Sad News to Start the Holidays · 5:13pm Dec 8th, 2019
As I type this, one of my aunts (who is also my Godmother) is in hospice care. Everyone knows, including her doctors, that she won't get better. It's a question of when, not if. It is as we feared: the cancerous tumor they had to remove from her brain didn't get her, but the side effects of the post-op chemo/radiation did. Long story short, the treatment compromised her already weak immune system and she contracted a type of fungal pneumonia. This is different than the normal pneumonia we think of, and is really only contracted when your immune system is weak - which makes cancer patients ripe targets, unfortunately.
Pair that with an 80+ year old with a number of pre-existing conditions (blood pressure, etc), and it's just too much. We know we'll be booking last minute flights in the next few weeks. We're just trying to go on about daily stuff, waiting for the phone to ring again to tell us when.
My aunt lived a good life. Oldest of three (my mom's the youngest) to two people who were wonderful grandparents to me, and good parents to their three daughters. My aunt married young, but ended up raising a good family of her own. Christmas at her house was always the "fun dinner" for me, because all the grandkids and nieces/nephews knew they could cut loose there. My aunt's house had a pool table, some pinball machines, and my Uncle (her husband) always had some new electronic gizmo for us to play with. My aunt's killer oyster-artichoke soup was just the icing on the cake. :)
Yet here we are, waiting for the inevitable. No one wants her to go but we don't want to see her like this either, unable to speak or eat much, doped up on pain meds to keep her comfortable.
And that's another thing - hospice care. Had she gone to in-hospital hospice, they'd still be doing 24/7 monitoring on her, though not much more in terms or trying to reverse the irreversible. But insurance rules say she has 5 days max there, then the hospital would have to send her home. (read: well, you didn't shuffle off fast enough, so go home). Of course her doctors know sending her home is even riskier, but they can't overrule the insurance gods. So the solution: off-premises hospice, where she can be as long as needed. Only drawback: in this setup a minimum of care is given and that's it. No meds other than pain killers, basic food/fluids if needed, and *some* hygiene. That's it.
Throughout this, her doctors have been huge allies and advocates for her, so we've no complaints there. And I guess the hospital didn't necessarily do anything wrong either. But you got the sense that they were half into logistical mode, quietly wishing for the family to make a decision so they can turn the room for someone else. Then you get to the hospice site and... damn what even is this anyway? It's like the reaper's babysitters or something. They just sit around and keep everyone doped up until they get both feet out the door and then they page ol' Grim I guess.
I know I'm just rambling now, but I need to offload these thoughts somewhere I guess.
Just... makes you think. Maybe. We go through life and try to make the best of it we can, and when we reach the end we're likely to find ourselves in a strange bed in a strange room - assuming we can even think clearly through all the pain meds they've pushed into you to make you comfy while the clock ticks away. Is this the cruel joke part of life, and we just don't encounter it until the end? Our reward - even for someone who may have led the most loving and virtuous life possible - is enough pain meds to knock out a horse so we're too sleepy to even try to grasp those fleeting sands of time? Then again, the alternative is to be writhing in pain while one/many diseases or conditions tear us apart from the inside.
Gee, what a Sophie's choice: Drug-induced silence or pain-filled agony. Choose one - assuming you're able to choose for yourself at that point of course.
Why am I even having this train of thought now? I've lost family members before. Other aunts/uncles, and all of my grandparents. Maybe... maybe it's because I'm pretty close to 40, so that mid-life crisis is clawing at me too. Perhaps. I don't know. It's just... sobering. Mentally gutting too, like it flairs up a pit in your soul that you try not to think about every day.
I guess all of this typing never really went anywhere. My apologies to everyone for dumping world salad on you. Guess I just needed to vent a bit.
*hugs all 500+ of you*
-GMP
*Hugs*
Let me start by saying im so sorry for you losing this wonderful person from your life. I do hope the fond memories that you have will help you through the pain you are feeling and all that which you must face in the future. I've been there; I know it's awful.
But remember, Moff that we are all here for you. When you need to talk or vent, I'll be here...and so will many more, I'm sure.
Please take care of yourself and your family. If you need anything, let us know.
Harmony be with you.
You have nothing to be sorry for regarding your 'rant.' You're in the stage that we call 'pre-death grieving.' My father passed away from a stroke when I was 19, and I was in the same position. He was 55 and passed away in the Neuro-ICU.
I've seen hospice care facilities—my great-aunt and uncle both ended up in one—and you're absolutely right about them. Sometimes it gets to a point where you ask yourself if them being in a facility is just worse for them when they could be at home spending their remaining time with their family (especially when money/insurance is an issue, which is always unfortunate). If they can't make it themselves, you need to make the decision for them, based on what they may have said in the past.
For example: my father's aunt had a stroke many, many years ago and was basically non-functional, and her daughter took care of her 24/7. Whenever we saw her—and this was even like, 5+ years before he passed—my father always said, "I never want to be in that kind of situation." So when the doctors told us that would be his only option if he survived an operation with a high risk, we already knew he wouldn't have wanted that, so we all said our goodbyes and allowed the doctors to turn off the life support and donate his organs. One of his kidneys and both of his corneas were donated to very grateful recipients, though the rest of his organs weren't viable. Even your aunt's organs could possibly be donated if you're willing—there are some older folks out there that would be happy to get an organ their age that could last them another few years with their families. I had a gentleman in the room next to me when I was waiting for my second heart transplant that was in his late 70s, and he ended up with one.
Apologies for going on my own rant. My sincerest condolences to you and your family. If you ever want to talk to somebody, I'm here, as I'm sure many others will be as well.
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*hugs* Many thanks to you both. Means a lot right now, and always. :)
A long distance hug to you, chum. It's rough, but all you can do is keep putting that next foot forward.
You ever need to talk, you know I'm here for ya.
Damn, I'm sorry mate, I hope you can all pull through this troubling time together. Best wishes from CA.
Solidarity, Moff. I hope your aunt passes in peace and with dignity. Hope you feel a bit better having gotten that off your chest.