Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Non-Fiction > Moma's Last Illness
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1416 guests online and 15 members online |
Non-Fiction
| print friendly version | |
| Moma's Last Illness | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 26 February 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
As you probably know by now, I am getting together all my better previous writings to make into a sort of anthology for my kids - and this, of course, needs to be part of it. MOMA'S LAST ILLNESS On September 13, 1968, Philip, Stephanie and I were due to move to England, flying from Winnepeg Airport. Moma and Dad offered to give us a lift there. We stopped en route in Jamestown and had a big family party- Cousin Gerry, in uniform, on leave from the Viet Nam War, with his wife Jean and their adopted son Scott, were there, as well as all the usual Jamestown relatives. We left that late afternoon and found a motel near Grand Forks. Up until that time, Mom had not complained in any way or given any indication that I could see that she was not well. But now, as we were going to eat at a restaurant she said she felt sick, and didn't want to eat. So she stayed in the car with Stephanie, and when Stephanie started to cry, she somehow managed to reach her in her carry cot which was on the floor of the backseat and with her one good arm, (she’d had a stroke a few years before and had not fully recovered) to lift her up and rock her. We looked out of the restaurant window a few times during the meal to see if she was alright, and towards the end of the time, she did look a bit worried, so we finished our meal as quickly as we could to get back to the car. The next day, at the airport, other than still feeling somewhat sick, she didn't complain about anything. She was upset about our leaving - we all were rather emotional between worry and excitement. We had several hours to spare at the airport, so we walked around, sat around, just generally killed time, and on the pictures we took at that time, Moma looked healthy and quite normal. We spent the next two weeks in Guernsey with Philip's parents and although I'm sure I wrote home, we didn't get any mail from home. We took up residence at our new house in Ashton on October 1st. I'm sure I sent letters home telling all about what it looked like and the shops and surroundings, etc. but I don't remember having a letter from home until about October 10th. Dad said that Mom was in the hospital, and that she had been diagnosed as having kidney failure. He said that she had started getting really ill on the way back from the airport, and although they had intended to stop on the way back to visit with another cousin, Joan, they drove straight home. Her main complaint seemed to be terrible back ache, and feeling sick. But she refused to see a doctor. She asked Dad to get her a chiropractor, but when he came, he told them there was nothing he could do - that she had a medical problem. So eventually, she relented and saw a doctor, and was immediately admitted to St. Alexius Hospital. They started an IV drip right away, and that more or less cured the back ache. But the nausea and vomitting continued and she became very weak and depressed. I'm sure Dad didn't write all that in the letter to me, but he said enough of it, so that I knew that Moma was dying. I rang him the night I got the letter and asked if I should come home. He said that he had discussed the matter with the doctor, who felt that it was too soon. With her being so depressed, if we all started coming home, she would realize that she was dying, and lose all hope. So I stayed in England for another two weeks, writing home each day. About a week after that, I got another letter - this time from Mom and Dad. Tues. Oct. 16 Dear Jean, Philip & Stephanie, Things are looking up- I am beginning to feel better- One day last week I wrote a letter to Judy and meant to write to you too, but didn't make it. This has been such an awful illness. No danger of my talking about it - I don't like to even think of it. I was afraid week before last that I would not make it - but enuf of that. The bouquet of yellow and rust mums from Judy's family and your family are still nice and it is now two weeks old. Thank you so much. Yesterday, Marie Burger sent a bouquet of four apricot carnations and the rest white button mums - a very pretty arrangement. The Elks sent pink carnations and pink daisies but they have not lasted as well. The Clinic sent a basket of bitter sweet, straw flowers and bearded wheat (all dried) in the centre is a pheasant. The colors are beautiful it will look nice on the TV at home. I have lost my interest in soap operas but it will return. My roommate has the TV on from a.m. till midnight and I'm sick of it. Thank you for your very good and interesting letters. I am glad you are well. Hi to Phil - and a hug for Steph. Love, Mom. I'll add a note. Mom may come home Thurs. or Fri. Judy sent the letter from Stephanie to Chris. I'll send it back as I'm sure she'll keep it. Today has been cold. Feels like November. Love Dad." So I was thinking things