OH MUM!!!!

This is very hard to write about, but the story must be told, so here I go. Monday morning, after being absent from mum’s for just over a week, I decided in desperation I just must go. Against all sensible judgment I drove down to see mum that morning. I was still coughing. I had told her I would be there as soon as the mucus cleared – each evening she would hopefully ask how I was and each time I would be compelled to tell her I was still unwell and that I would review the situation the following morning. Sunday evening I had felt a bit better and had given her hope I would be there in the morning.

One of the gauges we used, both Mum and me, as to her state of health, was her ability or inability to fetch the morning papers from the front yard. On Sunday she had told me she had not been able to manage that job. She had also told me she had fallen over on Friday evening, not hurting herself, but nevertheless giving herself a fright. Me too! DD had been there on the Saturday and she had seemed OK. I was desperate about her by now and determined to be there on Monday. I left home armed with a couple of masks, and lots of hope. I stopped on the way to mum’s to buy her a toasted cheese sandwich (one of the few things I could get her to eat). I also had various other little treats for her.

I can‘t tell you how many times that morning I thought I should turn back. I knew I really shouldn’t have been going there, but I felt powerless to stay away. She really did need me. When I drove into her driveway, my spirits were raised as there was no sign of either the Sunday or Monday paper in the front yard.

As usual I let myself into the house. All was in darkness. An overwhelming bad smell pervaded and chaos seemed to be reigning around the normally tidy house. Mum’s walking stick was lying across the sitting room floor, Sparks was behaving in a strange manner, Mum’s pink beanie was laying in the passage, as were both her slippers. With fear mounting I followed the chaotic trail to her bedroom. Across the bed lay all the newspapers, and Mum. She was only partly covered by a sheet, and it looked as if Sparks had been trying to pull the blankets and sheets from her in an attempt to waken her. The overwhelming bad smell was explained by the fact that she was covered in faeces. The whole bed seemed to be in trouble! Mum was breathing but unresponsive. I immediately called an ambulance. It seemed to take forever for it to arrive – I dare say it was only around 10 minutes. In that time I managed to move our car from the driveway to allow access and to put the manic dog outside. On the advice of the triple zero people I went back to mum and she had by now turned onto her back, so I moved her back onto her side. She was by now mumbling a few words.

The ambulance arrived complete with two very young male medicos. They seemed so very young to be looking after my mother. I have to say they were wonderful, especially considering the state she was in. It was not a pleasant task for any of us as one of the young men and I started to clean mum up a little prior to taking her in the ambulance. Buckets of warm water, an abundance of disposable gloves and the ability to breath without smelling anything were prerequisites. One of the young men absented himself during this process, ostensibly to arrange the stretcher. Mum’s nightie was cut from her and I have to say the young man was considerate in the extreme in his handling of mum. Mum was by now communicating with us a little. She was distressed to know she was going to hospital and bemused as to how we knew she had been ill during the night. She seemed at this point in time to be reasonably coherent. Blissfully for her she had no idea of the state she was in. I am so thankful for this mercy as she was a fastidious person and would have been horrified and mortified had she known.

I am not sure why I feel compelled to tell this sordid side of the story, but I think it is to let you know, because I didn’t, that death when it comes to those you love, doesn’t come in any way you might have previously imagined. As I was spending so much time with Mum, and as it had always been my intention to be with mum when the end came (I always promised her she would not be alone), I guess I imagined that the end would be a peaceful and serene experience for mum and one of quiet sadness for me. Not so!

The ambulance men felt the best thing would be to take her to RPH as that was where she was being treated. I sent with them all the relevant paperwork to make the transition easier on their arrival at the hospital. Neither they nor I felt there was any real emergency. They were even discussing the likelihood of her being discharged once she had been checked out. We all seemed to be of the opinion that the diarrhoea was an outcome of a bacterial infection and that once treated she would be OK. This belief I think was engendered by the fact she was more or less communicating with us.

I had called Doug and he duly arrived at Mums after the ambulance had left. By then I had thrown away most of mum’s bedding, washed what I felt was worth washing and generally cleaned up as much as I could. The still overwhelming odour was partly explained when I found two particularly large and revolting piles of dog poo in the lounge room. Once again the rubber gloves came out and once again I scrubbed. Sparks smelt of mum. I suppose he had been all around her trying to wake her. It was revolting and my mind was turning cartwheels imagining what had gone on before I arrived.

Anyway, with a change of clothes (DD bless him) off we went to the hospital. We were probably only half an hour behind mum and feeling confident that would be OK. When we arrived at Emergency we had a bit of a wait before I could talk to anyone. As we were in the grip of a flu epidemic, the ambulances were ‘ramped up’ out the front. I didn’t even know if mum had been admitted. Finally I managed to see someone and was taken directly into the Emergency ward to see mum. I was greeted by an extremely serious (and thank goodness, mature) Dr – he was the one in charge of Emergency that day. I was told that Mum was very, very ill indeed. I have to say, I was quite shocked. They were basically telling me to prepare myself for the worst. The diarrhoea was still pouring out of her, and I overheard them telling each other that her organs had all shut down.

