Downhill, Actual and Wishful

Mama is not doing well today.

She had a weird night. One of Mom's goals is to waken me as little as possible, which is of course a lovely goal and I'm not complaining. I know that she is awake much more than the few times she calls me, because I hear her set her glass down after taking a sip of water and I hear her check her clock and I hear her adjust her bed. This morning when she rang for me in the wee hours, I went in to find her feet uncovered and her pillow missing. She seemed unaware and just wanted to use the bedpan. When I asked what happened to her pillow, she asked if I would find it for her. At first I couldn't see it because it was stuck down under the bedframe and I had to tug it out. While I was searching for Mom's pillow, I found the clock centrally located under the bed as well. Just weird.

Today, as I was asking Mom about it, she decided she must have had some "struggle" in the night. As she lined it out, saying she had adjusted the bed and lost her pillow and it must have been related to her breathing, I told her I thought that would be a great time to ring for me so I could help. But she said she wasn't aware at the time. I don't know if Mom is remembering, or if she is just supposing. So hard to say.

This morning, after she declined a change and had her coffee and breakfast, Mom was sitting at the front window and I was sitting at the dining room table maybe 15 feet away. Mom called out in her whispery voice, "Frozen Coffee!" I walked over and said, "Are you asking for your frapp from the freezer?" Mom said, "Take. My. Frozen. Coffee. Out." I asked Mom if she was having trouble breathing and she said, "I might be." Then Mom said, "I'm thinking about the drops." Morphine. Mom willingly took morphine today, twice so far, to help with her breathing. So you know it's bad.

But she's still eating, small portions but regular meals. All bodily functions still operating regularly as well. Probably half the time, Mom needs assistance to transfer from wheelchair to bed, and most of the time we lift the head of the bed to help her sit up to move to the wheelchair. Out of 24 hours, she still spends 4-6 hours awake and sitting up. I know Mom is eager for the end, and I know it is coming, but it's not here yet. And she's not happy about that!

As I was raising the head of the bed to facilitate Mom getting up after her morning nap, she made some small sound of distress. I stopped the bed.

Gwen: What is it?

Mom: Oh...well...

Gwen: Will you tell me what's bothering you?

Mom: [Gets self out of bed and into wheelchair without assistance. In silence. I rub phenergan on her wrists as previously requested.] It's my general condition. And I remember what Dr. L______ said. Do you remember?

Gwen: [Gathers Mom's things into her little bag. Thinks to self, "Yeah. He said the edema in your legs would never get better. Boom."] What's that?

Mom: He said I would go fast at the end. And I'm going downhill fast.

Gwen: [brushing Mom's hair] What do you mean?

Mom: Oh, my breathing and my weakness.

Gwen: You just got out of bed and into the wheelchair under your own steam.

Mom: I'm glad you don't talk much.