Our World

It’s 3 months since Kathy left us. A month for Mum.

I try every day to keep myself occupied and some days I succeed better than others.

I have donated Kathy’s and Mum’s clothes and am starting to sort through stored items.  Neither task was welcomed but it’s not all in sadness.

Here’s a throwback pic of a pic. I believe taken in Hamilton where we attended a function of some sort, perhaps a wedding.  It was stored in one of Kathy’s trunks along with a slew of items we packed away from her old apartment when we moved to the condo.

Kathy and I had been dating for just under a year when I was offered a transfer and promotion to manage the Vancouver office of the firm I worked for.

I said yes and Kathy and I promised one another we would maintain a long distance relationship.

That first summer away Kath came to visit for a month. I took some vacation and we explored BC and Washington state.

The day came when Kath had to head home and we said our goodbyes at the airport. The longing I felt on arriving back at my empty apartment has stayed fresh all these years.

Whenever Kathy and I had a fight which was rare despite her furious rep I would remember that day. Over the years it became a sort of touchstone for why our relationship was so right and worthwhile.

A little over two years later I quit my job. Kathy said come home and from the day I turned up on her doorstep we rarely spent more than 2 or 3 days apart.

We were good for each other and when we weren’t we patched things up knowing we were in it for the long haul and both of us better off for it.

When Kathy was diagnosed with cancer that longing, that memory of her parting returned. I felt selfish and told her that it was the first thought that sprang to mind but she understood.

Nothing prepares you for what Kath went through, for what we both went through.

She told me often how happy she was to wake up in recovery after her major surgery and see my smiling face.

And I remember the joy we shared when the doctor declared her “disease free” and also the dread when 3 months later Kathy noticed those familiar “pains” had returned.

Kathy was robbed one by one of life’s little pleasures.  That’s what cancer does, it steals from you and your loved ones.

I’m not sure if I will ever watch another episode of CSI: Las Vegas.

Between Christmas and New Year a 24/7 marathon was on.

By then Kathy could only be semi-comfortable in the Lazy Boy so I slept on the couch and we watched every season together, falling asleep in fits and starts throughout the day and night.

My days were spent feeding her as best I could even though it became more futile with each passing day, giving her injections and otherwise trying, hoping to be some sort of useful.

But I learned what it means to be truly powerless, to know that nothing can be done to save the one you love.

To watch her fade away before my eyes.

To grow so weak she could no longer walk.

To bathe her in the morning lifting each weakened limb and feeling virtually no resistance.

To watch as she struggled with anguish and fear that I could not in any way assuage.

She pointed and I packed her clothes for her the trip to the hospice scheduled for Friday morning January 8th.

Her condition turned critical that morning just as the hospice transport arrived, they, against protocol, called 911 and the medics revived her so Kathy was to admitted to a local hospital.

Kathy smiled and waved as she watched me being made Covid proof in the ER outside her room.

We were granted a few more hours more together and I will always be grateful for that.

Kathy passed away the next morning.

I miss her every single day.

These last few days have been a bit more trying given I am sorting through our life together and I just felt a need to write something down, to vent a little.

Last night my niece texted me. She lost her husband to cancer not long before Christmas.

I found out She still talks to Kim just as I still talk to Kathy.

We agreed they have a way of lifting us when we are down.

As for Buddy and me, well we are managing best we can. He’s a good little guy. Likes ham a lot.

Numb as all of us must be from this endless lockdown hibernation, with all of its attendant anxieties, perhaps the advent of the Easter weekend might bring a moment of pause and quiet. In the Christian tradition Easter is the end of the Lent, the season of abstention and the sombre events preceding Easter Sunday of Holy Week.

We really ought to bring back geographical literacy — a basic familiarity with the shape of countries and continents.

I realise that this sort of thing went out with the British Empire. But just because there’s no more pink on the map it doesn’t that we shouldn’t make the effort.

We especially need to get into our heads that the world is full of choke points — through which the arteries of global economy must pass.

I was called into the hospital at 3 AM this morning as Mom’s O2 level had dropped into the 70’s.

After an in person chat with the attending physician it was again decided that repositioning and suction would be used as Mom is not a good ventilator candidate.

I sat at Mom’s bedside till nearly 8 am. She is under a med induced sleep but I spoke to her throughout the night and watched as her O2 level climbed from 80 to 90 where it remained stable.

Unfortunately I am garbed up when I visit, gloved, masked, vizor’d and gowned so no congratulatory kiss for Mom.

I am home now hoping to get some rest and will head back to the hospital this afternoon barring an early call from the hospital.

