Nancy May, Eldercare Success: Hospice round three.

Or should I say two and a half?

I slept with mom.

Right to the very end.

What happened next?

This is Nancy May, and yes, hospice is a difficult time for all of us.

And as I said earlier, I'd been through this, well, at least

one and a half times before.

Mom was a little different than Dad, because we always talked, well, maybe

not always talked, But throughout the course of life, Mom did talk

about what her final wishes would be.

And those were If I get to be a vegetable, shoot me.

Okay, at one point I did try and shoot a pumpkin off a stump in the backfield

But I think that's a different story

In any case, those of you who have not gone through hospice, please

understand that every experience with a parent or loved one will

be different, slightly or extreme.

mom's cases, was quite different than dad's.

Mom had signs of dementia,

Moderate dementia, I would say, not severe.

She always knew who I was and always smiled.

And I could hear the smile in her voice.

every time I called.

Love you, Mom.

Love you, too.

Mwah, mwah, mwah, mwah.

We'd always say at the end of a call.

I had been down to Florida to visit the week before for her birthday.

It was her 91st.

We all had a blast.

Mom, the aides, their families, babies, everybody was involved.

And, I have pictures to prove that as well.

my sister was going to come down the week after, as it was her

birthday the day after Mom's.

And she wanted time with her family.

I can't blame her for that.

The following week was Thanksgiving.

Mom had been just a little bit more tired and listless than normal.

and Millie, my lead aide, kept me on top of everything

that was going on, as always.

The day before Thanksgiving, Mom seemed to be a little bit more out of it.

And she called the doctor.

The doctor said, Oh, I'm sure she's just fine.

Just give her a shower and she'll perk up.

Well, that did not happen.

Thanksgiving day rolled along and she was totally listless.

Limp, I'd almost say.

Millie called me and said, In the morning, I'd like to take

your mom to the emergency room.

Is that okay with you?

her daughter, nurse Sarah, had been in that afternoon to check on mom and

said That was probably a good idea.

I always trusted Millie's judgment implicitly because she was

hands-on and I was 1200 miles away.

So, my response was, of course, please take her in and

let me know what's going on.

She did.

Early the next morning, Millie called 911 because Mom was not getting any better.

In fact, she was getting worse.

As she arrived at the hospital, they realized that something was

definitely off, although they couldn't pinpoint what it was.

After a full exam and a CAT scan, they realized that mom had a

slow bleed going on in her brain.

Shortly thereafter, and thankfully while in the ER with Millie at her

side, and a nurse right there as well, Mom had a full brain aneurysm.

By this point, Millie was in total hysterics.

And the nurse said, you've got to call her daughter immediately

and tell her what's going on.

the attachment that mom and dad and Millie had were pretty strong.

I'd say she's as close to family as you can get without sharing DNA.

Using her phone, the nurse called me and explained exactly what was going

on and that they were planning to medevac mom out for a brain surgery.

Absolutely not.

Not quite knowing what to do, other than to say, I'll be down there immediately.

The nurse said, I don't think she's going to make the hour.

Oof, what do you do?

well, I held my breath, closed my eyes, said a little prayer, and said, Mom,

hang on, I'll be there as soon as I can.

I kept in touch with Millie throughout that day to see what was going on.

Mom was hanging on And waiting for us, I'm pretty sure.

Since it was too late to get to the hospital, my sister and I

arrived first thing in the morning.

The ER doctor came into mom's room gave us a consult of what was going on.

and then to my surprise, yelled at my lead aid, Millie, and said, this

is what happens when you take your patients off blood pressure meds.

Without missing a beat, Millie explained that this was not the case, that her

doctor, her primary care doctor, who was a colleague of this one who came

in to tell us what was happening, had taken her off those pills.

the look on his face was startling and he immediately shut up.

At that point, my sister and I entered her room.

My mom looked ashen.

Really, I mean, gray.

I have never been able to describe it any other way.

and her face just seems kind of slumped.