The Dr in charge asked me if Mum and I had discussed ‘escalated treatment’ – I explained Mum’s attitude was absolutely no resuscitation – he agreed, we agreed. I was so shaken at this time. I had been standing by Mum‘s side in Emergency for probably an hour or so by now. Having had this very serious and scary discussion with the head Dr, I was then accosted by a young Registrar who worked under the Lymphoma specialist. He had been talking to Mum’s Dr and they wanted her to go to Intensive Care for treatment. This was diametrically opposite to what the other Dr and I had already agreed. Once again the Dr in charge and I discussed the matter. His opinion was unchanged and I really felt terribly conflicted about what was happening. Around this time the young Registrar came back to me and told me in whispered tones that he had been wrong earlier and that he hadn’t been able to speak openly. I think he was spoken to by the leading Dr and told a few facts of life that day. Ultimately, he and I agreed that we would most likely not send mum to ICU, but to confirm our decision, have a scan done to determine whether or not, as we suspected, Mum had suffered a major stroke.

The scan confirmed our worst and it was agreed that they would cease all treatment. Mum was to go to a quiet ward where she would simply be kept comfortable.

Finally in the early evening, this is what happened. I had spent most of the day at mum’s side in emergency and finally they had her transferred, with me at her side, to the stroke ward. There I kept vigil. We were told that it could be days or as little as hours. Mum’s breathing was quite laboured and I was promised that if it became too harsh, they would administer an injection which would make it easier for her.

I found I couldn’t leave Mum. I sent Doug home as he needed to feed Sparky and also to go home himself to take his medication. He left the hospital around 8pm. I stayed by Mum’s side, asking for and getting the injection to ease her breathing, somewhere around midnight. The various nursing staff were very kind, both to me and Mum. Having seen what had happened to her earlier in the day, I must confess, my words to Mum during that day and night were to leave. I didn’t want her to come back and find out how I had found her and what sort of state she had been in during the day. I just didn’t want her to ever have to deal with that. She had told me only a few weeks before that she was ready to go, looking forward to it and had no fear. I knew she wanted to go.

To comfort Mum the best I could, I just held her hand, rubbed her arm and generally tried to let love flow between us. At about 1.25 I took my eyes off her for a few minutes to rest my head against the bed and when I looked up, her breathing had ceased. I sought out the nurse in charge and had her come to see mum. She was very surprised it had been so quick and confirmed my belief that Mum had gone. She kindly left me alone with Mum for as long as I wished to stay and also had a Dr verify Mum’s death.

I stayed with Mum for 15 minutes or so, but I didn’t feel that she was still around. When I left her, I thought I would leave Doug to sleep for a while before calling him to come and get me, and wandered off to try and find a coffee or some such thing somewhere in the hospital. I should have remembered that not only is there nothing like that at night in that big old place, but it is locked up tight and it is almost impossible to find an exit that is open.

I meandered around that place like the lost soul I felt I was, standing in the big passage way above Wellington St, looking out at the lights and the late night traffic. I felt lost and empty. Nothing had been like I expected it to be. I had expected to feel some sort of passing when Mum finally left, but there was absolutely nothing. I found I couldn’t cry I was just numb. I am not sure how long I wandered around for, finally I found an orderly who directed me to an obscure exit near the Emergency Department. There I sat for a while and then finally called Doug to come and get me. It is a good hour to hour and a half drive from the farm, so I just sat, staring into space until such time as that good man arrived. We were I think, both numb. We stopped to get a coffee at an all night drive in servo and drank quietly as we drove home.

From Mum’s perspective, it was relatively quick, and she knew nothing of what was going on around her. I guess none of us can wish for a great deal better than that. I am just sorry I was not there for her in that last week. It seems unbelievable, when I was there so much for her, that I was not there then. I am sorry too that she had to endure that chemotherapy before dying. Her last few months could have been so much better.

One little shining light was that only a matter of weeks before she died, I rocked up at her place one glorious winter morning, announced it was indeed ‘a gradely day’ and whisked her into Zed for a drive in the beautiful sunshine. It was one of those wonderful mornings that make you happy to live in Perth, and more particularly The Swan Valley. White clouds skittered across the clear blue sky, throwing deep blue shadows dancing across the Darling Range. Gnarled vines resplendent in orange and gilded with gold danced in the light breeze. The day was a veritable gift, given for our pleasure and enjoyment.

I drove around the Swan and mum had a walk down memory lane. We finally bought lunch at a little cafe and took ourselves to All Saints Churchyard. All Saints is a pretty little church (the oldest in WA) sitting on the banks of the upper reaches of the Swan River. The walls and gravestones there are littered with names of our forbearers and their friends and relatives. The names there are the names of my childhood gleaned from the numerous stories told to me by mum. All Saints is and has long been one of my very favourite places on this earth. The churchyard is scattered with old gravestones, venerable rose bushes and lilies. Enormous old trees stretch their limbs to the sky in humble praise, the bare earth below them scattered with their leaves and gumnuts. The tiny church there has managed to stay humble – it is not over adorned with the ostentatious trappings that so many churches wear. Sitting in the pews there I feel the peace and communion shared by the other souls who have sat their backsides on those shiny wooden seats and stared at the simple stained glass windows with love.

Mum and I sat on one of the seats kindly provided in the churchyard and ate our simple fare. We were joined by a young woman who was there to try to capture the beauty with her camera. As she was also a mobile hairdresser, she and mum had an interesting chat. Mum was always very interested in other people and had an insatiable curiosity.

The day was a delight, and mum referred to it frequently in the following weeks. She and I agreed, it was indeed a gift from God, and I will be eternally grateful for that little break in the horror that composed the last couple of months of mum’s life.