I wish I could say Mom was kicking Covid butt but right now it’s stalemated.

 

Update: Just before 3 AM the hospital called. Mom’s Oxygen levels are sinking again. I was advised to head to the hospital.

Things are not looking good.

The Doctors advised me this afternoon that Mom likely has only a couple of days left.

Miracles happen and there is always hope.

They are treating her with steroids for the covid and anti-psychotics for the delirium she has experienced.

Steroids raise blood sugar so she is also receiving insulin.

This is on top of her heart medications, Mom suffers CHF.

Mom was resting comfortably this afternoon when I visited though she was unresponsive due to the meds. She’s currently on 15 litres of oxygen.

She was holding steady when I left this afternoon.

Then I received a call from the hospital shortly before midnight.

Mom’s oxygen levels had dropped to the mid to low 80’s. At this level over a relatively short period of time organ failure and brain damage occurs I was told.

I was given a choice – allow non-invasive procedures,  primarily re-positioning & suctioning, or intubation i.e. a ventilator,  an invasive procedure.

Mom’s lungs are overrun with covid. While intubation is the best means of delivering oxygen there is no guarantee that enough will be supplied given the state of the inflammation in her lungs to raise her levels to an acceptable degree.

Further mom’s heart may not be able to take the strain of intubation. There exists a real possibility based on the doctor’s experience of heart attack or stroke given mom’s condition and age.

It’s not the type of phone call anyone wants to receive. I leaned initially to intubation as the surest way to deliver oxygen but when advised the risk of weaning someone from the apparatus is as great as the intubation insertion itself I backed off and went for repositioning.

The Doctor reminded me to think of what Mum would want given she has a DNR. The risk of being left in a vegetative state is the reason why she elected to have a DNR in place.

Repositioning is just that, move her around  and see if the lungs work better and the oxygen intake improves.

I was then advised to make my way to the hospital.

15 minutes later the doctor called. Their repositioning effort worked,  Mom’s oxygen level has risen to the mid 90’s, not perfect but acceptable.

I still won’t sleep much tonight and will visit tomorrow.

Thank you all for caring.

Note – post is a sticky new posts will appear below.

I have been granted a visit with Mom today.

She remains in guarded condition suffering from Covid that she contracted in hospital.

A minor miracle is needed for her to recover.

I can only hope this is not the last visit, it will be my first in a month as she has been isolated.

Last Saturday I spoke with her on the phone and was elated that she sounded so energetic and so clear.

Sunday morning I got the call that they needed to transfer her from the rehab to a hospital better able to manage her suddenly deteriorating condition.

This last year has been a hard one for our family.

My niece lost her husband to cancer shortly before Christmas last year.

Her sister’s husband suffered two massive heart attacks in the last six months of 2020. Thankfully he is on the mend.

My brother is in palliative care at home dying from a bad ticker, he never smoked and rarely drank, such are the wages of abstinence.

Kathy’s loss weighs heaviest of all and the prospect of Mom’s passing is numbing.

All you can do is try to keep yourself busy and the heartache at bay.

I hope that Mom can see through the fog and know I am there.

Mom’s condition deteriorated rapidly last night, she has Covid-Pneumonia which she caught at the rehab hospital.

I spoke to her yesterday and she seemed so much her old self after a couple of tough days that today’s developments came as a shock.

She was struggling to breathe and her oxygen levels had dropped very low by normal standards so it was decided to transfer her to the Covid ward at Toronto Western.

Mom is 96 and suffers congestive heart failure. Given her frail state she is not considered a ventilator candidate. The risks of intubation are high I am told by the doctors and the reward may only amount to a delay of the inevitable. Ventilators are reserved primarily for younger patients who may stand a better chance of recovery I was informed.

She has been on a steroid treatment since the initial diagnosis at Runnymede. They have now given her diuretics’ to manage the fluid in her lungs and are giving her oxygen at the highest rate possible. Delivery is via a mask for now but a more efficient means is available if needed. Blood test results will indicate if other treatments, some described as “experimental” are suitable.

Mom is awake and she is able to converse with the staff.

She’s holding her own but the next 24 to 48 hours are critical.

I am not allowed to visit but a phone call may be arranged later.

Say a prayer and thanks for your concern.

Meaning and meaninglessness, and a year of trials

Scrooge will still send the goose around to the Cratchits, but the boy who delivers it will be wearing a mask. I imagine the nephew has called off his party, so that Uncle Ebenezer will not perform his usual Dickensian frolic (the geezer’s dance of grace and redemption). Instead, he will make the best of a bad time, sitting alone in the cold house and waving at his relatives through the Zoom lens.