were taking a turn for the better, when I got a phone call from Dad. He said the doctor had thought it was time for us to go home. He said she might live three days, or three weeks, but it was unlikely to be three months. It must have been on a weekday evening that that call came, about Oct. 23rd. The next day, Phil had to go to the bank to arrange a loan to pay for the plane ticket. Philip positively refused to let me take Stephanie back with me, because of the added risk of the flight, and the fact that the atmosphere in Bismarck would be so depressing, and also, so that I would be able to be of more use. I had been breast feeding her up until then, but we got in some formula, and Philip's mother happily agreed to come up to stay for awhile. So the following morning, Philip and Stephanie took me to Manchester airport, and then waited a few hours to collect his mother. I was very uncomfortable during the flight. We had bought me a breast pump, but it wasn't very efficient, and awkward to use. When I landed in New York, the customs man made some comment on whether I had anything to declare, or the purpose of my visit, and I said, "My mother is dying" and he rushed me through customs and immigration faster than any time before or since. When I flew into Bismarck, it was about 9:30 at night. Dad came to meet me. Judy and Chris were already at home. I asked if we would go to see Moma that night, but Dad said we would leave it until the morning, because she would be being settled for the night, and a visit late at night would worry her. So we drove to our house and I met Chris, my new niece. I would very happily have breast fed her, for both our sakes, but Judy felt that wouldn't be a good idea. Chris helped me from feeling too miserable about missing Stephanie, who was about four months old. Philip said he put my picture in Stephanie's bed and every night he talked to her about me. The next morning, I went to the hospital to see Moma. She looked so different. Her hair was lank and completely white, and she had lost so much weight. She just said, "Oh, Jeanie, I'm so glad to see you." She really didn't seem to have a lot of pain. She needed to be sick once in awhile, and she didn't like me seeing her vomit. She managed to get up to go to the bathroom without too much difficulty. I was amazed that she apparently urinated without any trouble, and commented on it, but she said it was just water. We talked about England and babies and all sort of things. I'd brought the newest pictures of Stephanie. But she tired early. She said she preferred short visits - a few times a day rather than having us with her all the time. I knew there was a special diet for patients in kidney failure, so I went to the diet office and asked them to make it up for her. I can't now remember much about it except it had cranberry juice as part of it. She said it was nice food and she managed to eat a bit, but I think it was only for a meal or two, and then she didn't really have much food. I think most food she ate came up, and she so much hated being sick, that she would rather not eat. But the actual being sick she said didn't have that awful acid taste that one associates with vomit. And there was never much that came up. After I had a half an hour or so visit, I went back home to take care of Chris, so Judy could go up for her visit. After a day or two, the doctor told Dad that it was a miracle in the amount of improvement Moma had shown mostly because she had rallied when we came home. She even was going out for walks in the corridor, and then one day, she fell. And she was both mortified and discouraged. She never tried to walk again. One day she said that she was so fed up with her hair. I asked the nurse if I could wash it for her, but she said no. So I got some dry shampoo and we brushed that in. She said it felt better, but I don't think it would be the same as a wash. One day she asked me to take her pajama bottoms home to wash because they were soiled. She was so embarrassed about it, and wouldn't dream of asking Dad to do it. The things we talked about over the next two weeks included how she wished she had visited people when they were ill before, because she so much wanted people to visit her now. I think Mary Diebert, a neighbour, was a fairly frequent visitor, and cousin Marilyn Berger. One weekend Uncle Cornel and his wife Maybelle came, and our aunt, Sister Rose Alma was there most weekends. Conrad Wald, whose wife, Dorothy, had been my mother’s best friend, who had died on the day of Judy’s wedding just over a year ago, refused to go to visit. He just couldn't do it. I think Mrs. Braus who introduced Mom to her first husband 40 years before, visited her. I have a feeling Edna Fitterer, the mother of one of Judy’s friends went. But I don't know who else. Sometimes we'd look through Christmas magazines with good recipes and decorating ideas she was set to try when she got home. I don't think she really realized how ill she was. When the hospital chaplain came to see her and gave her the last sacrament, she went overboard to explain to us that it didn't mean she was dying - he just did it for everyone