I was looking through old facebook pictures while I was waiting for my nails to dry, and I came across some of my mom before she got sick. And of my Aunt Polly, while she was sick. It is amazing how, at one point in your life, you can be worrying about losing a person and enjoying them while you still have them, all the while, not even realizing how different your life will be in just one year, preparing to lose someone you never thought possible. After everything we went through with Aunt Polly, I never imagined we would be thrown such a curve ball like what happened with my mom.
My heart breaks all over again when I think about her, and how much I miss her.
I was looking at pictures of my mom, my aunts and I in Disneyworld. It was our last "sisters" trip with all of us together, preparing to lose Aunt Polly and wanting to take a "final" trip with us all together. We all had so much fun, and it was so amazing to experience that together, knowing what we were in store for in a few months with losing Aunt Polly.
It's really baffling to think that our group, the sisters, could ever be torn apart. We were reluctantly ready for the first time. We were blind-sided by the second time. I can't believe how quickly everything changes. But it really does. In a matter of seconds everything can change.
I am not sure why this has happened, I never will understand, and I know I say that over and over again, but sitting here tonight in my quiet house, I feel, really feel, how immensely your life can change and just how quickly it can happen. I would have never imagined a world without my Aunt Polly, and especially not one without my mom.
Feeling lonely and sad and quiet tonight, I let myself really understand how sad my heart is for my mom, and for my aunts, and for myself.
Since I hid my feelings for so long and pretended as though this never happened....lived in denial, and now I am just realizing the monumental-ness of it, I feel as though she just died. The day my whole world went black and I lost it, about a month ago, that was the day she died, for me. That was the day it hit.
It has been almost 11 months. I feel like it was not even a month ago.
I can't believe what has happened to my life. How full it was. When two huge pieces of your life go missing, you start to realize how small it really is.
It can't be seen by the naked eye, without them. At least that's how it feels sometimes.
I have nothing positive to say tonight, and I won't even try like I usually do. Sometimes things are not flowers and rainbows, and sometimes people die, and sometimes we miss them terribly. I am terribly upset tonight and lonely for my mom so much that I almost don't understand how I'm alive on this earth without her. I do not. It makes no sense to me to be here without her and to miss the things we were supposed to share together, the things she dreamed about sharing with me while she was still pregnant with me, I'm sure. All the things mothers dream about sharing with their daughters. They have come and gone, without her. My heart feels so empty, I'm not so sure it's even there.
I could not possibly end this on a positive note. This is healing. It is not always ok. It is what it is.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Time's up
Today is the first day I have cried at work. I have been there a little less than two months, and I knew eventually this day would come for one reason or another. My work involves me getting to know and care for old, sick people... and then eventually they die, so I thought for sure the first time I cried at work would be because of one of my patients dying. Surprisingly, I have been handling that rather well.
As part of the clinical management team, I have to attend meetings with the patients and the families within the first 72 hours being in the facility to introduce ourselves and give an update of what has been happening on our end of care. Today's meeting was with a very quiet woman who does not enjoy staying in our facility and away from her family, and because of that, she is unhappy with us. Her daughter, who is a doctor, is a little skeptical of all of us, and it reads all over her face and her body language. She was very stern and had her arms and legs crossed, and her expression on her face never changed throughout the meeting. At one point, she looked over at her mother, who had an eyelash on her face, and she reached out to brush it away. It took several swipes before she finally got it, and then she ran her hand down the side of her mom's face, and her mom leaned into her as she did it. I am telling you right now that it was one of the most touching, most precious things I have seen in a long time, something as simple and as loving as brushing something from her face. My heart melted for how much she loved her mom, and how much she loved her back. I have not seen something like this in a long time, and I think it is sad that more people do not have a mother-daughter relationship like these women and like my mom and I did.
Immediately I felt the urge to cry, and it shocked me how fast my heart began to hurt for myself and for my mom to be away from each other. I excused myself from my seat and walked as quickly as I could, with my head down, to the bathroom. I barely shut the door and I nearly collapsed with how utterly sad I felt inside and how much I missed my mom.
I miss her so much my insides hurt. Nowhere in particular, just inside.
