Staying at home is not
something I have been able to do much in recent years. Consequently, I must confess I have really
enjoyed this past week at home. Each day
I have become a little stronger and surer on my feet as I have accomplished my
regular household chores and light meal preparation without breathlessness.
The lovely bouquet that Mary
Ellen and Brianna brought me last Saturday is still lovely in the living
room. Jeannie’s huge flowering basket of
purple petunias was just the annual summer lift I had failed to provide for the
front porch this season. Together Gerald and I have kept it watered
nicely. I have slept late late late without
feeling lazy, and I’ve worked slowly instead of having to hurry.
After the second shot to help
thin my blood, the home health nurse reported the better figure to my doctor on
Monday, and a call came from the doctor’s office that no more shots were
necessary. Now the doctor is trying to
determine exactly how much warfarin (rat poison) I need each day to keep the
INR figure ssteady between 2 and 3. Gerald took me to see the primary doctor on
Wednesday, and the home health nurse checked me again on Friday.
I think the hospital doctor
scheduled home health nurse visits for Monday, Wednesday, Friday again this
week, and I am hoping by then my blood will be flowing perfectly at the correct
thickness created with a stable daily dose of the correct amount of warfarin. And
if my body has not yet already dissolved all the clots in my lungs as I think
it has, I hope that task will have been completed by then too. I have been emphatically told that I need to
stay on warfarin for the rest of my life, and that I will be glad to do. I was already glad to do so; but being told
it was no longer necessary made me think I should follow the doctor’s advice. I did not want to be a pill popper. I think
the doctor’s advice was statistically correct, but unfortunately my genetic
make-up was somewhat of an anomaly. For me going off warfarin turned out to be
an expensive experiment. But now I know, and I will pop those daily pills with
a clear conscience.
One of the negatives of old age
is that a large number of your loved ones and friends are also. Right before I went to the hospital, my
brother Jim called from Mattoon to tell me their
paper carried the obituary of a dear friend, who lived in nearby Charleston
Of course, I wanted to do
that—especially since I have really been wanting to go see Jim and Vivian
anyway—but I told him I really did not think I was up to it. And, of course, by Tuesday I was in the
hospital and glad I had declined the invitation. But I remembered all the fun times Shirley
and I had: Sunday afternoon play dates
or swimming at the creek west of town where we used to persuade a parent to
take us, high school double dating, and perhaps, best of all, the long long
talks on the rare nights she got the family car and we would discuss the world
and all the people in it but mostly talk about ourselves—what we believed, what
our plans were, and what we wanted out of life.
Shirley had already survived
two bouts of lung cancer (despite never smoking), lost her husband a few years
back, and because of medical
carelessness, had lost her eye sight. So
I could not grieve for her. She had
lived well, accomplished what she was supposed to in life, and is now in a better place But I grieved some for myself that we would
not have that final visit or even a recent letter I meant to write that her
daughter could have read to her.
Jim and I talked during last
week, and on Friday when I meant to call
him to wish him a happy 86th birthday, I was thwarted again. Since he and Vivian have busy lives that
include four or five shots a day for her diabetes, and Jim also likes to sleep
in, I was waiting until after lunch to see how his most recent doctor
appointment had gone. At the noon table,
however, the phone rang and the name flashed up that it was a call from Jim, so
I answered by singing “Happy Birthday” to him.
It was Vivian phoning to tell me Jim was in the hospital, had had a
stint repaired or something of that nature that morning and would need another
on Monday. (He had four stints put in
last autumn when he ended up in the hospital for a week or so instead of being
able to give his granddaughter away at her wedding as he had rehearsed.) Since that Friday phone call, I’ve been told
he had a “mild heart attack.” Whatever
that means. Needless to say, I am
anxious about the procedure planned for in the morning.
This morning we learned that
our beloved sister-in-law Ginger had once again woke with seizures, not too
unusual for the last 13 years since she had a stroke that took away her short
term memory. She remained well dressed
and attractive and could pass at social events as healthy or at least until
recent years. If she talked about the past, she did well. But if she asked you
a question about recent events, she would immediately forget your answer and
ask again. (I answered the same question
once eleven times within an hour, and I knew she would ask again the next time
I saw her.) Gerald’s brother Garry kept a wonderful care giver with her because
of her need for help with medicine and meals and her intense anxiety about
where he was after he took her into town each morning for breakfast before he
began his day’s work on the farm. But the seizures and strokes eventually took
their toll and she was often in the hospital.
A couple of months ago, once
more the ambulance took her to the hospital, and this time she did not get well
enough to return home. Much to her
family’s discomfort, there were needs that could only be met at a nursing home, but they banded together to
be sure that during most of her waking hours, she had one of them there when
her regular day caretaker was not present.
They cheered for her when she was finally able to stand, and the goal
was for her to become sufficiently proficient with a walker to go back to her
home. Our niece Vicki Sue grieved that her mother did not show many smiles although
she sat through many funny movies with her mother. Ginger’s sister Lillian, who lost her husband
after a long illness during this time, came from Missouri
However by the end of last
week, Ginger was deteriorating. This morning Ginger was awake at 4 o’clock with
yet another round of seizures, and the word went out to the family that she was
taken to the Cape Girardeau
Soon we were up in the ICU
waiting room with a large circle of family members including Lillian to be with
Garry and Vicki and her brother Kerry as they faced the responsibility of doing
what the doctor was advising and what Ginger had said she wanted back when she
was still able to make such decisions. Two by two we were going in with Garry
to say goodbye to someone who did not look like anyone we used to know and
could not respond. Eyes were closed, and occasional grimaces indicated some
discomfort with the equipment all over her face. Garry, who has stood tall and firm for over
thirteen years, was breaking up knowing what his answer must be for the doctor.
The breathing tube was taken off, and Ginger continued breathing on her own.
We came home and there was a
message on the phone from our neighbor telling us that her relative, who has also been our
neighbor for more that 40 years, is in the hospital at Marion
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