and she thought it was a very nice service. One day I noticed Moma had her black leather handbag that Aunt Mary had given her. “Can I have that?” I asked, but quickly realised what my question implied and I added, “I’ll leave you mine, of course.” She made sure I knew that the last check in her check book was made out to me, so that if anything happened to her, it was for me to have that 50 dollars, and not Dad. I think she thought it would help with my expenses. I had told her we financed the flight by turning in my Forrester Insurance Policy, which pleased her, because during all those years of savings when she did without so that our insurance would be paid, she had said, “You might be pleased to have that money in an emergency.” Of course I was making it up as we had borrowed from the bank - but I preferred her to think we had no money problems. I did quite a lot of shopping and sewing for Chris and Stephanie, and Moma was always very interested in seeing what I'd bought and made. She was worried that I was staying too long, leaving my baby for too long, but I told her the ticket I had bought meant I couldn't go back before three weeks. That was a lie too. But I knew that no matter how long it took, I wouldn't be going home and leaving her. I had letters and phone calls from home - Philip always saying not to worry, everything was fine. But his mother and his grandmother were very keen that I should come back to England. His grandmother wrote to me that my obligations were now with my husband and child and I had to grow up and do my duty. Some such rubbish. I remember thinking I hope when she dies, she will be alone - and she was. I celebrated my 25th birthday at home, and also voted for the one and only time of my life (in America). One of the things I did for Moma was to answer her mail. She wanted me to write thank you notes to everyone who had sent flowers, and also to Rose, who had sent some homemade jam. I wrote it just as she quoted it to me, and the general impression of the letter was that she was just a little ill - nothing much to worry about. But then Rose called. She wanted to come and visit. Sister Rose Alma was staying with us that weekend, and she said Rose should not come. It would be too hard on both of them. So I gave that message, which Dad agreed with, but Rose never forgave me for not letting her come, and not even telling her how ill Moma was. Also about this time, Judy suddenly became very ill. She had a fever of 105º, and we called the doctor to come to the house that night about 10 p.m. He said it was a sort of flu - but I thought it was probably puerperal fever. She had antibiotics she had to take every four hours throughout the night- so I had to set an alarm to get up to give her the 4 a.m. tablet. She was cold, but the doctor said she must have ice packs, and only a sheet. It seemed so mean but I had never before or since seen anyone with that high a fever. She had to stay away from Chris, and also from the hospital. We told Moma she had a bad cold. Larry came each weekend, and I remember how stupid I felt tiptoeing into the bedroom when he was there, to give Judy her early morning tablet. I think after about three days she was well enough to go about seeing to Chris and visiting Moma as normal. One thing we did was to take Chris to the doctor to see about her injections- Doctor Smeenk, he was, a Dutchman. I also asked him how my baby would be coping without me, and he said I would miss her more than she missed me, and that the best thing for me was to take care of Chris a lot of the time. About two weeks into my visit, my other sister, Kathleen, came. This was again according to Dad's plan. He felt that everyone shouldn't come at once, but I always felt bad because by the time Kathy came, Moma was starting to go downhill again. She was more tired and lethargic and perhaps she had given up. Kathy stayed about a week. Shortly after she left, Moma went into a coma. We suggested to Dad that the IV's should be discontinued. We remembered Moma telling us when her sister Ceal died, that she didn’t ever want her life continued artificially. Dad wasn't sure, so went to talk to Msgr. Feehan about it, who said that it would be wrong to deny her the chance of a miracle. Shortly after that, dad was requested by the medical people to allow them to try an experimental drug on her. It might help, or might do nothing - but with miracles still on our minds, dad. after consulting with us, agreed,so she was given the drug in her IV. That whole day she didn't regain consciousness, but when I went to the hospital the next morning, I was amazed. She was wide awake and alert. But she was in terrible distress. “Oh, Jeanie,” she said, “they tied me up.” And I pulled the covers back to see her hands were tied to the sides of the bed with elastic bandages. I rushed out to the desk and demanded to know what was going on, and the nurse apologized and came and untied them. She said that when Moma had regained consciousness, she was confused and kept wanting to get up and tried to pull out all her tubes, so they felt they had no choice. They could have rung us. We could have stayed at