She Sees Dead People...

...and the living.  And the imaginary.  Ones she knew long ago, ones she wishes would resolve their anger and come to see her, and some she's likely never met.

My mother in law has just a few health problems.  She has battled breast cancer, twice.  She had a valve replacement on her heart something like twenty years ago, and it needs to be replaced again.  She has T2 diabetes. She has been on a chemo regimen for the better part of the last year or so, one week on... one week off.  It kicks her ass.  So much so that last month my brother in law called the doctor and told them they were going to skip a dose.

And then the sleeping all the time but not sleeping started along with the swelling of her legs and feet. Her left arm swelled to the size of my thigh (which is big, trust me on this) and her hand was unrecognizable. It wasn't until the hallucinations started that the doctors thought she might need to be seen.  There was a man in a suit behind the shed.  Her daughter (that hasn't spoken to her in 6 years) sleeping beside her in the bed.  Her son, crying in the chair, then headless lying on the floor, but with no blood. Incoherent phone calls, speaking words that made no sense even to my husband, fluent in Portuguese.

They finally tricked her into going to the hospital. What would have been a simple infection curable by an extra dose of Lasix, was now full on pneumonia, along with a host of other issues.  She responded well to the high concentrate Oxygen and we thought she was on the mend by later the next night.  My husband left town as planned, and I popped by to see her every day he was gone.  She appeared to be getting better and looked as though she was as well.  They stuck a needle in her lungs to drain the excess fluid, and sure enough her breathing improved.  I wanted to cry as she told me her story in what little broken English she could muster, about how all the pressure hurt so much.

On Saturday I picked up Bonus Brother and headed over to see her.  She laughed at the boys, commented about how each one looked like their respective parents.  Except Bonus Brother, he would look more like his father if he got a hair cut, because right now with all his long hair he looked like his mother.  *snicker* Before we left she started talking low, almost whispering about this nurse and that nurse, pointed fingers and made solemn faces.  I knew something was not right, but knowing no Portuguese, I was completely in the dark about what she was saying, but I knew the tone was off. I called my husband, he said that was just her, not too worry.

Apparently no one else knew she was talking crazy either until she got up in the middle of her night and started ripping out her IVs.  She was leaving and there was no one stopping her.  They did, of course, and then upped her sleeping medicine along with a dose of Seraquil to take the edge off the hallucinations.  I can't help but think if I had learned even a little bit of Portuguese maybe I could have given the nurses a heads up.  Maybe I could have done something.

Fast forward past Mother's Day, my husband's return to town, and another 5 days and you'll find her in the nursing home she once worked in.  She's on regular oxygen and has drains in her lungs so they can be emptied daily.  The doctor's have confirmed that the valve is barely working and that essentially, she's drowning herself.  The once important test result for lung cancer has all but been forgotten along with the results of the culture they were growing to see what type of infection she has.  Every day they drain at least a liter from her lungs. The first day they drained 3.  Her hands are so calloused they can barely get the lancet to pierce her skin for her blood sugar reading.  "A side effect of the chemo", I tell the nurse, to which she replies "She's on chemo? When was her last dose?"  Not a comforting thought knowing her current condition.  Even less of a comforting thought was the 275 she threw on the blood sugar meter, knowing full well the staff had given her orange juice at lunch. When Tony saw her today it seemed as though the nurse was too busy to drain her lungs, saying "It'll get done today.", which is like seeing someone flailing in  a pool and saying "throw them a preserver in an hour or so." To be clear, this is a good nursing home, and four of the nurses remember her from working there, but the reality is they are just not staffed to give each patient the care they really need, and if no one is there to advocate for her, she may not be able to communicate that she needs help if something's left too long.

My husband and his brother have started making plans.  Organizing finances, talking to her about what type of service she wants, and what the ones left behind might need for their closure.  There is still no talk about her wishes for DNR, which is horrifying to me, considering. The grand kids have all been by to chat, the dog's been in to see her.  She makes special requests of food, only to be told it's too high in sodium.  Then she asks again, but just "water it down".  It's hard to see her, even when her face lights up upon our arrival.  She looks so.... healthy.  She has color to her face, She is coherent in her speech.  She's drooling over the food on the food network, and cracking jokes I can't understand, about the crazy people in the room across the hall and the funny hat her roommate was wearing for luau day. It feels as if she'll be with us for years.

But she won't.

And I just don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to be close without over stepping.  How to feel like I belong there, in this very private moment, when I can't even offer words of compassion.  I can't make her her favorite foods lower in sodium because I don't talk to the doctors.  I can't fill in the gaps of what the doctor says and what I've asked, because we are not her health care proxy. I just can't do anything but be there.

In the corner of the room, pretending that I belong.