A bit of personal history
When my mother was dying, I took emergency leave to be with her. Granted, we weren't on the best of terms in years previous. But we had made a sort of peace, and had reached a place where we could exchange jokes, and I had become comfortable asking her for advice. And this is the important part: She had told me that the thought of being revived was something she had been having nightmares about. "Don't ever do that to me", and she made me promise.
When I arrived, she was still able to speak. When I walked into her hospital room, she greeted me by name as if she'd seen me the day before. "I like your hair that way."
"Mother, I've worn my hair like this for years", I said.
"I know, I still like it that way though."
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Pretty good, but I want to get home to Richard."
I'm not sure which Richard she was referring to--she had a succession of cats--all black, and numbered sequentially--by that name. The last Richard had died about 20 years before.
"Mother, do you know what day it is?"
She rattled off an incorrect day and month, in 1957. The year actually was 1983.
Do you know where you are?
"Dusseldorf Air Force Base, Germany." She was in a county hospital in California.
Mother had been having urinary problems. She was hospitalized when an infection developed around a catheter that was doing no good anyway. She'd simply stopped urinating.
Her blood ammonia levels were through the roof. Her blood pressure had dropped so low that her liver and kidneys had shut down. The ammonia in her body was accumulating. And she was as high as a kite on it. In fact, that is what had triggered her live-in care giver to call me. He said that he thought she'd started drinking again. Mother was in a wheelchair due to losing her right leg to artery disease a few years before. She was also a member of AA, and so was her care-giver.
During our rather surreal conversation, her doctor walked in, checked some things and said that if I had any questions...? I excused myself to Mother, and walked out into the hall with her. She explained that they didn't know why her blood pressure was so low. They suspected internal bleeding. She asked me how my mother's mental health was. I explained her long history of "manic depression", as it was called in those days. "Do you think she tried to kill herself with Tylenol?" I told her that I really had no idea, but that it may have been a possibility.
I asked her what Mother's chances were. "Not very good. I doubt her liver and kidneys will ever work again, at this point."
I looked at the doctor. "Can you explain what rights I have regarding her care? She is obviously not capable of making sound decisions. Do I need to get a lawyer?"
No, I didn't need to get a lawyer. As her daughter, I had more say than did her brother. I heaved a sigh of relief. I would not have put it past him to get all righteous and insist on "heroic measures", in spite of the fact that they despised one another. She would have wound up like Terri Schiavo if he'd had his way.
I told the doctor that I was exercising my right as next of kin: "No code". Make her comfortable. No problem there. The ammonia was taking care of any pain, she said.
I went back in and Mother said she was tired, and wanted to sleep. I told her I'd be back later. I gave her a kiss, and she said she loved me, and that she was glad I came.
At my friend's house, the phone call came during dinner. She had slipped into a coma. Her blood pressure had dropped, her heart rate was almost nil.
I arrived at the hospital. She was almost unrecognisable. She had tubes in her nose, her mouth, and electrodes all over her. She had an IV of blood going, in an effort to get her blood pressure back up. She was un-responsive. I spoke to Mother, told her that as far as I was concerned, we had made our peace, and not to worry about me. I didn't want to hold her back if she wanted to go.
Another doctor came in. She introduced herself as the doctor on duty. I walked into the hall with her, and asked her if Mother's doctor had left my instructions in the pass-down. The doctor said yes, but she wanted to be clear; What were my wishes?
"No Code." As soon as I said that, an alarm went off in Mother's room. Nurses were there immediately. The doctor followed them in. I stayed out.
The doctor emerged either a short time, or an eternity later. "She's gone, isn't she?"
"Yes. Would you like to go in?"
In a daze, I went in again. The respirator machine had stopped its rhythmic sounds, and was simply hissing low. Yes, Mother's body seemed diminished. I can't and won't describe how. She was simply gone. I said a small prayer, to her, to the universe, to any deity listening in thanks and blessing for having had the chance to make right with her, and for peace for her.
I can't imagine Congress stepping in to keep my mother alive. Even my uncle stayed away. What happened was strictly between me and my mother. Congress had no right to step in. California had no right to step in. And they didn't, because she was a crazy woman, an obnoxious old bag who smoked 100 hand-rolled cigarettes a day, told filthy jokes and wasn't above competing in a biker's wet tee-shirt contest from her wheel chair. She was abusive, opinionated, and socially unacceptable. She was also a Republican, and adored Ronald Reagan, even though his gutting of the mental health care system in California was to her profound detriment.
The law is that the next of kin has the right to make decisions regarding medical care. Terri Shiavo's husband is her legal next of kin. This isn't a battle over the right to live, it's a battle over the private and personal choices next of kin have to make every day. This is no place for Congress. This is no place for the President. This is no place for the governor.
But Bush seems to think it important enough to cut short one of his hundreds of vacations to come home to sign a bill to keep Terri Schiavo alive--against the wishes of her husband, and against her own wishes. She has been held prisoner in her body for political purposes, and that just floors me. This isn't our business. This is a private matter between Terri's husband and Terri's doctors.