I thought of all the times I have done that for my mom. Pick an eyelash off of her face, brush a hair off of her shoulder, rub my thumb under her eye when her mascara is smudged. I watched this woman silently and dutifully care for her mother in the most subtle, gentle way and I felt a rush of jealousy that I could no longer do that for mine.
Then the pictures started happening again. The images of my mom dying, of my mom crying and saying "No" and shaking her head, knowing she was dying and not wanting to. I brushed her tears from her face with my fingertips and patted her head and her shoulders, trying to love her as much as I could because I knew it was limited. For the last hours of her life I knew everything was limited.
When you know they're dying, your brain automatically takes you to those places, those memories locked inside that fill you with warmth. Trips to Disney World, road trips to Amish Country, riding in the car and listening to the oldies, walking the isle at graduation and seeing her crying like I was. They flash through your brain in a matter of seconds, and then you start to imagine the things in the future that will not have her in them. My wedding, my Master's graduation, my first house, my first job, my first baby. She will not be there. All in a matter of seconds, it hits you like a truck.
When you look up and see that flatline on the monitor and a once-rising chest lay still, it's as though someone just hits you square in the stomach and screams, "Time's up! That's all you get!"
That's all I got...all we got. And now it is over.
I do not know why I am 24 and our time was up so quickly and why this woman, grown, with children of her own who are also grown, gets so much more time with her mother. Regardless of the reason, that twinge of jealousy and that question never cease to come up. And after this never-ending question, I have to remind myself, really force myself, to be happy for her instead of how I actually feel. This is very hard. I struggle with this part, but once I start to feel happy for them that they still have each other, that struggle dies down and I am able to move on with my day.
This situation that occurred today lasted no more than 10 minutes, and when I say that I was able to move on with my day, I mean it. I gathered myself back together, waited until my red eyes were back to normal, and walked back to the meeting. And continued on with my busy day like normal.
I think this resiliency is a sign of something bigger on the horizon. I know that I am far from "normal," and probably will never be again, but I can at least process things and let myself be sad for myself, as long as it stops when the time is appropriate. And when the situation is appropriate. Today, it was appropriate. I really missed her. And I was so sad for myself to not have what this woman had. And I let myself grieve for her.
I liked today.
As part of the clinical management team, I have to attend meetings with the patients and the families within the first 72 hours being in the facility to introduce ourselves and give an update of what has been happening on our end of care. Today's meeting was with a very quiet woman who does not enjoy staying in our facility and away from her family, and because of that, she is unhappy with us. Her daughter, who is a doctor, is a little skeptical of all of us, and it reads all over her face and her body language. She was very stern and had her arms and legs crossed, and her expression on her face never changed throughout the meeting. At one point, she looked over at her mother, who had an eyelash on her face, and she reached out to brush it away. It took several swipes before she finally got it, and then she ran her hand down the side of her mom's face, and her mom leaned into her as she did it. I am telling you right now that it was one of the most touching, most precious things I have seen in a long time, something as simple and as loving as brushing something from her face. My heart melted for how much she loved her mom, and how much she loved her back. I have not seen something like this in a long time, and I think it is sad that more people do not have a mother-daughter relationship like these women and like my mom and I did.
Immediately I felt the urge to cry, and it shocked me how fast my heart began to hurt for myself and for my mom to be away from each other. I excused myself from my seat and walked as quickly as I could, with my head down, to the bathroom. I barely shut the door and I nearly collapsed with how utterly sad I felt inside and how much I missed my mom.
I miss her so much my insides hurt. Nowhere in particular, just inside.
I thought of all the times I have done that for my mom. Pick an eyelash off of her face, brush a hair off of her shoulder, rub my thumb under her eye when her mascara is smudged. I watched this woman silently and dutifully care for her mother in the most subtle, gentle way and I felt a rush of jealousy that I could no longer do that for mine.
Then the pictures started happening again. The images of my mom dying, of my mom crying and saying "No" and shaking her head, knowing she was dying and not wanting to. I brushed her tears from her face with my fingertips and patted her head and her shoulders, trying to love her as much as I could because I knew it was limited. For the last hours of her life I knew everything was limited.
When you know they're dying, your brain automatically takes you to those places, those memories locked inside that fill you with warmth. Trips to Disney World, road trips to Amish Country, riding in the car and listening to the oldies, walking the isle at graduation and seeing her crying like I was. They flash through your brain in a matter of seconds, and then you start to imagine the things in the future that will not have her in them. My wedding, my Master's graduation, my first house, my first job, my first baby. She will not be there. All in a matter of seconds, it hits you like a truck.
