Losing Grandma, Part 2

When we got to the hospital yesterday, my grandma was in ICU & they initially said only 2 people could visit her at a time, and then they allowed my husband in also.  My grandmother was totally unconscious, IVs in both arms, breathing tube in, monitors hooked to everything.  She actually didn't LOOK bad--she wasn't blue around the lips or nails, her face wasn't sunken in, her eyes were still prominent.  But she was completely unresponsive.  Her hands were very cold, not death cold but close, and stayed however I molded her fingers.  Although the doctor had called my cell phone earlier (while I was in Stop and Shop), saying he wanted a "family meeting" no such meeting really took place.  People in scrubs (doctors, nurses, PA, who knows) wandered in and out and some of them spoke to us.  The bottom line was that the bleed in my grandma's brain was pretty much total.  She wasn't quite brain dead, but only a step above.  There was absolutely no hope of recovery.  Even though all that was true, they had still brought in a neurosurgeon to consult on the case.  My mom put the kabosh on that, she's almost 94 and nearly brain-dead, don't go messing around in her head at this point.
I have a theory on what happened that night.  I think that she had the stroke early in the night, maybe midnight.  My mom said she was partway across the bed; perhaps she was getting up to use the bathroom (which she normally did between 11 and midnight) and had the stroke then, silently.  She lay there unconscious or unable to call for help until the bleed spread so far it impacted her breathing, which woke my mom up around 3:30.  Ironically, across town, I was awake too, sick as a dog, not even thinking of my grandma, just searching for medicine.  Perhaps if it had happened Sunday at the dinner table, we could have saved her.  We'll never know.
I thought that "pulling the plug" on someone would be an involved process involving paperwork and possibly lawyers or people in suits at any rate, lots of "are you sures" (like when you delete a file from your computer).  But my mom said, "We want to remove the breathing tube," and the (person in scrubs) only nodded and then immediately starting unhooking everything. Very nonchalant.  I kinda freaked out.  I found out they'd had no priest give her last rites and now they were unplugging her like she was a toaster.  I didn't like that.
They unplugged everything but the tube and found the hospital chaplain, a lovely little woman who told us that a priest had actually been there until 1:30 but due to the time my grandma came in she hadn't been on the list.  I have no idea if they got her a priest in time, but the chaplain said she had a prayer just for unhooking machines.  She brought her assistant and gave us copies and we all read it aloud.  It had the "my father's mansion has many rooms" Bible bit and the 23d Psalm, which I love, but it was the new-school version, which I don't like much.  Give me King James any day for that solemn stuff.  There was a part about "enlightening the pagans" which did make me grin and nudge my husband when I said it (being that we're pagans).
The person who brought in the respiratory therapist to actually unhook the breathing tube said her guess was that my grandmother wouldn't die instantly.  I tended to agree.  She was unhooked at 3:50 p.m.  Immediately her breathing became loud and labored, her shoulders were lifting with each breath.  Her oxygen saturation with the tube had only been around 70 so I can't imagine it was any better breathing on her own.
We stayed until 4:30 and there was no change.  But it was clear to me that my grandma wasn't there anymore.  She was actually even more gone than my dad had been--at least he would squeeze my hand once in a while, and when I brought the dog and put his hand on the dog, he'd pet him.
And of course it was awful for my mom.  Although my dad wasn't on machines, we did have to make decisions that were, in essence "kill him" and saying "take out the tube" is the same order.  It's only been 4 1/2 years since we went through all this with my dad.  My grandma's mother lived to be 99 and we kinda expected, in our hearts, for her to follow that path.
Then again, she refused to take her blood pressure medicine.  This summer the doctor told her right out that her next stroke would kill her or put her in a nursing home and my grandma said "I don't care" so she got her wish right?
We went to my mom's house.  My husband's mom came by with a bag of Chinese food (we couldn't go out to eat--it was Valentine's Day, remember!) and we sat around with cell phones and made calls, leaving the house phone open for call-backs.  My grandmother's last living brother was devastated.  I really think my mom should have called him at 6 a.m. when she originally got home from the hospital and not waited 12 hours.  Yes, he's in California with a time difference but maybe he would have wanted to hop a plane and get there before we pulled the plug?  That's one thing I don't agree with how my mom handled it.  He called back, begging my mom "Are you sure she can't get better?  Maybe she'll wake up."  No one wants their sister to die even if she's 93.  Since we couldn't tell him when she would die, or when the funeral would be, he decided to come Thursday through Tuesday.
We left my mom's house around 7 and I crashed.  I am so sick.  My ear infection has spread to my sinuses and the pressure and pain across my face is unreal.  I need about 2 days in bed with a bottle of Nyquil and it's not going to happen.
My mom had already taken a shower and gotten ready for bed when my grandmother's sister in law (her baby brother's wife) and her 3 daughters showed up after visiting the hospital.  My aunt was insistent that my grandmother "looked good and was breathing fine".  (She's a great one for denial, when her husband was dying of a brain tumor a few years ago she kept saying he was getting better.)  Her daughters contradicted her.
I woke up at 2:04 a.m. and unlike the night before, I knew.  I looked around, closed my eyes and felt around, but I couldn't feel her.  I took more medicine, went to sleep again, and wasn't surprised when my mom called at 6 a.m. to say the hospital  called her at 2:20.  But like me, she had already been awake.  I think 2:04 was when she actually passed.
We had an 11 a.m. appointment at the funeral home which went well because my grandma had paid for everything in 1997 and laid out exactly what she wanted.  All we had to do was update her obituary and pick out her prayer card.  Plus that funeral home has handled everyone in my mom's family forever; he's a friend of the family as well as the funeral director.  He made it very easy.  I had some pictures of my grandma on my cell phone and he picked which ones to use for make-up and agreed with our choice for her obituary (the one I used above).  The funeral is Friday, no wake the night before, no church, everything at the funeral home.  My grandma even paid for a limo.
We picked a local restaurant to host the after-funeral gathering (my mom's dog is too crazy and her house too small, as we found out when my dad died) and spent an hour there (and $800) planning that.  Another $800 on flowers and then we all went home until Friday, and I crashed again, and woke up to have some soup and write this.
I've always noticed that my grandma, my mom and I have (had) the same hands. I didn't have my phone with me on Sunday and I decided to take the "3 hands" picture on Friday when we all went out for grandma's birthday.  Well we're all going out on Friday for lunch, but it's nothing like we planned! (The chaplain suggested wryly when we told her about the Friday birthday lunch, "Obviously Lena made other plans for that day!")  I had to take the 3 hands picture with an essentially dead grandma.  But I got it.  I have no children.  Never again will these hands grace the world once my mom and I are gone.

