Watershed

Maybe. I'm not sure. I just have a feeling about today.

It started out like a normal day, except Mom slept a little late til 8:15. She climbed out of bed and into her wheelchair without assistance. She wanted her egg and toast for breakfast and she drank her coffee. She wanted a cup of ice. Cassandra/Carissa/Keturah/Acturah came early and massaged Mom's feet and legs while she sat by the window. Then Mom wanted to go back to bed at 9:30. She asked for some phenergan cream for nausea.

And she asked for her nausea medicine every two hours for the rest of the day. When she rang for me at 11:00, she said, "I've just taken the shortest nap I've ever had!" Um, nope. She was very wobbly getting out of bed and never fully straightened up, just sort of hunched over to the wheelchair. Mom wanted phenergan cream and lunch. What a combo! But she just took a couple of small bites from her turkey, cheese and tomato on wheat. (And then asked for it to be kept in a baggie. Of course.) By 12:30 she was ready to nap again.

Woke at 1:15, nausea meds, back to sleep.
Up at 3:00.
Back to bed at 4:30.
Woke for nausea meds and thought she should get up since she had been in bed since 3:00. Um, nope.

And so on and so forth. All day, Mom's preferred methods of communication with me were head nods/shakes, mysterious index finger signals, or single words. Something like this, following a diaper change and bedpan usage:

Gwen: Mom, what would you like to do now? Do you want to sleep some more or would you like to get up?

Mom: [wiggles index finger twice]

Gwen: Does that mean you want to stay in bed?

Mom: Up.

Or like this, when I parked Mom at the window:

Gwen: Can I get you anything?

Mom: [stares off into distance while slowly turning head side to side]

Gwen: Are you thinking, or does that mean "No thank you."

Mom: [whispers] No thank you.

Or like this, while helping Mom to bed for a nap:

Gwen: Would you like your rice bag?

Mom: [whispers] No.

Gwen: Would you like your oxygen?

Mom: [reaches for cannula]

Gwen: Is your throat dry? Would you like a drink?

Mom: [whispers] No.

Gwen: Why are you whispering?

Mom: [whispers] I'm tired.

And she is so very tired. I set her toothbrushing things before her at her request and she just sat and looked at them for a while. She is having trouble holding onto time and date. I think I will print out a time sheet and jot things down for her so she can keep track of what has happened in the day.

But that's the thing. I really have the feeling that she might be going Home tonight. I told the kids so they would be sure to tuck their Grandma in and give her their love. And of course, I told them I could be wrong. I certainly didn't call it with Dad. Who knows?

At the least, I do think it is a turning point for Mom, a steeper incline on the downhill slide. And maybe this is her night to fly away. I know she would be so glad to go.