night with her. Why didn't we? Lots of other people keep a vigil with their dying relatives - but the hospital staff said it was unnecessary and they would call us if anything happened. Only they didn't- and this dreadful thing had happened. Moma was angry - angry with all of us. We had all let her down. She wanted to go home, and I wouldn't take her. I said, “Moma don't you know, why you are here, and that you must be here?” She said, “If I'm going to die, I don't see why I can't die in my own chair in front of my own TV.” She asked me to call a cab to take her home. And she asked me to get her girdle from the closet so she could get dressed. I was so unsure of how to handle the situation - eventually I told her I'd go home so Judy could come, and that we'd see whether we could get her home. She promised not to try to go on her own. I raced home, and Judy was on the phone talking to the Swensons, the parents of an old boyfriend of hers. She went on and on, and I was in tears needing to talk to her. Finally she hung up, and I just broke down and sobbed. It was like Moma had already died. And Judy didn't seem to get the full horror of the situation. She eventually went to the hospital, and later on came home and I went again. Mom had calmed down a bit, and didn't insist on coming home any longer, but she wasn't happy with us. She wanted to talk to dad, and said he was probably at the Elks as usual, when he wasn't there for visiting hours. Do you know where he was? - buying the burial plot. Msgr. Feehan had told him it was far better to get it over ahead of time. And so how could we tell her where he was? My instinct is that this day of alertness was just that - one day. If she had still been alert that night, I'm sure we would have stayed with her, or at least insisted that the hospital not tie her up again. I remember asking her if she wanted to see the priest again. She said, "Whatever for?” and was angry with me for suggesting it. So I'm assuming that she went back into a coma that evening, and that she was never fully conscious again. On Sunday, when we went to visit her after church, she was bleeding from the nose and mouth, little splatters of blood. Her brother, Jack, and his wife, Ceal, were at the door asking to come in to see her, and without a moment's hesitation I said, “No, you can't come in.” They left, hurt and bewildered, no doubt, but it was a decision that I made almost intuitively - knowing that Moma wouldn’t want Ceal seeing her like that. Dad was upset with me when I told him about it later, and called them and said of course they could visit her. He said to me, “After all, he is her brother. He has a right to see her. What if you were dying and your family wouldn't let Judy see you?" But they didn't come back although Marilyn, their daughter did. I didn’t mind Marilyn being there - as Moma liked her. At some stage in that long afternoon, Moma woke up slightly and said, “Mary” a few times. Sister Rose Alma was sure she was dreaming about their sister, Mary, who had died a few years previously, who was always around when there was somebody sick. Judy and I sat watching her in the coma, feeling so useless, not knowing what to do. I wondered if we could give her some candy - but we decided it would probably choke her. Her lips were so dry. We should have wet a sponge and kept them moist, but we didn't think of it. Some nun came in and talked about her as if she was already dead. I was so mad, because I knew that people in comas can still hear. Hearing is almost the last sense to go. We went home again that night, and the staff had instructions to ring if something happened. The phone rang about 4 a.m. Dad answered and said he'd be right there. I went with him, but Judy had to stay home with Chris. Moma looked just like she had done previously, but she was breathing slower. It seemed as if there was a minute between each deep breath. I went up and took her hand and said, “We're here Moma. Dad and I are here.” And then I went out to ask the nurse if we could smoke in the room. She said it was okay as there was no oxygen. When I got back, we just sat there, not smoking after all. After about half an hour she made one last rattly breath, and that was it. We called the nurses, who confirmed that there was no blood pressure. I called Judy and told her it was all over. They then called a nun whose job was to pray for the newly dead, and she looked so tired and resentful when she came to do her job. I felt relief. I sort of felt released - and I day-dreamed that Moma's soul was floating out the door and up to heaven. I gave dad a hug, but neither of us cried. The nurse gave us her things and we drove home. It was about six by then, and Dad thought he'd like to go to early Mass. So I stayed up with him, and went with him, but as he pulled out of the driveway, he drove into the car opposite - the Schwitzers. He went to their door and apologized and explained the circumstances. Then we went to church, and afterwards, Dad talked to Msgr. Feehan. Then we went home. