Retroexposure

The Battle: The End

Thursday 7th May 2009

It's just gone 8 in the morning. Mum's had a disturbed night. Not really slept at all. The night carer couldn't seem to cope (She's been in place since Saturday night), and called me to help reposition Mum at 3:30am!! Now you know what I'm like once I'm awake, I can't get back to sleep!
The days are more or less the same, as in Mum's deteriorating every day.
On Saturday, I had to change Mum's sheet on my own with her still in the bed. A challenge for the inexperienced carer, like myself! Still, I think I coped better than the rookie team!
Mum's nausea had not been shifting with the haloperidol syringe, so she's been put on Nozinan. It was the drug that she was on, while in hospital in January. The initial dose of 12.5mg wasn't enough so by the third day of the drug she'd been whacked up to 37.5mg. I think that worked! Touch wood.
I think though, we are at the beginning of the end today. I could be wrong; I hope I'm wrong. But, in the hour since the 'gormless' carer left today, Mum has not been responding to any of my questions. Her breathing has become hard and laboured. The surgery opens in a few minutes, I'm going to call them to come out and see Mum, NOW!
　
　
Maybe I'm just panicking too much. Mum's finally acknowledged me. She doesn't want me to call anyone out. But a removed pillow here, a bed lowered there, and I think she's in a content position. He breathed had eased itself. Earlier she seemed like she was hyperventilating.
The carers came out just before 10am, to do their usual duties. But, noticing Mum's laboured breathing, which had resumed since I'd made her comfortable an hour or so earlier, I recognised that Mum's breathing was similar to a patient's that was in Mum's next door bed when she was in LOROS. One of the carers suggested very strongly that I should call a doctor out immediately. Dr. Wells, Mum's regular doctor doesn't work on Thursdays, so Dr. Ritchie came out instead. The sadist side of me wanted it to have been Dr. Bailey (who had misdiagnosed her for ten weeks), just so I could have a dig at her, saying, "this is what a urinary tract infection does to you, is it?"
Dr. Ritchie came out and said that after quickly examining Mum, she'd need to go back to the surgery to get some pain relief for her in another driver. Morphine, I'm thinking, but that wasn't actually mentioned.
When Dr. Ritchie left, the carer that had got me to ring the doctor remarked that I was a "Christian, right?" I am. So in the next second, I called the priest and asked if he could come straight out. He said he'd be with me in 15 minutes. After I spoke to the Priest, Anne, who I had called before Dr. Ritchie – sorry, the carer did, I was too upset at that point, to speak to Anne – arrived on the doorstep. I had spoken to her after the carer's initial phone call. Anne had told me that she and Peter would struggle to get to me before 12:30pm as their car was being serviced. But, here she was, on the doorstep. She'd got a neighbour to speed her round to me. It was at this point that the carers had to go to their next client.
Then I texted Gemma; I told her that Mum was deteriorating, but I couldn't bring myself to call her Mum, Marie, who is Mum's best friend. She contacted her Mum, who rang me minutes later, saying that she wasn't sure if she could get off work at such short notice. I understood, saying that I would see her after work.
Then, the priest, Father Stephan arrived. He'd brought Communion with him - I guess, for me. Anne 'represented' Mum's Communion. As Fr. Stephan proceeded with the Communion rites, Gemma arrived. She came into the lounge, took one look at Mum and clasped her hand round her mouth, darting back out of the lounge. She cried with initial shock at seeing Mum. She'd been reluctant to visit Mum prior to this, maybe because of the exact reaction she had just given. Father Stephan then gave Mum the Last Rites. I had left a message with the deacon to ask Father Stephan to come round and give Mum the Sacrament of the Sick only yesterday, but seeing as Mum had deteriorated overnight, he gave the Last Rites instead.
Gemma and I went outside for a cigarette, and to chat with my neighbour who had had her husband's funeral earlier this week.
When we came back into the lounge, Anne just looked at me; the expression on her face said it all. I looked beyond her at Mum. The colour had drained from her face. Her lips were white. She was no longer breathing. But there was a very faint pulse. It was too late. Mum had passed away.
I burst into tears. I'd missed Mum take her last breath. I wasn't with her. I SHOULD'VE BEEN THERE!!! But I was there when her pulse stopped, so I must take comfort in that though. I was crying and Gemma was inconsolable too. After a few minutes Gemma went and broke the news to her Mum. I sat with my Mum, while Anne called the doctor out to just confirm the time of death I guess. Fr. Stephan was there with Anne when Mum took her last breath, so that was actually quite a lovely moment. Though I'm sure he'd deny it, Fr. Stephan seemed very red eyed too, though I could be wrong.
When Anne was on the phone, I heard her say "No, it can't wait this is very urgent!" The doctor's receptionist must have asked her to hold or something!
A few minutes later Dr. Ritchie was back to check that Mum's heart had stopped and record her time of death. I think Mum had died around 11:25am.
Anne then made arrangements for the undertakers to come and pick up Mum's body, and for a representative from the funeral home to come
Then, as Dr. Ritchie left, Marie arrived. Gemma went out and they both burst into tears in each other's arms. They were as inconsolable as each other. Marie went to where Mum lay and taking her hand said a prayer that I couldn't quite hear.
I had a few minutes alone with Mum before the undertakers were due. I noticed that Mum's bottom lip had stuck to her bottom teeth, and in my final act as a caring son, as gross as this might sound, I peeled away the top layer of skin on her lip, to make her look a bit more 'presentable'. Silly, right?
A few minutes passed and a nurse arrived to take out Mum's syringe driver, before the undertakers came.
When the undertakers did arrive, I said that I would stay in the room while they transferred her body to their stretcher. I had helped prepare Dad for the mortuary with a nurse when he died 11 years ago and that was reverent and respectable. I wish I could say the same for Mum. The undertakers seemed, in my mind to act very roughly with Mum's body. It was insensitive, I wanted to say to them, "Please be careful, she's my Mum." I wish I hadn't witnessed that, looking back. The undertakers loaded Mum onto the stretcher and into the back of the black ambulance. Next time I'll see her, will be in the chapel of rest.

Goodbye Mum, and God bless. I love you and know you are at peace and no longer in pain. Say hi to Dad and Chris for me.