As you may have read, I got bad news about my mom earlier in the week. The short update? This time, it turned out to be a dress rehearsal, a valuable one. Here’s the long version:
The word I got on my mom Thursday was that I should come that day, not the next, so I did. She’s got congestive heart failure and they felt the edema in her right side–a swollen leg and arm–was thus a sign of imminent decline. The next morning, the edema was gone. She is still weak–I mean, ninety-six, right?–but in good spirits, mostly clearheaded, and in hopes of getting better. I don’t think she will but I’m damned if I’m telling her so. They no longer think she’s on the verge any more than she always is.
The best news is I got to do something I’d stalled on. When she was checked into the home, her record ended up indicating that CPR and other invasive procedures could be done on my mom. She’s been to the hospital three or four times since then, and I approve. My mom has a lot of vitality and life left in her–she’s still getting something from hanging around or she wouldn’t be doing it–and I’m happy to get her care that will help. But anything at this point that requires CPR is truly an imminent death sentence. My mom is nearly ninety-seven years old. The success rate for CPR at her age is around seven percent, and success means a chest full of broken bones and even less capacity than one had beforehand. So I changed that and a couple of other things, so they don’t get to keep her meat working after she’s gone. They did this on my authority as her health care proxy. I’d expected difficulty, but no.
My mom believes she’s going to heaven and seeing Jesus and her family when she dies. I figure if anyone does, she will. I have my doubts about heaven, myself, but then, I’ve never died yet and don’t know any of it for a fact. What I do know for a fact is that when she does finally die, I can do my best to see to it her last consciousness is that of loving family surrounding her–Jesus will have to bring his own self, but I figure he’ll make an appearance of some sort–and as pleasant as it can be. It won’t be people busting up her rib cage so she can draw another hour’s breath and then die.
I must briefly brag on my ex-wife-to-be. When I called her, she wanted to know what she could do to help. The next day, she took the daughter out of school right after her tests (four freaking tests before noon and she’s in sixth grade; what is wrong with this country?) and drove up. She’d packed up her work and a week’s clothing and was willing to stay for some time if need be. So the three of us spent time with my mom–my ex hadn’t seen my mom since we separated nearly five years ago–and hung out around town and had an awfully good time together.
Like I say, I doubt there’s a heaven, but I have no doubts about hell. It’s real, it exists here on earth, and while its intensity cannot reliably be measured, its duration is finite. Had it not been for the ex and the daughter, that’s where I’d’ve been these last few days. As it turned out, we had a small family vacation and a lovely weekend.