When you look up and see that flatline on the monitor and a once-rising chest lay still, it's as though someone just hits you square in the stomach and screams, "Time's up! That's all you get!"
That's all I got...all we got. And now it is over.
I do not know why I am 24 and our time was up so quickly and why this woman, grown, with children of her own who are also grown, gets so much more time with her mother. Regardless of the reason, that twinge of jealousy and that question never cease to come up. And after this never-ending question, I have to remind myself, really force myself, to be happy for her instead of how I actually feel. This is very hard. I struggle with this part, but once I start to feel happy for them that they still have each other, that struggle dies down and I am able to move on with my day.
This situation that occurred today lasted no more than 10 minutes, and when I say that I was able to move on with my day, I mean it. I gathered myself back together, waited until my red eyes were back to normal, and walked back to the meeting. And continued on with my busy day like normal.
I think this resiliency is a sign of something bigger on the horizon. I know that I am far from "normal," and probably will never be again, but I can at least process things and let myself be sad for myself, as long as it stops when the time is appropriate. And when the situation is appropriate. Today, it was appropriate. I really missed her. And I was so sad for myself to not have what this woman had. And I let myself grieve for her.
I liked today.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
36 hours
On my oh-so-exciting weekend off with my husband that I have been waiting for all week, I came down with food poisoning (we think), and I have been sleeping almost non-stop. This morning I woke up early, the house nice and dark and quiet, with Adrian still sleeping. I had the scariest dream. I still do not have dreams about my mom that are happy and peaceful. I'm still having dreams about her dying or knowing that she will die or where she is already dead, and they are so scary and so real to me.
I remember a couple months ago I had a recurring dream that was in the form of a game show where I had to save my mom's life. We would re-wind to Tuesday night when we found out she had the infection, and then they would "release" me into the hospital to try to save her knowing that she was going to die Thursday morning if I didn't. I never could, and time would run out. And she would die. I'm pretty sure I have written about this dream before.
Last night, my dream was more like the movie "Saw," where I was given weird clues and riddles about where my mom was and how to save her. My time started on Tuesday night, and if I didn't figure it out in time, she would die on Thursday morning. I was in a huge castle, but not like a medieval castle. It was very modern and dark, and I was cold. I was in a chamber of some kind that held tons of electronic control panels for what appeared to be the whole house, controls for lights, doors, that sort of thing. There was a video screen. A movie started, and it was of my mom, her and I together, her and her sisters together, shots of memories playing over and over. Then the screen went black, and then re-appeared as a live shot of my mom, sick like she was in the hospital the night we found out about her infection, laying in a bed, in a room with nothing in it. She was screaming my name like she did in the ICU. The video didn't tell me what I had to do, but I already knew. That is so weird how your brain just knows in dreams. This room was slowly filling with water, and I needed to save her before the water got too high. I had 36 hours-Tuesday night to Thursday morning.
So I started to run all over the castle, searching for a control to the water in the room. Long story short, I figured out a clue that led me to the controls, which were right in front of the room. I had a large glass vase to break it with, and I couldn't see inside the room at all to know if I was too late. I raised the vase above my head and smashed the controls over and over again until all the lights on the control went blank. Water began to spew out from under the door of the room, and I knew that I had done it. I had saved her.
But then I just stood there, hesitating to go in. Enough water came out of that room to flood the hallway in front of it. What if the water did get too high, and it looked as though I was successful because it all came out but really I wasn't? I didn't want to find out. I didn't want to walk into the room and see her dead, knowing that I hadn't in fact saved her at all. My heart couldn't stand the thought of that, and I stood in front of the door for a long time.
Then I woke up. I woke myself up, like how you do when you're having a scary dream and you can't take it anymore. I couldn't stand the thought of failing her and knowing that I couldn't save her in time. Somehow, I knew that she was already dead, laying in the room among all of the water. I already knew.
I am sure, like the other "game show" dreams, that this is supposed to tell me that no matter what, this is how it all had to end. Nothing could have changed the fact that the infection could not be stopped. The drugs weren't strong enough and her body couldn't help her fight. We all had to stand there and watch, not being able to do one thing about it.
