My Grandma Sheila
I'm crying alone on my couch on a Saturday night.
My grandma is dying; my favorite grandma is dying.
She's been dying for a while but took a sharp turn downhill about two months ago and was evaluated for hospice care. At that point, we were all on guard but when she stopped declining, we became emotionally comfortable again, until today. We received a phone call today that things weren't looking good and my grandma was in a great deal of pain. They told us they didn't think this is it, but after we visited her, we weren't so sure.
In a way, it's a good thing because I think we're all slowly coming to terms with it. In another way, it's a bad thing because she has suffered greatly, and in the end I wish she never had to suffer.
When we visited her today, she was lying in bed, her body thin and frail, writhing in pain and moaning. "Mama, Mama, Mama," she moaned over and over again. The nurse stroked her hair and gently said "mama is here. Mama is here." My grandma, a devout Catholic, also repeats the Hail Mary aloud to herself for comfort. Her bed had been moved across the room- so she could have a view of the garden- and pushed against the wall so she didn't roll out of it. A blue mat was placed on the side of her bed, just in case she does fall out.
Last night, one of her nurses-Pam- slept with my grandma and rubbed her arms when she cried out in pain.
Ten or so minutes after we arrived at the group home where she's lived for five years, the nurses came in to check on her. One of them grabbed a fork and fluffed her thick, beautiful, white hair and stroked her head softly. Because she had been in a great deal of pain, they had decided to start administering morphine in an oral suspension form. We all gathered around the box that contained the morphine and said positive things about it. "Ooh, raspberry. I bet that will taste good. She'll probably like that. This'll make her more comfortable- she deserves that." I think we were all trying not to cry.
Pam administered the morphine and the other nurse, Amy, reminded Pam to keep my grandma's mouth shut to keep the morphine from drooling out the side. They gave her the smallest dose possible, hoping it would be effective. If it wasn't, they explained to us, they would try a liquid form of lorazepam- an anti-anxiety drug- to help calm her down.
We're not positive that she's in a great deal of pain but it's easy to infer that she is. She hasn't had a bowel movement in a long time and they're guessing she has some sort of blockage, which must be painful. If she hasn't had a bowel movement by tomorrow, they're going to give her an enema.
Shortly after the morphine, they lifted the blanket to check to see if the pad she was lying on was wet. She started straining, so they were hoping she was going to have a bowel movement. Wanting to help her maintain at least some dignity, we left the room while they placed her on the toilet chair by her bed. We waited around for a few minutes and decided to leave.
Another phone call tonight informed us that she has declined even more since we saw her at 1:30.
It feels wrong but I really just want her to pass.
I hope with everything in me that she is unaware of what is happening because the "life" she is living right now is really, really shitty. She sleeps all day, is in constant pain, has lost her mind, can't eat, and does nothing but lie in bed all day. Pictures of her family surround her but she doesn't know who we are, and her eyesight is poor.
When we last visited her about two weeks ago, she was clearly fading, but was able to have conversations with us in between naps. Although she had no idea who we were, she was still graceful and elegant. My grandma always maintains her elegance.
--
My grandma is a beautiful person and has always been our favorite. She was good to us growing up and was well-loved by all. Her wit was enviable, and according to one of my friend's grandpa's- was beautiful as a young woman. "Sheila was a dish" he explained, dreamily, "oh Sheila... we all liked Sheila... she was such a dish." She still is beautiful.
--
My grandma is a very spiritual person. God and her family members give her a great deal of comfort. I believe that her mom and her sister Lil are comforting her during her last days. I'm so thankful she's as spiritual as she is.
Sorry this is so disjointed. I'm exhausted- physically and emotionally. I should have slept hours ago but somehow I feel the longer I'm awake, the more I can enjoy the last hours of my grandma's life, even if she is 7 miles away. I feel like I've been spiritually with her tonight.
My grandma is dying; my favorite grandma is dying.
She's been dying for a while but took a sharp turn downhill about two months ago and was evaluated for hospice care. At that point, we were all on guard but when she stopped declining, we became emotionally comfortable again, until today. We received a phone call today that things weren't looking good and my grandma was in a great deal of pain. They told us they didn't think this is it, but after we visited her, we weren't so sure.
In a way, it's a good thing because I think we're all slowly coming to terms with it. In another way, it's a bad thing because she has suffered greatly, and in the end I wish she never had to suffer.
When we visited her today, she was lying in bed, her body thin and frail, writhing in pain and moaning. "Mama, Mama, Mama," she moaned over and over again. The nurse stroked her hair and gently said "mama is here. Mama is here." My grandma, a devout Catholic, also repeats the Hail Mary aloud to herself for comfort. Her bed had been moved across the room- so she could have a view of the garden- and pushed against the wall so she didn't roll out of it. A blue mat was placed on the side of her bed, just in case she does fall out.
Last night, one of her nurses-Pam- slept with my grandma and rubbed her arms when she cried out in pain.
Ten or so minutes after we arrived at the group home where she's lived for five years, the nurses came in to check on her. One of them grabbed a fork and fluffed her thick, beautiful, white hair and stroked her head softly. Because she had been in a great deal of pain, they had decided to start administering morphine in an oral suspension form. We all gathered around the box that contained the morphine and said positive things about it. "Ooh, raspberry. I bet that will taste good. She'll probably like that. This'll make her more comfortable- she deserves that." I think we were all trying not to cry.
Pam administered the morphine and the other nurse, Amy, reminded Pam to keep my grandma's mouth shut to keep the morphine from drooling out the side. They gave her the smallest dose possible, hoping it would be effective. If it wasn't, they explained to us, they would try a liquid form of lorazepam- an anti-anxiety drug- to help calm her down.
We're not positive that she's in a great deal of pain but it's easy to infer that she is. She hasn't had a bowel movement in a long time and they're guessing she has some sort of blockage, which must be painful. If she hasn't had a bowel movement by tomorrow, they're going to give her an enema.
Shortly after the morphine, they lifted the blanket to check to see if the pad she was lying on was wet. She started straining, so they were hoping she was going to have a bowel movement. Wanting to help her maintain at least some dignity, we left the room while they placed her on the toilet chair by her bed. We waited around for a few minutes and decided to leave.
Another phone call tonight informed us that she has declined even more since we saw her at 1:30.
It feels wrong but I really just want her to pass.
I hope with everything in me that she is unaware of what is happening because the "life" she is living right now is really, really shitty. She sleeps all day, is in constant pain, has lost her mind, can't eat, and does nothing but lie in bed all day. Pictures of her family surround her but she doesn't know who we are, and her eyesight is poor.
When we last visited her about two weeks ago, she was clearly fading, but was able to have conversations with us in between naps. Although she had no idea who we were, she was still graceful and elegant. My grandma always maintains her elegance.
--
My grandma is a beautiful person and has always been our favorite. She was good to us growing up and was well-loved by all. Her wit was enviable, and according to one of my friend's grandpa's- was beautiful as a young woman. "Sheila was a dish" he explained, dreamily, "oh Sheila... we all liked Sheila... she was such a dish." She still is beautiful.
--
My grandma is a very spiritual person. God and her family members give her a great deal of comfort. I believe that her mom and her sister Lil are comforting her during her last days. I'm so thankful she's as spiritual as she is.
Sorry this is so disjointed. I'm exhausted- physically and emotionally. I should have slept hours ago but somehow I feel the longer I'm awake, the more I can enjoy the last hours of my grandma's life, even if she is 7 miles away. I feel like I've been spiritually with her tonight.