Still Here

Both of us. Mom is still here, hanging on, and I'm still here at home, taking care. Yesterday, thanks to our lovely warm weather, Mom was able to have her lunch on the back patio.

And after a sound post-dinner nap, Mom was able to stay awake for the last 1-1/2 hours of the last primary debate. Her observations? "I think it is a good debate, don't you?" "I don't understand anything they're talking about." "Your guy got to talk!"

And good news in the Too Much Information department: Mom continues to pass urine without a catheter. Nothing like caring for the dying to make you thankful for bodily functions. And the ability to walk at will. And countless other abilities we take for granted every day. This dying process is very much a return to the cradle. It reminds me of how those early years were spent talking about pee, poop, digestive difficulties, food intake, sleep habits, changing abilities, and never really ever knowing exactly what was going on or what to do. Lots of guessing, and trial-and-error, and learn-as-you-go, and prayer.

This morning at 3:00, Mom rang for a change, and proposed that we put the potty chair right by her bed so she could use it in the night. She suggested we try it in the daytime first. I loved this idea and I thought maybe Mom was getting some energy back. Then first thing this morning (you know, the real morning, which begins sometime after 7:00 a.m.), Mom wanted a shower. I reminded her that the lovely Cassandra/Carissa was coming today, but she wanted to shower right away. She said she had "the sweats" in the night and felt too sticky and itchy to wait. I can certainly relate to "the sweats" in Mom's toasty warm house. I asked Mom how she wanted to get to the shower, and she said she would use her walker.

Now, at this point, Mom really reminded me of Dad in his decline. I think I will never meet two more determined people. If a body could survive based on will, those two would be immortal. This frail shell of a woman who could not walk more than a step or two since Monday, was planning to walker into the bathroom, then have a shower, with me "close by?" Okie dokie. I certainly was not going to say no. Mom did indeed walk into the bathroom, made it to her shower chair, and got herself undressed. She ordered me to gather her supplies, then began the shower. She asked for help with her hair. Then she asked me to wash her back. And her arms. And her front. And her legs. And her feet. And she told me I would have to dry her and get the wheelchair.

Once I got her back into bed, she lay there with her eyes closed. She said she was "a weak cat." She didn't respond when I asked her questions.

Gwen: Mom, do you feel different?

Mom: [heart beating like a hummingbird, gasping for breath] Yes, I feel much better after my shower.

Gwen: I mean do you feel different worse?

Mom: Oh. I could GO.

Gwen: Well, you would go clean.

Death by shower was not to be though. After a couple of naps, Mom felt strong enough for her breakfast. She's currently sitting in the red chair with her headphones on, eating blue corn chips and Nate-made guacamole. And she has sworn off showers. For now.