Chapter 12: More Storms Ahead

More Storms Ahead

By the end of April, new life was once again making its way into the world. The ground was no longer frozen as the sun showered the Earth with its soothing, warm rays. The short days of winter were over and both of my parents were doing well and appeared in good spirits.

When I'd visit Mom, I would open the window at her bedside to allow the fresh Spring breezes to fill her room. To further make Spring come alive for her, I often brought flowers to place on the window ledge next to her bed. She was so happy that Winter was over. While Sheboygan always got a few good snowstorms every year, Mother had been nearly overwhelmed to see how often and how much it snowed in the deep northwoods of Wisconsin.

The warmer weather also seemed to rejuvenate my father. Now he could sit outside and enjoy nature in all its beauty. One sunny day when we visited, we took a walk to look at the flower beds. Dad "oohed" and "aahed" as he slowly looked at the beautiful chorus of colors .. reds, yellows, pinks and whites.

The only thing I seriously underestimated was Dad's physical stamina. After being on his feet for more than 30 minutes, he suddenly complained of being "weak in the knees." Thankfully a bench was just across the courtyard and he occupied it with great delight. As he rested, I went inside to borrow one of the wheelchairs. He accepted the "ride" without complaint.

Mom and I still had an occasional "TV night" in her room. I noticed as summer approached, however, that she didn't seem to enjoy it as much. Yes, we'd talk about the show we were watching, or reminisce about shows from yester-year that we had enjoyed, but I had the feeling she would have preferred we do away with TV night.

As June approached, we began making plans to have Dad home for another visit. With summer in full swing, it would be nice to arrange another "date" for him with Mom, and we could perhaps all go out to a nearby park. When my birthday rolled around in July, we celebrated with Mom so she could share in the festivities. Even though the stroke had greatly altered some of her perceptions, she was still very aware of many things and enjoyed being included in our plans.

An Abrupt Change

The late edition of the news had just ended the night of Thursday, July 16, when I got a concerned phone call from the night nurse at Mom's nursing home. "She usually smiles when I come in to see her," the nurse said, "but tonight she just isn't responding to me."

The nurse assured me Mom was not in any pain or discomfort, but she just wasn't "herself." We discussed the possibilities...send her to the hospital to have a doctor evaluate her, or allow her to remain comfortable in her own room at the nursing home. It was a hard call to make, but in the end, we agreed that since she was basically stable, we didn't want to upset her by a late night trip to the hospital. I advised her to notify me immediately if her condition worsened.

I went to bed that night deeply concerned about Mom's welfare. Had I made the right decision? I just didn't know. Should I go see her yet that night? I decided against that since the nurse said she was resting and I really didn't want to disturb her. The phone never rang again, so I took that as good news and fell into a restless sleep.

Shortly after 8 a.m. when I awoke, I asked Bill to call the nursing home to find out what Mom's vital signs were. When he came into the bedroom and told me her blood pressure was 80/40 I went numb. "We've got to get over there right away!" I cried. I knew that reading was dangerously low and while I didn't voice my fears, I just knew there wasn't a minute to spare. "Mom, please hang on," I silently begged, as I woke up Jason and threw on some clothes.

Knowing my mother was barely hanging onto life made the 45-mile trip seem even longer. I tried to be calm, hopeful that whatever had happened to her could still be brought under control. Surely the staff had been monitoring her vital signs throughout the night after I was called. Why had we not learned how serious the situation was until we called to check on her? I was more than a little agitated.

Just after 9 a.m. we arrived. Without stopping to talk to anyone, I headed straight for my mother's room. The scene I walked into was nothing less than ghastly. Mom was lying on her left side, facing the window. Edging around to the window side so I could see her face to face, my heart sank. My precious mother was dying. Of this, I was certain.

Suddenly all the pain I felt was overshadowed by my need to help her. It was as if I were again working at the hospital, helping hospice patients gently meet the end of life. A quick assessment told me Mom was totally paralyzed and unable to speak. I knew she could hear me though and as I stroked her head, I told her over and over again, "Mom, it's OK, I'm here now."

When I had first arrived, her breathing came in loud, frequent gasps. She must have been so afraid, not being able to move or speak. Nor was anyone with her when we arrived, so she was enduring this nightmare all alone. But as I spoke softly to her, Mom's breathing quieted and I knew she was comforted by my presence.

I was outraged to see how dry and cracked Mom's lips were. I sent Bill out to have the nurse get some mouth swabs and a glass of water. In the meantime, Jason gave me a warm, wet cloth so I could wash her face and help her feel a bit more fresh. I also got the brush from her bedside table and gently got the tangles out of her hair. She seemed so much more content after that little bit of attention.

By the time the nurse arrived a few minutes later with the swabs, I could see they would no longer be needed. As I stroked Mom's head and assured her I was there for her, she took a quiet little breath and silently passed away. I just stood over her and told her I loved her. I knew she was gone, but a part of me wanted to just stay right there with her.

All in all, we had only been there a mere 15 minutes when she died. Mom had literally been dying all night but I firmly believe she hung on and refused to breathe her last until I arrived. It was as if then, it was alright. Then she could leave. I will forever be grateful that I got there in time.

Difficult Days

Before I could allow myself to grieve, much needed to get done in terms of phoning my sister in Florida, discussing the details of the funeral, etc. The first truly hard task was going to the funeral home where Mom's body had been taken. Even though she would be cremated there, per her wishes, the funeral director had prepared her for viewing for the benefit of the family. While I had held up so well at her actual death, I was now on the verge of crumbling and never could bring myself to go view her.

Jason needed to see his grandmother though, and he solemnly followed the director. As an afterthought, he had him take a picture of her for me to view at a later date, when I could handle it. As it turned out, it would be over a year before I could bring myself to open that envelope and look at that final picture. Even then, I immediately dissolved in tears. It was so very difficult for me to accept the loss of my mother.

Mom died on a Friday and we held her funeral that next Wednesday. I dreaded entering the funeral home but did alright until I was that black felt sign-board just outside the room where the service would be held. Those white plastic letters that spell out names...I had seen them on numerous occasions. But on this board they spelled out my mother's name, GERALDINE on the top line, STEFANCICH on the bottom line. I couldn't hold myself together at the reality of it all. Everything within me silently screamed, "NOOOO!"

Gradually the trauma of Mom's death and funeral subsided and I forced myself to get on with my life. After the grief subsided somewhat, the anger began to set in. Not at her death, but about the care, or lack of care, in her final hours. When I arrived at the nursing home just before her death, it was so obvious that in addition to being paralyzed, she was getting no fluids. I became outraged that with the paralysis, since she could not drink, an intravenous line had not been started to keep her comfortable. Instead, she was left to lie there all night with no fluids.

Why had no one noticed the severity of her physical state and alerted me hours earlier? Her condition at my arrival was a far cry from being told that she was "resting comfortably."

All in all, the nursing home experiences Mom had endured, especially in the last 14 months of her life, made me angry because she had been denied the "right" to live and die and home, with her loved ones. With all the availability of home health services and the experience I'd had in caring for the elderly, it was nothing short of a crime that she was forced to remain in a nursing home.

It was all over, though, for my mother. I could do nothing more for her, but took a measure of comfort in knowing she appreciated all I had done. Trying to move forward, I now forced myself to turn my thoughts and actions towards my father, to make his life as full as possible. With that goal in mind, the anger and grief at losing my mother slowly subsided.