Turbo Cancer: Day 167 - November 25, 2022
Sometimes, when the situations and events in our lives feel insurmountable, God sends angels.
On this day, last year, my mom was released from the hospital.
She had been on Fentanyl for twenty-four hours. She had survived.
When the doctor visited in the morning and asked her how she was feeling, she said that she was much better.
He said that, in that case, she could go home.
A wound vac had been affixed to my mom’s groin through her surgical incision. The vac used suction to constantly remove fluid and puss from the abscess that the surgery had left behind. She was coming home with the wound vac still connected. A home health nurse would be sent to the house to monitor my mom and her equipment.
Because she had been prescribed the Fentanyl patch, the discharge doctor said that my mom should stop taking her Oxy. He said that the Fentanyl would be kicking in, and that it would be all that my mom would need. The doctor ordered a palliative care nurse to come to the house, to monitor my mom’s pain and her narcotics.
Palliative care had been ordered twice before, but my mom had never actually received the service. I wondered if anybody useful would show up this time around.
The most important thing was that she was coming home. She told me that she did not want to die at the hospital. I wanted to ensure that her wish be honored.
However, the trip was incredibly difficult. While she was at the hospital, my mom’s pain had increased and her energy had been depleted. Her entire body was weak. It was difficult for her to adjust herself in bed, or to remain sitting up. It was impossible for her to stand or to walk.
With turbo cancer, every car ride had been a challenge. We had, however, become accustomed to the process.
This day was different. She had absolutely no strength of her own to contribute.
At the hospital, the staff helped me to lift her out of bed and to put her into the wheelchair. While they wheeled her down the hall, I ran ahead with all of the bags and the keys. I rushed to the parking garage, jumped into the car, and drove to the front door of the hospital.
When I pulled up, my mom was already there, waiting. Very kindly, the valet helped me to lift her into the car and to put the wheelchair in the trunk. Her seatbelt helped her to stay upright while I drove.
Any sudden movements resulted in painful moans from the passenger side. I drove slowly and carefully. I avoided bumps and sharp turns. I talked to my mom throughout the entire ride, warning her whenever I was going to stop, go, turn or swerve.
When drivers behind me appeared to be anxious or angered by my measured pace, I opened my window and waved my hand, indicating that they should pass me by. I wasn’t able to take their needs or schedules into account.
I drove as gently as I could, but for my mom, it was still jarring. For her, it was like being on a roller coaster. I was relieved when we pulled up to the house.
However, I didn’t have a plan for getting her out of the car and up the stairs.
Fortunately, it was the day after Thanksgiving, and the grandkids were still visiting.
My brother’s youngest child is James. He is a very tall and strong young man with a quiet demeanor and a generous heart. He did something incredible for his grandmother on this day.
James came outside to ask me how he could help. I explained to him the method I usually used to get my mom back into her room. I told him about how I usually set up a series of walkers and wheelchairs, allowing her to navigate the journey.
I told him that I didn’t think it would work this time. She didn’t have the strength to use the walker or to climb the steps. I told him that I was at a loss. I said that I didn’t know what to do next.
Sometimes, the events and situations of our life can feel insurmountable. We find ourselves unable to cope. We feel lost, scared and alone. Sometimes, the darkness starts pressing in, threatening to consume all of the light.
It is at those times that God sends angels.
On this day, last year, God sent an angel in James.
James went to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and said “Hi, Mama, how are you?”
Upon seeing her grandson, a huge smile grew on my mom’s exhausted, wrinkled, pain-withered face. In spite of the torture she had experienced, she was radiating love.
James gently took his grandmother into his arms and lifted her out of the car. He carried her along the walkway, through the doorway, and up the stairs. He gently placed her on her bed and covered her with a blanket. He asked her if she was comfortable.
He asked if there was anything else that she needed.
That was the last time my mom ever went up the stairs. She spent the remainder of her life in her bedroom. The rest of her days were spent in bed.
No more doctors. No more hospitals. No more tests.
She had managed to escape. She had gotten herself home.
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Many blessings upon James. Family is important.
There is going to be an avalanch of elder feminists and elder bachelors who declined the work of a family who will age out as singletons - lots of angels will be needed.
I think a home death is always better than a hospital death.
Hospitals are only for stabs, gunshots, and compound fractures.
Otherwise, self-treat, homeopath, chiropracter, chinese med, ayurveda, herbs.
The joy and misery all mixed together. Watching that act of kindness and love, knowing you are unable to do it yourself. Your poor mom. The pain overwhelms and blocks out the world around them, but every now and then they see through a crack. She saw James.