got her to the chair once, but that only lasted about 10 minutes. She would sit on the side of the bed and rest her forehead on my chest and I would rock her back and forth. This seemed to be the most comfortable position for her, but it was heartbreaking to me. You never want to have to hold your mom like that. In that position, we had truly switched roles. I was rocking and consoling her, the kind of stuff that a child should never have to do, but I did it with love and respect for her and all she was. It was in that position that she said to me, "Pooh, you don't deserve this." No, I didn't. She was right, but more so than that, she didn't deserve to be in that position. But, when in this life do we ever get what we deserve, good or bad?
At around 5am, she was resting pretty peacefully, so I tried to close my eyes for a few minutes. A brand new, still wet-behind-the-ears doctor came in to see her. I secretly listened to their conversation. He was there to check on her medically, but he asked her if she felt sure about her salvation. She said yes, and he asked if he could pray with her. There, in the still of the morning, I listened to the sweetest prayer come out of that doctor as he prayed for my dying mother and held her hand. I will never forget that moment. Then around 6, mom's attending came in. He sat with us on the bed and told us we were going to ignore her blood pressure, which was 60's/40's at that point. Mom said, "Oh. Is it low?" "Uh, yeah, kinda low, but we won't worry about that," he said. He told her if she wanted us to push the bed down the hall so she could see the view, or whatever she wanted, to consider it done. She didn't want any of that. She just wanted to be comfortable. I decided to shower at around 7, and while I was in the shower, the charge nurse, Joe, came to check on mom and me and hollered at me to make sure I washed behind my ears. I realize that's random, but he said mom laughed at him when he said it through the door to me, so it's important to me. When I got out of the shower, I sat with mom and tried to keep her comfortable. The dayshift nurse came in and held my hand and prayed with me over mom, which I will also never forget.
The rest of the details of mom's death bring up too much emotion for me to jot down. They will remain only in my heart and mind. Dad and I were there with her, each on one side, holding her hands as she passed at 10:10am on July 3, 2011.
It's taken me almost 5 months to write this. It's not perfect. There were moments spent with mom that last week that I did not include. Death is a very intimate experience, and as I would not allow you to video my wedding night, I simply cannot share all the details of mom's death experience. It was an amazing week. I was touched by God that week in a way I never could have imagined. You never know how strong you can be until it is required of you. If you read this, and you had anything to do with that week, the time during which mom was sick, or even praying for us recently, know how grateful I am for you. My mom was an incredible spirit, and it is my intention to carry on the mixture of wit and class that she exemplified. Please take me seriously when I say to never take friends and family for granted, and to, each day, LIVE PASSIONATELY.
Lord, thank you for delivering my mama.