Heartbroken, as you can imagine, but knowing where we were at this

point in time, I held her hand and said, Hey Mom, it's Nance.

She opened her eyes, smiled, and closed them again.

Then my sister, tears in her eyes, barely able to get the words

out, said, Hey Mom, it's Cynd.

She opened her eyes, smiled, and closed them.

those were the last two times we saw her mom open her eyes.

Within minutes, we made the decision to yes, accept hospice care.

And mom came home.

Home to her house, and her bed, and to us.

Not knowing how long this process would take, but we

knew we were on our final days.

Mom lasted for ten excruciating days.

No water, no food, no noise, nothing.

She just lay there in bed.

but our two remaining aides, Millie and Iris, my sister and

I, Stayed vigil at her side.

We laughed, we cried, we sang songs, We held each other's hands,

we held each other's hearts.

And yes, every single night, I slept next to Mom, or one of us slept next to Mom.

And throughout the night, and when I was there, I'd hold her

hand and say, Hey Mom, it's Nance.

Surprisingly, I'd always get this Gentle little squeeze.

I never wanted mom to know that she was alone.

That gentle squeeze back and forth.

We always had that signal, even as kids.

throughout those ten days, Millie, Iris, my sister and I,

also took care of each other.

I prepared some of the best recipes that mom ever had for me and for my sister.

Mom's special chicken.

Birthday chicken, I called it.

Millie shared her family recipes and so did Iris And my

sister had a few of her own.

And each evening was comfort food, heart food.

I'd say maybe not in the medical term or the nutritional term, but with a

couple of glasses of wine as well.

We did well

the final night before mom passed, of course, we didn't really

know when that was gonna be.

The four of us were sitting on each side of mom's bed.

Laughing, talking, girl talk, you know, revealing those secrets that

we don't want our parents to know about and sharing them with mom.

Stories that Millie went through, Iris went through, the silly things that

we do as young children or as young women in the course of our lives.

I shared things that happened to me with mom and dad that my sister didn't

know about and she shared things with me, although I knew most of them.

I am the older sister after all.

At about midnight, as we were sort of winding down on our stories and getting

a little sleepy and tired, a cold breeze came through the room between Millie and

Iris and my sister and I and over Mom.

it felt like ice had just come by.

Iris, superstitious as she always was, said, did you feel that?

Matter of fact, we did.

We thought, hmm, that's strange.

Millie said, that's dad.

He's the one who's come to tell her it's time to come home.

Throughout those 10 days, we did everything to share with Mom.

Our love for her, our stories for her, songs of her dear brother Ken, who sang

throughout Europe in opera, and even won the Arthur Godfrey Talent Contest.

I found that recording too.

We shared that with her.

songs that we sang together, songs that we remember as kids, and songs

that I found out were her favorite.

One, which is my favorite too, was Willie Nelson's Don't Fence Me In.

Millie shared with me that night.

You know, your mom says that's her favorite song.

Really?

That's mine.

That and Beer For My Horses and Whiskey For My Men.

I think mom would like that one too.

That night, I slept next to Mom, Dad's bed right up against the side, my hand holding

hers and just keeping an eye on her.

Waking up at about 5 o'clock, I saw that her breathing was slow and labored.

I said, Mom, I'm here.

She squeezed my hand, just ever so gently.

It was time for me to get her meds, although I was not the best at doing that.

So I got up, went down the hall, tried to wake up my sister.

Who was incredibly difficult to wake.

My sister Cindy, she can sleepwalk with her eyes open and swear that she's awake.

and then tell you later on, why didn't you wake me?

Okay, well I wasn't going to get very far with that.

Millie heard me up and she ran bolting.

to make sure that she was okay, to give her her meds and anything

else that needed to be done.

She came out sobbing.

And she said, Nance, she's gone.

Not quite knowing what to do other than to wake Cindy and

let her know what had happened.

I realized that night, that yes, that cold breeze was Dad that came by to hold her

hand, and, well, in a metaphorical kind of way, and bring her back to his side.

