I once read in a book somewhere that your soul chooses the path that your life will take before you are ever born to the earth. It went on to explain that your soul chooses the suffering because you have to experience everything in life to complete your soul. I guess in some strange way this thought brings me comfort. The fact that my mom always expressed a fear for a debilitating disease like PML makes me think it was almost inevitable that she would suffer it, like her soul chose this path to complete itself and learn another of life’s lessons.
These moments of my mom’s illness have taught me to appreciate what I have in my life, I have seen a different side of the people I love, a strength I didn’t know they had, a strength they probably didn’t know they had either. I always knew in my heart that I had some wonderful people around me, but I don't think you truly make that realization until you are faced with such an illness. I cried in the waiting room outside the ICU when Kelly sat across from Dan and thanked him. She wanted him to know how much she appreciated all that he was doing for my mom, all the care he is giving her. She told him that his actions showed her that he loved my mom more than any of us had ever realized and that he was a stronger person than anyone ever gave him credit for in his life. I watched Dan’s eyes fill as he told Kelly she didn’t have to thank him and Kelly answered simply “Yes. I do.” This illness has taught all of us not to hold things back, not to let a moment pass if you want something to be known. It was nice to be a part of that moment, to see that connection in our family and know that my mom will be happy to see we are holding together. I have always known that my mom is an amazing woman and that everything in her world revolved around her family, but I never realized how much until these moments. While we were talking to doctors and trying to decide how to save her life she was making sure we knew how to live ours without her.
My mom has had the breathing tube for 3 days now. She continues to breathe on her own and communicates with us by nodding her head, blinking her eyes or rolling them, depending on what the moment calls for, and squeezing our hands. Of course, when we told her my Aunt Cathy was waiting for her to get better to take her to Vegas she started moving her legs up and down. "Are you trying to leave, Mom?" Another nod of the head.
Although I realize it was taken as a life saving measure for my mom, I still feel a great deal of guilt regarding the intubation. I refuse to give up on my mom if there is still a chance that she can regain her life. I am not so naïve that I believe she will have the life she had before the onset of this illness and I am not so selfish that I would allow her to come back to a life that wasn’t worth living. I understand that some skills may never be returned to her but her mind is still working and that is the part that knows I love her. I miss my mom dearly and that makes me realize what I am willing to live without, but I also love her dearly and that makes me realize what she is willing to live without. My mom would never forgive me if I forced her to live a life without independence. So, once again, I am putting all my faith in a doctor, a man, who seems to understand that and still believes.
When I entered her room in ICU seeing that tube for the first time sent fear and sickness falling over me in waves. My mom looked so weak and small and I knew in my heart that these are the images that will haunt me for my lifetime, but I sat down beside her bed all the same because I know that she is judging how bad things are by the look in my eyes. I took her hand and said what came to mind, "I am so sorry for this." I said as a gestured toward that awful tube. "It is just so hard to stop fighting when it comes to you." She squeezed my hand despite the effort I know it took her and our eyes stayed locked together. I explained to her that I don’t want to live this life without her and begged her not to quit. She started moving her legs and I saw the strain in her face when she struggled to move her left arm that has lain useless by her side for weeks now. I would have thought the sight of the fingers on that hand curling slowly in and out were my imagination if it weren’t for my mom’s nurse. “My my, you are just raring for a fight, aren’t you, Miss Bonnie?” What more can I ask of her than to fight?
Please God, give us 7 days…
These moments of my mom’s illness have taught me to appreciate what I have in my life, I have seen a different side of the people I love, a strength I didn’t know they had, a strength they probably didn’t know they had either. I always knew in my heart that I had some wonderful people around me, but I don't think you truly make that realization until you are faced with such an illness. I cried in the waiting room outside the ICU when Kelly sat across from Dan and thanked him. She wanted him to know how much she appreciated all that he was doing for my mom, all the care he is giving her. She told him that his actions showed her that he loved my mom more than any of us had ever realized and that he was a stronger person than anyone ever gave him credit for in his life. I watched Dan’s eyes fill as he told Kelly she didn’t have to thank him and Kelly answered simply “Yes. I do.” This illness has taught all of us not to hold things back, not to let a moment pass if you want something to be known. It was nice to be a part of that moment, to see that connection in our family and know that my mom will be happy to see we are holding together. I have always known that my mom is an amazing woman and that everything in her world revolved around her family, but I never realized how much until these moments. While we were talking to doctors and trying to decide how to save her life she was making sure we knew how to live ours without her.
My mom has had the breathing tube for 3 days now. She continues to breathe on her own and communicates with us by nodding her head, blinking her eyes or rolling them, depending on what the moment calls for, and squeezing our hands. Of course, when we told her my Aunt Cathy was waiting for her to get better to take her to Vegas she started moving her legs up and down. "Are you trying to leave, Mom?" Another nod of the head.
Although I realize it was taken as a life saving measure for my mom, I still feel a great deal of guilt regarding the intubation. I refuse to give up on my mom if there is still a chance that she can regain her life. I am not so naïve that I believe she will have the life she had before the onset of this illness and I am not so selfish that I would allow her to come back to a life that wasn’t worth living. I understand that some skills may never be returned to her but her mind is still working and that is the part that knows I love her. I miss my mom dearly and that makes me realize what I am willing to live without, but I also love her dearly and that makes me realize what she is willing to live without. My mom would never forgive me if I forced her to live a life without independence. So, once again, I am putting all my faith in a doctor, a man, who seems to understand that and still believes.
When I entered her room in ICU seeing that tube for the first time sent fear and sickness falling over me in waves. My mom looked so weak and small and I knew in my heart that these are the images that will haunt me for my lifetime, but I sat down beside her bed all the same because I know that she is judging how bad things are by the look in my eyes. I took her hand and said what came to mind, "I am so sorry for this." I said as a gestured toward that awful tube. "It is just so hard to stop fighting when it comes to you." She squeezed my hand despite the effort I know it took her and our eyes stayed locked together. I explained to her that I don’t want to live this life without her and begged her not to quit. She started moving her legs and I saw the strain in her face when she struggled to move her left arm that has lain useless by her side for weeks now. I would have thought the sight of the fingers on that hand curling slowly in and out were my imagination if it weren’t for my mom’s nurse. “My my, you are just raring for a fight, aren’t you, Miss Bonnie?” What more can I ask of her than to fight?
Please God, give us 7 days…
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