It’s been almost 11 years, and I don’t know that I’ve ever missed you more than I do right now. I’m writing this in a chair beside Mom’s hospital bed. She’s been in the hospital for four days, as I suppose you know, and she doesn’t seem to be improving yet. In fact, there’s been a new complication every day. I sure wish I could ask you what to do.
She’s having trouble eating. She ate pretty well on Saturday (after two days of keeping down nothing but liquids), but on Sunday she had no appetite at all and had to make an effort to take a few bites. A couple of times she muttered wearily, “Gotta eat to stay alive.” It reminded me of the last year or so of your life, when you had to take in all liquids through a feeding tube because otherwise you aspirated into your lungs, and how you used to talk about all the hours you spent in a day “just staying alive.” I remember when you asked me to find that Bee Gees song, and I decided to make you a whole CD of music I thought you’d like, including “Stayin’ Alive”… but I didn’t finish it in time. Sorry about that, Pops.
Anyway, back to Mom. She ate almost nothing yesterday, and when I was there at dinner I discovered that the issue was more than having no appetite or feeling too tired to make the effort. She couldn’t seem to remember HOW to eat. She let me spoon feed her a little bit of pudding and I think that was all she ate all day except for a Boost shake at lunch. This morning I fed her breakfast and she actually seemed interested in the food for the first time, telling me “Now the applesauce” or “Give me a bite of that yogurt.” But when she tried to feed herself, she was missing her mouth and dribbling food down her chin. What does this mean, Dad? Is it going to get better, or is this where we are now?
I wish you could tell me what it means that Mom is “dreaming with [her] eyes open” and talking to people who aren’t here. A couple of times she’s seen someone in the room. I don’t know if it’s just the multiple infections, or a side effect of one of the many medications, or if she’s starting to see between the worlds. She hasn’t mentioned seeing anyone who I know to be on your side of the veil yet, which is a comfort to me. I’m not quite ready to let her go. You’ll have to wait a little longer for your dance partner, OK?
* * * *
LATER: I put this aside to help Mom, and then they brought her dinner tray. I started feeding her some mashed potatoes and gravy, and after a couple of bites she said, “Let me feed myself!” She moved slowly and a little clumsily, but she didn’t miss her mouth this time. She ate some mashed potato, a couple bites of the fish (too tough), some applesauce and some pudding. And when she’d eaten all she could, she actually picked up the word search puzzle book I brought her for the first time. She didn’t do more than flip through the pages and put it down again, but it’s an improvement. I feel much more hopeful than I did a few hours ago. If you had anything to do with that, Dad, thank you.
One more thing, Dad… I wish I could have seen your reaction to the smug know-it-all hospitalist, though I’m pretty sure I know what it would have been. His behavior was just like the surgeons you used to complain about at the dinner table back when you were an anesthesiologist. I wanted you here to put him in his place when he was so condescending and dismissive to the nurse who had been so wonderful with Mom. No wonder the nurses at Franciscan appreciated you so much.
I have to get some sleep now. Thanks for keeping an eye on Mom. I love you.