My mother was my comfort zone, the hidden shelter, the soft pillow and as the oldest of her children, I was very uncomfortable mentally and physically, trying to adjust to her sickness. My mother was dying and I couldn’t find a good balance in my mind or body. It was a long destabilizing ride that introduced me to stress, anxiety, depression and the meaning of capitalism. Day by day, I watched my mother fight death with grace. She wasn’t mad about her situation; she was courteous and displayed a royal kind of grace. I believe that millenniums past my mother would’ve been a great ancient queen mummified and placed in a royal tomb. Her grace spoke to me day by day, even when her energy was at a minimum and she couldn’t feed herself, she found grace to say, “Today is better.”
I noticed as time went by, my mother’s pain continued to increase. They gave her hard drugs that had very good street value; she only took them sparingly as she dealt with her pain gracefully. Our routine continued with chemo three times a week and then we added dialysis once a week. My mother was a great elephant of a woman. She covered a lot of ground with her love and support for family and friends. As pleasant and non-combative as she was, I thought her sickness was a mistake or a test. “She will win this battle,” I kept saying to myself over and over again. With all that’s going on in our world with deceit, murder and poverty, she was needed. Millenniums ago her royal tomb inscriptions would have read:
“Great Daughter and Queen of the Most High, She who helped the widow and fatherless children, rest here, precious one. In grace She lived and in grace She died. May Her Spirit be in union with the Creator forever.”
One evening my mother called and said, “I want to move with you.” “Ok,” I said.
“I just want to be with my family,” she said. I moved her in and she was happy. She had her own door to the house with no steps. She got to sit outside and watch the sun set with her grandchildren, making them run back and forth to get her some ice… she loved the ice. We watched some of her favorite TV shows together, like Murder She Wrote and the Andy Griffith Show. I didn’t have any interest in watching those shows every day, but she changed all that as we spent time talking, laughing and watching TV.
One Saturday afternoon, I got a crash course as my mother was not responding well after a meal. I called her doctor and relayed her symptoms and he advised me to take her to the hospital. When we got there, it was all new. Before this, we had no emergencies; we only had scheduled appointments and never missed any. When we arrived to the emergency room, I was told to fill out paper work, and forced to answer questions like, “did she have insurance?”
I answered with force, “Yes, she has cancer, stage four, chemo three times a week, dialysis once a week. I’ve called her doctor’s office and let them know, he should be here shortly,” I said.
They asked me for her doctor’s name and information.
“We’ll take tests to evaluate the patient. Are you legally in charge? Is there a husband or does anyone have a power of attorney?” They asked.
“Take tests? I just told you what was wrong,” I said.
“We must evaluate the patient.”
“Evaluate what, I just told you what’s wrong! What is this, what? I called her doctor,” I said, “She don’t need to be tested, she need to be treated.”
I insisted they just stabilize her. I repeated, “Her doctor is on the way.”
I told them, “All this poking of my mother was unnecessary, and the extra questions bothered me.”
I called the doctor’s office again, “They’re poking my mother and asking questions, I need you to get here.”
After an hour or so, a doctor from the hospital staff came out. “We are getting her stabilized, but the situation is very serious,” he said. “Her kidneys are failing, her liver is not functioning properly, this is life ending, she is dying. The family needs to consider hospice. ”
I called the doctor’s office again and got the voicemail. “Look, these motherfuckers keep talkin’ nonsense. Saying my mother is dying. They talkin’ shit I don’t understand, they said her life is over. Talkin’ stupid shit. I need you to fuckin’ get here!”
The doctor called me back after my last rant. He told me to listen to what the doctors are saying, and that he wasn’t a participant in that particular hospital…there is nothing he could do. I hung the phone up in a state of shock, thinking none of this shit was making any sense. My head was spinning. Thoughts and questions spilled out, “was it that easy, are they in charge? Just do whatever they say. What kind of sense does that make? This man has been her doctor, and now, “do what they say.” And what did they say?
The words echoed continuously in my ears, “there is nothing we can do, your mother is dying, you need to consider hospice.”
To me this was some cold bullshit that was beyond my understanding. They were telling me she was gone, while she was still breathing, and her doctor said nothing.
While I sat there in disbelief, my job called.
“We got a situation and we need you to go up Philly and Rupert is looking for you. He said he needs to see you right away.”
Life continues to move, even when the silence roars loudly and the Fallout grows near!
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