Tom "Crooked as a dog's hind leg" Delay says that the "sanctity of life takes precedent over the sanctity of marriage". Only as long as it can be milked for political power, it seems.
When I arrived, she was still able to speak. When I walked into her hospital room, she greeted me by name as if she'd seen me the day before. "I like your hair that way."
"Mother, I've worn my hair like this for years", I said.
"I know, I still like it that way though."
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Pretty good, but I want to get home to Richard."
I'm not sure which Richard she was referring to--she had a succession of cats--all black, and numbered sequentially--by that name. The last Richard had died about 20 years before.
"Mother, do you know what day it is?"
She rattled off an incorrect day and month, in 1957. The year actually was 1983.
Do you know where you are?
"Dusseldorf Air Force Base, Germany." She was in a county hospital in California.
Mother had been having urinary problems. She was hospitalized when an infection developed around a catheter that was doing no good anyway. She'd simply stopped urinating.
Her blood ammonia levels were through the roof. Her blood pressure had dropped so low that her liver and kidneys had shut down. The ammonia in her body was accumulating. And she was as high as a kite on it. In fact, that is what had triggered her live-in care giver to call me. He said that he thought she'd started drinking again. Mother was in a wheelchair due to losing her right leg to artery disease a few years before. She was also a member of AA, and so was her care-giver.
During our rather surreal conversation, her doctor walked in, checked some things and said that if I had any questions...? I excused myself to Mother, and walked out into the hall with her. She explained that they didn't know why her blood pressure was so low. They suspected internal bleeding. She asked me how my mother's mental health was. I explained her long history of "manic depression", as it was called in those days. "Do you think she tried to kill herself with Tylenol?" I told her that I really had no idea, but that it may have been a possibility.
I asked her what Mother's chances were. "Not very good. I doubt her liver and kidneys will ever work again, at this point."
I looked at the doctor. "Can you explain what rights I have regarding her care? She is obviously not capable of making sound decisions. Do I need to get a lawyer?"
No, I didn't need to get a lawyer. As her daughter, I had more say than did her brother. I heaved a sigh of relief. I would not have put it past him to get all righteous and insist on "heroic measures", in spite of the fact that they despised one another. She would have wound up like Terri Schiavo if he'd had his way.
I told the doctor that I was exercising my right as next of kin: "No code". Make her comfortable. No problem there. The ammonia was taking care of any pain, she said.
I went back in and Mother said she was tired, and wanted to sleep. I told her I'd be back later. I gave her a kiss, and she said she loved me, and that she was glad I came.
At my friend's house, the phone call came during dinner. She had slipped into a coma. Her blood pressure had dropped, her heart rate was almost nil.
I arrived at the hospital. She was almost unrecognisable. She had tubes in her nose, her mouth, and electrodes all over her. She had an IV of blood going, in an effort to get her blood pressure back up. She was un-responsive. I spoke to Mother, told her that as far as I was concerned, we had made our peace, and not to worry about me. I didn't want to hold her back if she wanted to go.
Another doctor came in. She introduced herself as the doctor on duty. I walked into the hall with her, and asked her if Mother's doctor had left my instructions in the pass-down. The doctor said yes, but she wanted to be clear; What were my wishes?
"No Code." As soon as I said that, an alarm went off in Mother's room. Nurses were there immediately. The doctor followed them in. I stayed out.
The doctor emerged either a short time, or an eternity later. "She's gone, isn't she?"
"Yes. Would you like to go in?"
In a daze, I went in again. The respirator machine had stopped its rhythmic sounds, and was simply hissing low. Yes, Mother's body seemed diminished. I can't and won't describe how. She was simply gone. I said a small prayer, to her, to the universe, to any deity listening in thanks and blessing for having had the chance to make right with her, and for peace for her.
I can't imagine Congress stepping in to keep my mother alive. Even my uncle stayed away. What happened was strictly between me and my mother. Congress had no right to step in. California had no right to step in. And they didn't, because she was a crazy woman, an obnoxious old bag who smoked 100 hand-rolled cigarettes a day, told filthy jokes and wasn't above competing in a biker's wet tee-shirt contest from her wheel chair. She was abusive, opinionated, and socially unacceptable. She was also a Republican, and adored Ronald Reagan, even though his gutting of the mental health care system in California was to her profound detriment.
The law is that the next of kin has the right to make decisions regarding medical care. Terri Shiavo's husband is her legal next of kin. This isn't a battle over the right to live, it's a battle over the private and personal choices next of kin have to make every day. This is no place for Congress. This is no place for the President. This is no place for the governor.
But Bush seems to think it important enough to cut short one of his hundreds of vacations to come home to sign a bill to keep Terri Schiavo alive--against the wishes of her husband, and against her own wishes. She has been held prisoner in her body for political purposes, and that just floors me. This isn't our business. This is a private matter between Terri's husband and Terri's doctors.
Tom "Crooked as a dog's hind leg" Delay says that the "sanctity of life takes precedent over the sanctity of marriage". Only as long as it can be milked for political power, it seems.
posted by Jean Dudley at 2:06 PM
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