I wasn't even allowed to be with her while she screamed for me in the ICU. She could see me through the glass and she wanted me around her, not the nine nurses and doctors trying to help her. I should have gone in and at least held her hand but all I could do was stand there and watch them hook her up to things. She wanted me, not them. I should have gone in. There are so many things that make me so sad about what happened, and it's not just that she lost her life after such a battle. The fact that our visits were limited when they knew she was dying and the rules couldn't even be bent for a family that was actively losing one of their own. The fact that there was nothing anyone could have done for her, or the fact that we had to make the decision to "pull the plug," as our society likes to call the choice to end your own mother's life.
In my mind, she was already dead. That wasn't her. And when they stopped the IV's keeping her heart pumping, it stopped immediately. She really was already dead.
It did not matter how fast I found the controls to that room and broke them. It did not matter if I would have stopped the rising water. She was already gone, and I knew that without even having to go into that room.
I know my brain is trying to help me cope with the fact that I was helpless in this situation and that is just how it had to be. No one, not the nurses, doctors, the amounts of prayers sent up, could have helped her. She was far beyond help, and there was nothing that could change that situation. I know my body is trying to help me move on, I'm sure it is as sick of dealing with this as I am and it's trying to speed up the process. Despite the fact that it makes all the sense in the world and that the "game show" and "Saw" concepts are just a metaphor for what was really happening, the truth is that I understand what my brain is trying to tell me but it doesn't help me feel any better.
Maybe I can't let this go because I felt like I should have been able to help and I couldn't?
At my job, and in my schooling, I am taught to exhaust all options to help someone and to keep them as comfortable as possible. Serious measures are only taken when the need is obvious. I wouldn't just order a hole to be put in someone's stomach unless the need is really there, right? But, I would still do it if it would help them from dying. In my mom's case, I couldn't do anything for her and had to take a back seat and just watch it all unfold.
I was completely helpless.
As I ran through the corridors of the castle to find what I needed to save her, I was crying and yelling, "I would do anything for her. I would do whatever it takes to save her. Please don't let her die. I'll do anything." I kept saying things like this over and over again, hoping it would change whoever's mind was controlling the room with the rising water. It didn't work. No matter what I said, no matter how fast I released all of that water, it would do no good.
36 hours can completely change your life. Tuesday night to Thursday morning. 36 hours is all it takes for your whole world to be turned upside down. It took 36 hours for her to move from the Bone Marrow Transplant center to the ICU, for the pneumonia to completely wipe out her right lung, leaving her left to work for its life, for the infection to invade all of her organs. It took 36 hours for her kidneys to fail, her liver to fail, her heart to fail, and her lungs to fail.
36 hours is all it takes to realize that in this world, in the big scheme of things, we are not in control. We are completely helpless and left to stand and watch, for a big hand to slap you in your face back to reality. Prayers. Medicine. Breathing machines. They are not in control. None of us are. We are all helpless.
When it is time, it's time. 36 hours is all it takes to realize this, no matter how many times you play it over and over.
I remember a couple months ago I had a recurring dream that was in the form of a game show where I had to save my mom's life. We would re-wind to Tuesday night when we found out she had the infection, and then they would "release" me into the hospital to try to save her knowing that she was going to die Thursday morning if I didn't. I never could, and time would run out. And she would die. I'm pretty sure I have written about this dream before.
Last night, my dream was more like the movie "Saw," where I was given weird clues and riddles about where my mom was and how to save her. My time started on Tuesday night, and if I didn't figure it out in time, she would die on Thursday morning. I was in a huge castle, but not like a medieval castle. It was very modern and dark, and I was cold. I was in a chamber of some kind that held tons of electronic control panels for what appeared to be the whole house, controls for lights, doors, that sort of thing. There was a video screen. A movie started, and it was of my mom, her and I together, her and her sisters together, shots of memories playing over and over. Then the screen went black, and then re-appeared as a live shot of my mom, sick like she was in the hospital the night we found out about her infection, laying in a bed, in a room with nothing in it. She was screaming my name like she did in the ICU. The video didn't tell me what I had to do, but I already knew. That is so weird how your brain just knows in dreams. This room was slowly filling with water, and I needed to save her before the water got too high. I had 36 hours-Tuesday night to Thursday morning.