losing grandma, part 1

I was awake at 3 a.m. and beyond this morning.  I was sick, I've got a cold and an ear infection.  First thing this morning I rescheduled the cats' vet appointment so I could stay home all day and just be sick in bed.  (And I called the doctor about my ear.)  Moments later, my mom called me.  She said she had "bad news" and I knew it was death but I thought it was the dog or cat or some distant relative (last summer, for instance, one of my second cousins went on a "vision quest" and was found dead under a tree three weeks later with an uneaten banana and a bottle of water, and a few years ago my mom's cousin was a Memorial Day weekend motorcycle fatality statistic).
But no, not so distant. Apparently around 3:30 (as I was lying awake plotting my sick day), my mom was woken up by "a god-awful noise" coming from my grandmother's room, like a rattling gasping for breath.  When she went in, my grandmother was unresponsive with fixed eyes.  She called 911 and the fire department intubated (sp?) her and brought her to the hospital.
Grandma had a "massive stroke"--the one the doctors had been warning her would happen if she didn't take her blood pressure medicine.  Of course she always laughed them off and went right on taking 1/4 of a pill instead of whatever her real dosage was.  She'd had a minor stroke a while back and my mom called me out of work and it ended up being nothing that serious (that was when she moved in with my mom, 4 1/2 years ago, right before my dad died).
But this one, yeah, this is it.  My mom told me right out at 8 this morning "she's not going to make it this time."  She's on a respirator.  If the EMTs hadn't put the tube in her she'd be dead already.  They did a  scan of her brain and it's massive bleeding everywhere (like my dad after he hit his head) no chance of recovery. I don't want a vegetable for a grandma.  I had one for a dad and I didn't like it one bit.
I called the funeral home and had them pull the paperwork for my grandma's prepaid funeral (from 1987 when her husband died)--why my mom couldn't think to do that, I don't know, but they appreciated the heads-up.  I don't know if my mom has called my grandma's brother or sister-in-law.  I told my godmother (my grandma's niece).
I just never know what to do while in death limbo.  Call everyone and say "she's gonna die" and then tomorrow or the next day call and say "she died"?  Wait until she's dead?  What if her brother wants to come from California to say goodbye?  What about the few friends she has left?  I'm not good with complex thinking when I'm sick with some kind of hideous flu.  I suppose I have to write the obituary too.  It's all I can do to compose this post, obit will have to wait.
My mom has grandma on a DNR, obviously--she's 93 (her 94th birthday is this weekend; the picture above is from last year's party).  But right now the ventilator is keeping her alive.  Her heart is strong and healthy but the doctors don't know if she'll keep breathing without the tubes or just die.  So that's what I get to do this afternoon, go and pull the plug on my grandma and watch her die. 
Happy Valentine's day to my family, right?  My dad died on Thanksgiving, and my grandpa, great grandpa and great grandma all died within days of my birthday.  My  husband's grandmas both died around his birthday (one actually ON the day).  So why not ruin Valentine's day with a death anniversary too? 
I need to think more positively, but right now I can't.  The doctors say she's not in pain.  She's simply  not there anymore.  Hopefully she won't linger and suffer like my dad did (and he suffered--there was no lying to me and saying "he's not in pain" even though he was a vegetable; he moaned and thrashed like an animal in a trap).  I didn't get to say goodbye to her properly but really, that's rare.  When someone is hanging on forever like my dad, you never know when the last time will be to say it, and the flip side is the immediate and quick death with no time for the last time.  If that makes any sense.  She lived to be, essentially, 94.  She had no dementia, no cancer, no ill-health other than arthritis and high blood pressure.  She could walk (slowly) and talk (just fine) until the end. Most people would be happy with that kind of life.
Sunday night, in fact, she was in a really good mood.  We were playing a word game and my mom took a spot where my grandmother wanted to put her word and my grandma was sassing her and we were all laughing.  We were planning on where to take her for her birthday (Red Lobster, for lunch, on Friday).  Now it's more likely that on Friday we'll be eating an after-funeral meal instead.
Bye, Grandma.  I love you.  I'll miss you.  Say hi to Dad & Grandpa for me when you get to the Elsewhere Bar.

