True stories of hope and hopelessness, love, life, laughter and loss. A work in progress. |
Today I took care of I.K. Last Monday when I worked, I spoke with I.K. briefly. She was very friendly and talkative, however, she appeared disoriented, Today when I arrived I found out that I.K. had a stroke on Friday. She has a DNR order, so needless to say she hasn't eaten or drank anything since Friday because the stroke left her pretty much vegetablized. Her tongue was shriveled and black from breathing through her mouth, and when I would try to swab her lips and mouth to moisten them she was unable to swallow even the smallest amount of water. I gave I.K. a bedbath and a back massage. She moaned as if to say, Oh, that feels good," but that was it. Every hour or so I would reposition her and moisten her mouth and lips, but Joan (my clinical instructor, Joan Barber) told me around 8:00 a.m., "I give her four hours." I found out later that Joan's prediction proved to be eerily accurate. I.K. died around 12:30, about 1/2 hour after I left. This was a very hard day for me. I basically watched her die, progressively getting worse by the minute. Her Cheyne-Stokes respirations were difficult for me to witness, and I found myself secretly hoping she would die so she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. I didn't want her to die while I was there, however, because I wasn't sure I was prepared to handle that. I'm glad she's out of pain now. I'm sure she's in a much better place, and I'm sure she's looking down on us wondering why we're mourning her when she sees us as being much worse off than she is. I hope she's at peace with Jesus. |