So I started to run all over the castle, searching for a control to the water in the room. Long story short, I figured out a clue that led me to the controls, which were right in front of the room. I had a large glass vase to break it with, and I couldn't see inside the room at all to know if I was too late. I raised the vase above my head and smashed the controls over and over again until all the lights on the control went blank. Water began to spew out from under the door of the room, and I knew that I had done it. I had saved her.
But then I just stood there, hesitating to go in. Enough water came out of that room to flood the hallway in front of it. What if the water did get too high, and it looked as though I was successful because it all came out but really I wasn't? I didn't want to find out. I didn't want to walk into the room and see her dead, knowing that I hadn't in fact saved her at all. My heart couldn't stand the thought of that, and I stood in front of the door for a long time.
Then I woke up. I woke myself up, like how you do when you're having a scary dream and you can't take it anymore. I couldn't stand the thought of failing her and knowing that I couldn't save her in time. Somehow, I knew that she was already dead, laying in the room among all of the water. I already knew.
I am sure, like the other "game show" dreams, that this is supposed to tell me that no matter what, this is how it all had to end. Nothing could have changed the fact that the infection could not be stopped. The drugs weren't strong enough and her body couldn't help her fight. We all had to stand there and watch, not being able to do one thing about it.
I wasn't even allowed to be with her while she screamed for me in the ICU. She could see me through the glass and she wanted me around her, not the nine nurses and doctors trying to help her. I should have gone in and at least held her hand but all I could do was stand there and watch them hook her up to things. She wanted me, not them. I should have gone in. There are so many things that make me so sad about what happened, and it's not just that she lost her life after such a battle. The fact that our visits were limited when they knew she was dying and the rules couldn't even be bent for a family that was actively losing one of their own. The fact that there was nothing anyone could have done for her, or the fact that we had to make the decision to "pull the plug," as our society likes to call the choice to end your own mother's life.
In my mind, she was already dead. That wasn't her. And when they stopped the IV's keeping her heart pumping, it stopped immediately. She really was already dead.
It did not matter how fast I found the controls to that room and broke them. It did not matter if I would have stopped the rising water. She was already gone, and I knew that without even having to go into that room.
I know my brain is trying to help me cope with the fact that I was helpless in this situation and that is just how it had to be. No one, not the nurses, doctors, the amounts of prayers sent up, could have helped her. She was far beyond help, and there was nothing that could change that situation. I know my body is trying to help me move on, I'm sure it is as sick of dealing with this as I am and it's trying to speed up the process. Despite the fact that it makes all the sense in the world and that the "game show" and "Saw" concepts are just a metaphor for what was really happening, the truth is that I understand what my brain is trying to tell me but it doesn't help me feel any better.
Maybe I can't let this go because I felt like I should have been able to help and I couldn't?
At my job, and in my schooling, I am taught to exhaust all options to help someone and to keep them as comfortable as possible. Serious measures are only taken when the need is obvious. I wouldn't just order a hole to be put in someone's stomach unless the need is really there, right? But, I would still do it if it would help them from dying. In my mom's case, I couldn't do anything for her and had to take a back seat and just watch it all unfold.
I was completely helpless.
As I ran through the corridors of the castle to find what I needed to save her, I was crying and yelling, "I would do anything for her. I would do whatever it takes to save her. Please don't let her die. I'll do anything." I kept saying things like this over and over again, hoping it would change whoever's mind was controlling the room with the rising water. It didn't work. No matter what I said, no matter how fast I released all of that water, it would do no good.
36 hours can completely change your life. Tuesday night to Thursday morning. 36 hours is all it takes for your whole world to be turned upside down. It took 36 hours for her to move from the Bone Marrow Transplant center to the ICU, for the pneumonia to completely wipe out her right lung, leaving her left to work for its life, for the infection to invade all of her organs. It took 36 hours for her kidneys to fail, her liver to fail, her heart to fail, and her lungs to fail.
36 hours is all it takes to realize that in this world, in the big scheme of things, we are not in control. We are completely helpless and left to stand and watch, for a big hand to slap you in your face back to reality. Prayers. Medicine. Breathing machines. They are not in control. None of us are. We are all helpless.
When it is time, it's time. 36 hours is all it takes to realize this, no matter how many times you play it over and over.
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