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A place to say goodbye, or hello

I was stuck at a red light the other day, right next to a cemetery, and several of the graves had little American flags on them.  I started to wonder if my dad was eligible for a flag.  He got a medical discharge out of the Air Force.  I know he wasn't in long enough to get any benefits.  Does a flag count as a benefit?
But it's a moot question, cuz my dad doesn't have a grave.
I guess when I decided to cremate him I wasn't thinking about that.  When I worked around the corner from the cemetery where my grandpa is buried, I used to get a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's and then sit on his grave and eat it.  Then I'd go back to work and say that I had lunch with my grandfather.  It didn't make me feel CLOSER to him (although I physically was), it just seemed like the right thing to do.  I only worked there a couple of months and I haven't been back to "visit" my grandpa since.  I have to wonder what state his gravestone is, since I don't think my mom's been there to clean around it or plant flowers and obviously my grandma hasn't driven anywhere in 4 years.
Of course, visiting my father is easy.  His ashes are at my mom's.  She'd probably let me borrow them if I asked.  I guess technically every time I eat at mom's, I'm having dinner with dad like I had lunch with grandpa--he's only on the other side of the wall from the dining room.
But it's weird not to have a GRAVE, with that ponderous gray stone that distills a life into 10 words or less (name, dates, maybe a "beloved father and husband" inscription).  The ceremony at the grave site, well those are always terrible and I'm not sad we didn't have one (I'd have been a lot sadder if we had, if you know what I mean).  Everyone I know who died has a grave.  Except my dad.   Does that mean I don't love him?  I could spend all my money and buy a plot and pay a backhoe to excavate a hole and put his pretty green stone box underground and put up a big ugly gray stone to tell everywhere were the pretty box is hidden.  That seems silly.  My mom wants the box buried with her.  Fine with me, but I'm keeping a spoonful or two of dad so he can be in the coral reef with me.  Because I know how much my dad loved nature and he'd think being a coral reef was awesome.  And although no one would ever actually do it for me, I think it's pretty cool that to visit a coral reef grave, you have to scuba dive.  "Going to visit my dad, gotta get my tanks filled." The big blue sea, the immense green ocean, becomes your gray stone.

Then again, whether you believe in life after death, or the Elsewhere Bar, or that life is a candle that just gets snuffed out at the end, everlasting life is really when people who are still alive remember you.  If you're a fan of Terry Pratchett, the British author whose battle with Alzheimer's started exactly when my dad's ended, you might have read his book Small Gods (it's pretty stand-alone if you're not a Discworld reader).  It's about a bunch of gods who no one worships anymore, because no one remembers them.  That's what happens eventually to people I guess, no one is alive who remembers you and you fade away.  But I've written all this and as long as Blogger is online, even if I die today, people will read my blog and remember my dad.  And maybe me.  So this blog serves, I guess, as my dad's big gray stone, a place to visit him and say hello.  Because he's here, somewhere.