The Unwanted Bed Wedge and Donations

Today in 2014 I wrote that my parents decided to delay the arrival of the hospital bed, because that decision seems so final. Mom chose, instead, to obtain a wedge for the bed she shared with dad so she could sleep with her chest elevated to help her breate better. What a mistake that decision turned out to be. That wedge was huge, she used it once, and it stayed with us until my father died. 

The wedge was blue to match the bedroom walls, removeable fabric-covered foam, about 27° angle, and it took up more than 1/2 of my parents' queen-sized bed. When mom used it, she said the bottom of her spine hurt. I knew what she meant, and that position wasn't the best for her, or for anyone for that matter. But, since hospice ordered it and my parents didn't pay for it, they kept it.

Since that wedge stayed past dad's demise, it was up to me to decide what to do with that durn thing. I donated it. I hope it found a good home.

Speaking of donations, plan now to decide what you want to pass on to your friends, family, children, etc. and which things need to be donated. I had to make those decitions alone for both parents, as my siblings live out west and weren't part of the day-to-day plans and outcomes regarding either parents' deaths. My parents didn't say a word about most of their items, and I didn't know to ask. I wish I did. My life would be so much easier.

Even now, many of my parents' belongings are sitting quietly down in my basement, waiting for me to decide what to do with them.

Hospice Arrives and Our Brains Hurt

On this day, 12 January in 2014, my parents and I were introduced to hospice for the first time in our lives. Although my parents had already lost their parents, the only experience they had with hospice (that I remember) was when dad's brother engaged with hospice to help take care of his dying wife in 2007. We were intrigued, and lodged that possibility of help in the backs of our brains for future use. Now was the time to see if it would work.

I noted in a Facebook post that hospice nurses drilled my father and I with our parts in taking care of mom. Our days would be filled with counting sodium mg (3 grams per day max), liquids (no more than 1,500 ML per day), tactics on how to shoot saline into various tubes protruding from my mother's body, how to change dressings, and learning how to operate two different oxygen systems. Dad did panic once when he couldn't replace the cap correctly on mom's bile duct catheter, but he eventually got it. He also cooked most of the evening's dinner and I picked up a baked chicken at Kroger.

I don't know how many chickens we consumed during mom's illness and especially after she died, but that's a story in itself. I pray for all the chickens.

The man who brought the oxygen was entertaining. Dad had a great time talking with him. The parents had a gas fireplace, and the oxygen man was especially leery of that contraption, but dad promised they wouldn't turn it on while oxygen was in the room. We eventually stored the tanks in the corner of their master bedroom, and we "hid" the current oxygen tank in use behind the easy chair in the living room.

Now we waited for all the "contraptions" to arrive, including a hospital bed, shower chair, wheelchair, and walker. Mom was on cloud nine with all the attention, but when everyone left she became surly about the incoming items, especially the hospital bed. Dad insisted on it, though, because of all the conveniences it offered. Mom was insistent on where to place it. It would go into the living room, where anyone who visited could see it.

That hospital bed eventually became the center of attention.