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Braus came over to ask how Moma was. “She's dead,” we said, “she died this morning.” And she broke into tears. I still hadn’t cried. Lots of friends and neighbors brought food to the house. Dad had us take a box of chocolates for the nurses who had cared for Mom. I didn't want any to go to the nurse who tied her up, but didn't say anything. Our friends from Hall’s Funeral Home arranged the funeral. They asked for a dress for her, and we sent the one she'd worn for our weddings - a beige one with lace inserts. The funeral home gave her a corsage, but it was red - and her lipstick was the wrong color, and she didn't look right at all. We had called all the relatives, and they began arriving. Aunt Rose went to the Rosary at the funeral home, and when she went up to view the body, she said, “I don't care how nice she looks. I just want her to look at me and say Hi.” I felt so guilty then that I'd been the reason she hadn't had that chance. I remember that Aunt Leona and Bud were just behind us. Leona was crying. I went back to her, and gave her a hug. I don't know why I did that. She had her husband there. But I just did it. Another of those compulsions. Then the next day, the funeral. Msgr. Feehan took the service, but he gave such a disappointing little sermon. He said when she was a teacher she always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. And that’s about all he said. It was true but it wasn't enough. After the burial, we went to the KC's for lunch. I remember smiling and chatting with people from the clinic and relatives and wondering why I was being so happy and cheerful. I thought I should be mournful and crying, but that wasn't how I felt. The next day I flew home. My baby had grown into a huge lump in my absence, (not knowing how much milk she had been getting from me, they gave her an 8 ounce bottle every four hours night and day) and I hardly knew her, and she certainly didn't know me. That was when I really cried. Shortly after I arrived home, I had two letters, from Dad and Judy. "Saturday, Nov. 23, 3 pm, Dear Jean, Philip & Stephanie, Jean, we were glad to get the telegram and know you arrived safely. Jean, I can never express how much it meant to me and I'm sure to Judy and your mother to have you leave your husband and daughter and be here. I personally would have had a bad time if I hadn't had you girls here. Philip - I received your letter of sympathy this a.m. and appreciate your feeling. To you I also owe many thanks for making it possible for Jean to be here. I know it was hard for her to be away from the baby but she had full confidence that you would take care of everything along with your mother. Thanks for letting us have Jean for a month. To all - cards and letters have been and still will be pouring in. I was going to list those since you left, but I'll wait several days as there will be more and I'll need lots of space. The weather has still been beautiful. Had 1/2 inch of rain early this a.m. Had it been cold it would have been 6" snow. I'll have to watch the weather forecast before I decide for sure on Foley for Thanksgiving. I'm going now to St. Alexius now and give Fr. Amandeus some of the mass offerings. Well. I'll write often. Love to all, Dad." And one from Judy Monday 25th Nov. Dear Jeanie, It's 10:25 and I'm listening to the most beautiful album I've ever heard - Mormon Tabernacle "The Spirit of Christmas" - wish I'd bought it for you. Of course every other song reminds me of Mom and how she'd love this album. The last couple of days it's really hit me that Mom is gone forever. And certainly I shouldn't be emphasizing that terrible fact to you, but I feel so awful and I know you're going through the same thing. This letter will be strange to read because for every sentence I write seven others go through my mind. I keep thinking of the special relationship we had with Mom. Mrs. Boesphflug (neighbour) said, "Do you know what you have lost?" God! How well we know! The last month is a dream, a nightmare, an unreal something to be experience again only in dreams. But home will never be the same home again. And I listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Moma hears the angels themselves. All of a sudden afterlife is the most important thing. What we learned 20 years ago, but if Christ has fooled us - which is a stupid thing to think, let alone write, but I'd never forgive Him. Why can't I accept death. I look at Chris and think "a new generation to replace the old." But Moma wasn't old. Moma wasn't supposed to die! But "It's God’s will," Mr. Boesphflug ejaculated after every grief stricken comment. So now I'm feeling sorry for myself, I suppose and I keep thinking of Christ’s, “Weep not for me, but for yourselves and for your children.” And I weep for our loss and for Stephanie and Chris who will never know our Mom. And for poor Dad. Thank God he's much more a person, much stronger than I. Don't answer this letter. It's a selfish sort of letter. And I feel much better for having written it. And I'm listening to a Handel-type Gloria. Love, Judy."
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
I don't think I could write about such situations...
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|