Delirium. Not Silence. Twenty four sleepless hours later mother continues to regurgitate a sequence of words and phrases, not more than twenty in number, occasionally referring to grandparents, parents, acquaintances, Jesus and the Virgin Mary. Sounding like a broken radio, each sentence begins with her sister's name Suzy, the incredibly strong resilient woman who carried mother on her six year long cancer journey. No mention Carol nor I. She no longer recognizes our faces.
The final steps on the liver cancer ladder are jaundice, abdominal pain, shortness of breath and delirium, two steps away from coma and death. Deliriously dead is where mum stands today. Ten days with no food and less than two liters of water, Mother lies on her death bed pleading for her life.
"Yalla" She begs for a change, in posture, emotional or physical state. Just a change.
"Khalas" and "goodbye" she announces the end.
"Ma3lesh" she reassures herself and others that it's all going to be okay.
"Ya habibty" "alby" she repeats in a parrot like fashion what others call her..."baby", "honey", "my love."
"Ana ta3bena" she persists ensuring that we all understand that she is not physically well.
"May God elongate your life" she pleads for her own.
Mixed together in a jumbo cocktail of meaningless dribble that mean little to any coherent logical minded person.
Six months ago, when I decided to return home to accompany Mother on her slow ride of death, my co-worker warned "Be prepared to see her suffer." Rather than wince at the thought, I shrugged my shoulders wondering, how hard could this be? Only, now do I understand my wise friend's warning. Cancer caught up her own mother less than a year ago, but rather than return home to watch the rated X horror movie, my wise co-worker, adhered to restrictions and chose to close her eyes to such an experience. One that my father and grand father have avoided . An experience that will detrimentally change anyones life. What's the point of being here anyway, I feel like a plank of wood.
Dear Mr. morphine, can you work your magic and put Mother to sleep? Oh shit. She's blacking out...
The final steps on the liver cancer ladder are jaundice, abdominal pain, shortness of breath and delirium, two steps away from coma and death. Deliriously dead is where mum stands today. Ten days with no food and less than two liters of water, Mother lies on her death bed pleading for her life.
"Yalla" She begs for a change, in posture, emotional or physical state. Just a change.
"Khalas" and "goodbye" she announces the end.
"Ma3lesh" she reassures herself and others that it's all going to be okay.
"Ya habibty" "alby" she repeats in a parrot like fashion what others call her..."baby", "honey", "my love."
"Ana ta3bena" she persists ensuring that we all understand that she is not physically well.
"May God elongate your life" she pleads for her own.
Mixed together in a jumbo cocktail of meaningless dribble that mean little to any coherent logical minded person.
Six months ago, when I decided to return home to accompany Mother on her slow ride of death, my co-worker warned "Be prepared to see her suffer." Rather than wince at the thought, I shrugged my shoulders wondering, how hard could this be? Only, now do I understand my wise friend's warning. Cancer caught up her own mother less than a year ago, but rather than return home to watch the rated X horror movie, my wise co-worker, adhered to restrictions and chose to close her eyes to such an experience. One that my father and grand father have avoided . An experience that will detrimentally change anyones life. What's the point of being here anyway, I feel like a plank of wood.
Dear Mr. morphine, can you work your magic and put Mother to sleep? Oh shit. She's blacking out...
May God be with you
ReplyDeleteI so appreciate this post. One of my dearest friends is now in the pre-coma stage. I had no idea what that meant until I read this. Thank you for sharing your journey. Peace.
ReplyDelete