I’m about to pull my hair out
On returning from the high of our trip to South Carolina, I’m steeped back into the world of my mother. They are trying to get her off the restraints to move her to a nursing home where basically she will wait out the minutes, hours, days or weeks or months till she dies. Meanwhile, they are using Ativan as a medical restraint, so she is lethargic and confused. And I’m using half an Ativan to sleep through the night and not wake up with my stomach in knots. Mom continues to rip out her vent and catheter and tries to climb out of the bed. When we arrived this morning she looked like she hadn’t slept in ten years. The day nurse said the night nurse reported mom didn’t sleep a wink.
What to do? They were transferring mom tomorrow to her last resting place – Ferncrest – the last weighing station on your way out. Mom is either doomed to restraints and living our her life that way, or she is doomed to be sedated and spend her final days even less conscious than she is now. And she can’t be in restraints at Ferncrest and she can’t stay at St. Theresa’s.
I have advocated getting off the vent to her and just going home to die in her own bed and she turns her head. And then she gets angry and pulls her vent out. I don’t blame her. I’m angry too.
After I left the hospital, I got a call as I was pulling into the driveway that mom had gone code blue again right after I left. This time the doctors didn’t have to resuscitate her but they did reverse the Ativan and up her vent – but EVERYONE wants to put a DNR order on mom’s chart so that she might find the peace she deserves except one selfish little fucking bitch – my sister. And I’m so spitting mad I could just fire a canon across the bayou and blow up a duck or two.