Breaking Hearts

It's not yet noon but already I've had a full day. I awoke to my mother screaming in pain and struggling to breathe. My dad was lying next to her in bed, trying to calm her down by gently rubbing her back. Usually, Dad is able to help Mom relax by using this method but this morning it took longer than ever before. My mother is wearing herself out simply by going from her favorite chair to her bed, or from her bed to her adjoining bathroom. This morning is the first time she's ever said, "I don't want to get up to take my breathing treatment." It's much too hard on her. She knows she will surely die without her breathing treatment.

I know my mother will be bedridden very soon. Any movement she takes turns into a painful, minute-by-minute fight for breath. Seeing her like this slowly chips away at my heart; carving away a small section at a time. No one should ever have to go through this. Not my mother: not anyone.

Mom asked me to call her doctor today. She hates going to the doctor. Asking me to call him makes me realize that she knows how much worse her condition has become Her next appointment wasn't scheduled for another two weeks. I called the doctor. This afternoon at 2:45, together with my father, I will take Mother to see her doctor.

"I'm afraid he'll put me back in the hospital," Mom said. "I don't want to go back there," she added, breathlessly. "Let's just see what the doctor has to say," I answered, cupping her child-like hand into mine. "I promise that I won't let you go back to the hospital. There are other things we can do to make you more comfortable here at home."

The word 'Hospice' was never used, yet we both knew what I was talking about. Hospice is needed. Hospice has been needed. There is nothing more I can do. Nothing more my father, sisters, or brothers can do to help Mother. Although I hate to think of this, there is probably nothing more her doctor can even do. Hospice will help her. She can't go on suffering like this. There is no need to.

My aunt (Mother's oldest sister) called for an update. When I shared our morning, she broke down in tears. She literally had to put the phone down. I heard her crying from afar: trying to gather her emotions. This is very, very hard on her. As the oldest of my mom's siblings, she has taken care of (and witnessed the agonizing deaths) of their mother, their father, and their younger sister, who died of brain cancer at the age of 34. Now, my aunt must go through this cycle of life once again. She asked to see Mom for a few moments before she left for her doctor's appointment. My aunt won't stay very long but she needs to be with her. This breaks her heart, too.

I will know more today after Mother's appointment. Please say a prayer for us.