Mom's face looked ashen and gray, and her nose sort of slumped to the side.

Millie and Iris, as they had done with Dad, said,

Please.

Give us the privilege to make sure that Audrey is wrapped in her favorite robe,

with the right pictures in her pocket.

Myself, my sister, and my other sister, Tracy, who was waiting

for her on the other side.

They did that.

and as the funeral home was called, to take Mom away, they bundled her

up, put her on the gurney, and said, please take your time with your mom.

We can see by the photos all around the house how much she's loved

and how much she loves you too.

We've never quite seen photos like this in a family.

I have to tell you, we had posters that were three feet by five feet

and all over the place from dad's celebration of life on through.

And I think we had more family pictures on our walls than wallpaper probably.

But they were the story of their lives, mom and dad's life, and ours too.

Not just my sister and myself, but every single one that helped them and was

there with them right to the very end.

We did.

As we went into the room with mom and saw her tucked in, Just

like a little doll on the gurney.

I looked at her and said, Millie, Cindy, Iris, look.

And they looked at her and I said, she's beautiful.

I had never seen such an amazing transformation of anybody alive.

And I haven't seen too many who've been gone and passed either.

But this one was amazing.

Mom looked peaceful and serene.

there was color in her cheeks, like she was wearing makeup,

and her lips were rosy red.

Even, I would say, a gentle smile.

I have a funny feeling that she was seeing Dad And letting us

know that everything would be okay.

Unlike Dad, we did not celebrate with a scotch, but we did

celebrate a different way.

It was noon by the time she was gone and I told my sister, you know what?

Mom would want us to go do something special in her memory.

Let's go have lunch.

So we did.

We celebrated, we had lunch, we laughed, we went to a winery.

We drove all around the county and more and back and came back home probably

around six or seven o'clock at night.

exhausted, each of us sat on mom and dad's lifty chairs, I call

them, wanting to see a movie that just kind of reminded us of them.

And we did.

Although, my sister got up and went to bed and she said, I grabbed

your foot, I shook your toe, I even pinched you and you didn't move.

I woke up the next morning in that same place, in that chair, feeling

a little relieved and well rested.

Hospice is different for every single one of us.

My friend Gurney, who shared his stories of what his wife looked like

during this time, Was very different than what we saw with Dad and with Mom.

I have a funny feeling that both of them are watching down on me

and my sister, And all are aides.

The good ones.

Well, they were all pretty good in general.

The rest that weren't, we got rid of fast.

Stories of mom and dad and their care continue as they do here in

this Eldercare Success podcast.

I hope that this has been of help to you.

please understand that hospice is something you do not have

to choose to go through.

Sometimes we don't have that choice and a passing of somebody happens suddenly where

we don't have the luxury of doing so.

Besides what I said two episodes ago, hospice really is a good

organization and they have great people.

Understand that you have the right to choose your team if the ones that are

working with you are not the ones that make you feel comfortable and help you

with the decisions that you need to make throughout this time and process.

Some people take longer than others, But understand that hospice is here

to make sure that their final days here with you and as who they are,

are intended to make their final days as comfortable as possible.

Losing a loved one is never easy.

And I have to say, every piece of paper that I've touched for

probably the last two to three years afterwards, I still think of Mom and

wonder, Geez, I just feel like I've got one more paper cut sometimes.

And, can she hear me?

I hope so.

On that note, I hope that your experience with hospice and taking care of a

loved one right to those final days are as easy as they possibly can be.

Well, maybe easy is not the right word, but probably the best term is to say

as gentle as they possibly can be.

This is Nancy May from Eldercare Success.

As I always like to say at the end of every episode, if you like this show, and

maybe that's not the right term for this particular episode or the last two, but

If you see somebody who's distressed or anxious, please ask them if they're okay.

They may be a caregiver, too.

You can share this link, EldercareSuccess.

live, with them.

Because it's my gift to you, and it can be your gift to them.

Take care, be well, and keep caring.

Bye bye.