Communion Of Dreams

I walked into the dark room, stepped up to the bed. My MIL looked up at me, and said “I don’t like these rails and straps.”

There are the standard ‘hospital rails’ on the side of her bed. And since she’s several times attempted to climb over them (and broken bones in the subsequent fall), we put some nylon straps across from one rail to the other in a sort-of cargo net arrangement. It allows her to move freely in bed, but stops her from trying to climb out on her own. “Well, I’m sorry, but they need to stay on.”

She smiled. “Doesn’t matter – I’ve decided that I’m going to leave today, go back home to Missouri.”

We live in Missouri. But I didn’t want to contradict her, not that early in the morning when there would be little point to it. If she went back to sleep, she’d likely forget the conversation completely, anyway. “That’s fine. But for now try and go back to sleep – you don’t get up until 8:00.”

“OK.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

While I am not religious (hardly), I nonetheless enjoy some aspects of the holiday season. Working in small-market radio for four years between college and grad school forever traumatized me in regards to Christmas songs of every stripe, but I enjoy gift-giving, feasting, some good Christmas cheer with family and friends. Yesterday afternoon during our ‘respite’ break, my wife and I went out and selected a tree from the family farm – cedar, the traditional family tree – and brought it home. Now that it is settling, we’ll get it decorated some time this weekend.

That’s late for us, and we got a smaller tree than usual. Simple reason for this: it’s less work. And right now, just about anything that’s less work is the default position.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Our regular hospice nurse was on vacation this week, so the agency made arrangements for another nurse to come by and check on my MIL. She arrived on time, bringing supplies and meds, and went in to chat with my MIL.

“I read that nice article about you!” she told my MIL.

“Article?” asked my MIL.

Out of sight of my MIL, I shook my head at the nurse, mouthed the words “She doesn’t remember it.”

She nodded.

I spoke to my MIL “She’s just talking about a nice article that was in the paper, about people who care for their loved ones at home when they get older.”

“Oh, did you write it?”

It surprises me sometimes the things that she remembers. I used to write a column for the paper. “No, I didn’t write it.”

“But you used to write such nice things.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve never obsessed about getting presents to people “on time” – most of my friends and family have busy lives themselves, and understand how things stand here with us. But this year we’ve really been caught short on planning, and our shopping has been sporadic, at best. I’ve been able to take care of a lot of routine things, and gotten a couple of special gifts. But for the most part I just haven’t had the energy and focus to try and find the right gifts for others. And the shopping we usually do for my MIL just hasn’t gotten done at all this year. That’ll be a disappointment to some.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I walked out with the hospice nurse when she was done checking over my MIL. Either my wife or I usually do this, so we can go over info we didn’t necessarily want to discuss in front of my MIL, the other staying and helping get my MIL dressed or back into bed.

“Anything to add?” she asked.

“No, not really. We’re just unsure of where we are. Not knowing is difficult.”

“Well, I can’t say for sure. But the end could come fairly quickly. You’ll just have to let us know if you see a sudden downturn, so we can be here every day rather than just weekly.”

I nodded.

“You know, you guys are doing just an incredible job in caring for her. I wish that half of our patients got even half as good care as your MIL is getting.”

“Thanks.”

And as I turned to go up the stairs, back into the house, eyes watering, she repeated: “You guys are doing an incredible job.”

Then why do I feel guilty? Like I should be doing more?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I hope I’ve made the right decision.”

“What decision is that?” asked my wife, as she helped her mom sit up on the side of the bed.

“Well, I think it’s time I went home. I’ve enjoyed my stay, but I think that I should be getting back.”

“That’s fine,” said my wife, putting slippers on my MIL’s feet. “But how about some breakfast, first?”

“That sounds nice, dear.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim Downey

(Cross-posted to dKos.)