Sometimes Flowers are Better than Food

 Not much happening in 2013 or 2014, at least nothing of note to write about. Except for this: "Beautiful bouquet just arrived for mom...the roses are permeating the house!" I remember the smell. I think these roses came from the "rose queen" neighbor who lived up the road from my folks.

 

Food, Food, Food, and Elvis

 

On 27 January 2014 I wrote, "Two of mom's former neighbors called on her this afternoon, bringing a pineapple, fudge, a baked chicken, bag of sweet 'taters, two baguettes, two six-packs of Boost, two eight-packs of Activia, a bouquet of flowers, and a balloon. They warned us they'll return next week. We gotta eat!"

We had also received a roast and another chicken the day before and we were expecting a pot of chili the next day. So our pantry was full.

And, yet...all my father wanted was "one of those Elvis sandwiches." Mom, dad, my daughter and I had traveled to Memphis to visit my daughter in school in 2010, and we took a sidetrip to Graceland. I don't think I need to say any more. I learned from my mother that the women always serve the men, but it was fun to watch my dad have a blast in the kitchen after mom died. At any rate, I was making the sandwich shown here for dad after our company departed.

My father made numerous concessions to health with his "Elvis" sandwich, though. He wanted rye bread rather than white bread, he omitted the bacon, and he didn't want it grilled like Elvis did. Nor could my father eat as many as thirteen or more of those sandwiches at one time. One would suffice, thank you very much.

Elvis's peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich is now known as The Elvis, and it's served on menus across the South. 

In another note, I wrote that mom greeted her friends with her usual southern gracious charm that always made her friends feel so special. "You cannot tell from looking at mom that she's so sick. Cannot tell, especially when she puts on makeup. It's frightening, really, beause there's such a disconnect between how she looks and what's going on beneath the surface."

And that was my life with my mother in a nutshell.

Kroger, Library, and Morphine, 2014

On 25 January 2014, I posted on Facebook, "Oh, just a typical Saturday morning, picking up a morphine emergency kit." My friends in turn thought that statement was both funny and horrific, because many of my friends had already experienced what I was going through. The morphine kit was part of hospice's directive to have medical supplies at the patient's home to use in case of an emergency. In reality, that kit is usually used to help the patient transition from life to death.

A hospice morphine emergency kit (aka hospice comfort kit, emergency kit, or E-kit), is a collection of medications and supplies that can help relieve end-of-life symptoms. The contents of most comfort kits typically include at least the basic medications for pain, anxiety, nausea, insomnia, and breathing problems.

The kit also can include prescribed medications, and meds for reducing mucus production and the "death rattle" of wet breathing sounds that mucus buildup causes. Our kit also included sponges on straw-like stems that were intended for the patient to suck on for dry mouth. Morphine is the main druge to use for mucus buildup, respiratory distress, and pain.

I also visited the library that morning, but I didn't say whether I was picking up books or returning them. I had to stop at Kroger on the way home as well, as mom wanted a few things from the store. When I returned home, dad wanted to know what was in the kit, but it was sealed. I told him we could look at it later, and reminded him that hospice told us that the kit was to be kept in a safe and convenient place and not to use anything in it unless instructed.

I didn't know what was in the kit at the time, but I sure remember not wanting to examine it. The photo included here is not a hospice comfort kit, but it's similar. I don't remember all the meds that mom was taking, but I have a list somewhere and I'll find it. 

The most important medication other than morphine was the medicine for anxiety. Mom both needed that medication and wanted it, as it didn't make her groggy like her prescribed pain medication. I came to rely on the anxiety medication over the next couple of months more than any other med while dealing with mom's failing body.

Interventional Radiology Tests My Patience, 2014

I took a few days off from writing this history about mom and her cancer, because sometimes the memories can be overwhelming. Additionally, little happened on the 21st. On the 22nd of January in 2014, I wrote, "I've only been pissed off twice with mom's treatment over the past year and both times my ire has been directed with the sub-par IR (Interventional Radiology) at this hospital."

I hope, sincerely, that much has changed at my mother's hospital's IR since 2014. I know the man in charge either quit or was let go before June of 2014, because mom told me he was no longer there. IR as a practice was first introduced in the 1960s, but became a medical specialty in 2012, just two years before mom experienced their treatments. The departments conducts angiography, angioplasty, embolization, stent placement, needle biopsy, foreign body removal, and more. While IR became a medical specialty in this century, they introducted biliary and genitourinary system interventions, and should have been very skilled with those process by 2014.

That said, my mother had to return to the IR just two weeks after her hospital stay to replace her biliary catheter because someone in IR did not suture her correctly. As a result, mom developed a fever and was in "pain". When she returned from the hospital, she was exhausted. The next day, 23 January 2014, I wrote, "Mom sleeps. Mom's been sleeping for hours. Mom's twitching in ther sleep. She's been sleeping in the easy-boy chair, and I can't get her to wake up enough to get her to bed. I keep watching her chest to see if she's breathing. I may have to sleep on the couch, because I can't bring myself to go to bed, either."

She woke at 1 a.m. and said, "I've got to go to bed." She took herself back to the bedroom, where she fell asleep again immediately. She had been awake for a total of four hours that day. 

The comments from friends regarding my anger were in empathy, and many responses focused on the anger they felt when their loved ones were shortchanged by any given department within hospital systems. When I expand these entries for my published journal, I'll include some quotes that hit home for me. I had worried at times that I shouldn't be making our private lives public, but my parents didn't mind as long as I directed my writing at friends, and not to the world in general at the time.

Now that time is over. They're both gone. I have learned, through this process, that sharing is what cements us as a society. We need to know that we're not alone.

Note for illustration: This is a graphic image of the digestive system showing the bile duct, which is in the public domain. It is one of the graphics used in the article on Cholangiocarcinoma at Wikipedia. If the cancer cannot be removed and is pressing on or within the bile duct, the patient requires a bile duct stent (aka biliary stent) made of either plastic or metal. That stent holds the bile duct open so bile can continue to flow into the bowels. See more at Cancer Council, NSW, "Inserting a Stent".