On Thursday night, late, Grandma fell. It happens often since her knees and ankles are distorted. However, this fall was different. This fall led Grandma to say the words no one ever expected to hear from her lips: "I think I need to go to the emergency room."
In our family, we have a long history of medical stubbornness. My sister went into labor and went back to sleep. My mother's tumors had grown to the size of golf balls before she had them looked at (benign, by the way, this was over a decade ago). But no one in my family refuses to admit when she's in pain quite like my diminutive, pleasant grandmother. She had a stroke and didn't bother to tell us. But she has conceded to the use of the life alert system since, when she falls, standing back up is nearly impossible for her to do without help.
So, Aunt Trisha took Grandma to the emergency room. The pain was reportedly pretty terrible (Grandma rated it a 10, which is also astounding given her default answer is "oh, it's not bad") and the ambulance techs said they suspected a broken hip. The doctors at the local hospital confirmed, but said they didn't have an orthopedic surgeon n call and transferred her to OKC. By this time, Grandma was on morphine and assuring everyone that she'd be out of the hospital by the next morning. Being funny on drugs is also a family trait.
They scheduled surgery for a partial hip replacement at 7 Christmas Eve morning. We were all there to see her before she went in, then camped out in the waiting room to await the surgeon. Per usual, talk centered around books and psychology. The surgeon said everything went really well and most of us departed. Notes back from the family member on shift was very positive on Saturday...she was doing very well, lucid and active, other than being in pain from the surgery.
Christmas Day was another story. Grandma didn't recognize Aunt Trisha when she relieved Mom that morning. She needed a blood transfusion, but the surgeon said that was the case in 30% of cases and normal. They hoped the confusion would clear with the transfusion. No such luck.
On Monday morning, my parents woke me and said that they were leaving for the hospital immediately - Aunt Trisha had called and Grandma had taken a sharp turn for the worse. She suffered multiple massive heart attacks and slipped into a coma. By noon, Mom called to say that we needed to come to the hospital. She had 20% heart function and the doctor's had given her a 15% chance of making it through the night. Kellie and I packed up things for a lengthy hospital visit and joined our family in the city. One of her lungs collapsed while we were en route.
Mom and Aunt Trisha finally signed a DNR, which I felt was the right thing to do. After that, we all took turns rotating in an out. The nurses were very kind and let us ignore the visiting hours and the 2 person rule since neither my Mom or Aunt had any intention of leaving her side. The rest of us took turns reading Grandma the Bible (I had grabbed her husband's preaching Bible before I left the house), especially passages of joy and strength, holding her hand, telling our very sweet nurse stories about Grandma and camping out in the waiting room. My Dad can't handle hospitals and became the waiting room base commander. My great-aunt (my grandma's only living sibling) and her husband brought over good because in the South, we mourn through food. All 4 of their children (and their families) were in for the holidays, which hasn't happened since they all reached adulthood. They all went in to see "Aunt Claudia".
My Uncle Randy, Grandma's oldest son, as well as his wife and daughter hopped in the car and began driving from California. They gave their blessing to do what needed to be done, even if they didn't make it in time to say goodbye. My uncle is a firefighter and actually knows more about the medical side than anyone else in the family. He doesn't want her to suffer.
At this point they've weaned her off the epinephrine and it's a matter of time. Neither my mother or aunt will leave her side until it happens, despite each encouraging the other to get some rest. Kellie and Brandon have taken the baby home to rest and will be back with breakfast in a few hours unless we call them with news before then. Randy, Oksana and Liza will be here around 1 pm. Maybe she'll hold on long enough to say goodbye to her son. But even if she doesn't, she'll go knowing she was loved and that she made a difference in the lives of all those she knew.
It's the rest of the family I'm worried about. We have been lulled into a comfortable false belief that Grandma will live forever. She has outlived her own mother by over 10 years, as well as all but one of her siblings and one of her husband's siblings (and that's saying something - there were 18 of them in all!). But now we've been sharply forced into reality, into the world where, no matter how kind the person, time will eventually win. Death is part of life and you can't cover your eyes and say "I disbelieve". You can mourn the loss of their presence in your life, but to mourn the death of a woman who has had a long, full, joyful life and would remain in pain should she wake up is spiteful and selfish.
Grandma has always been a friend to everyone. I expect, in return, Death will be a friend to her and take her peacefully and without fight.
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