As I reflect on the past months, 13 months to be precise,
I can think of June 21st 2012 as the day when the world changed for the
Anderson family. My mother had been hospitalized many times since1993 when she
developed a heart condition and was at the brink of death. But the real
beginning of the rapid descent began in 2007 when she started with pulmonary
edemas . My mother would be hospitalized for a week or so, they would put her
on a severe "diet" of diuretics,
she would be drained of the liquid she had been building up and then
sent back home to return to her activities. But June 21st was not an ordinary
hospitalization. For me, from the distance, something didn't sound right when
my father told me that my mother had been put into an induced coma. This had
never happened before.
From the distance I found myself puzzled and confused about the development of what I thought would be a routine hospitalization. My mother was in an induced coma for a period of two to three weeks.
As I found myself having to travel to Argentina to be with my father I was uncertain what I would find when I arrived. By then my mother had been almost three months in the Coronary Unit of a hospital. The day I arrived we went to see her. She had limited visiting hours, from 12.30pm to 2.00 pm. It hardly gave us time to interact with her and talk with the doctors and nurses before the visiting hours were over. My parents live over an hour away by public transport from the hospital where my mother was staying. There was another visiting hour in the evening but my father felt that it made no sense to go back, primarily because of the length of the journey.
As I was getting ready to travel to see my parents I had some questions for the doctors and nurses who attended my mother. Those questions became irrelevant once I got there and the head of the doctors met us in the hallway of the hospital and explained to my father and me that my mother was then a patient who should not be alive, that she should have deceased with the heart condition she had, and to make matters worse she was having trouble with her lungs as well at the time. That gave me an indication of the severity of my mother's illness. As I had not lived near her for over 27 years I had never seen her in a hospital before. She had completely lost her muscle tone, she could not speak because she had a tracheotomy, and she constantly had secretions from her lungs. She was also suffering from almost complete deafness so communicating with her was not exactly easy. Also, as I spoke to nurses who attended to my mother, I came to realize that there was no way that she could leave the hospital as she was under constant surveillance, something that made her return to their home out of the question.
My parents live in a 3rd floor apartment with no elevator. Getting in and out for them is somewhat of an ordeal as it is not easy climbing up the steps. Even if my mother could recover to the point where she could return home, getting out would make it impossible, therefore she would just come back to die there. As I said earlier, all these things gave me a very clear picture of the future. It was just a matter of time and when God would have compassion on her and call her home.
My father was not there yet, at least my impression at the time was that he was hopeful for a recovery. I am usually someone who loves to bring people down to reality as I feel that reality is, although tough, the only real barometer of things.
On the other hand, my mother was frustrated, she felt jailed, "tied down" to a bed with all the tubes that she had connected. One day I witnessed the volatile rapid change of her condition. In just a matter of minutes she deteriorated, going from stable to struggling, as her sugar level had gone down. This was all foreign to me.
I was there with them for almost three weeks, and during the last week, as I knew that this would probably be the last time that I would see my mother alive, I wanted to spend a little more time with her. She was alone in a room for 22 and a half hours. I know that I would blow my brains out in that situation. So I decided to go to the hospital twice a day, once with my father from 12.30 pm to 2.00 pm, then go back to my parent's home with my father, have something to eat and then turn around and go back. As I said earlier, we would leave the apartment at around 11.00am, get to the hospital at 12.15pm (if everything went ok with the traffic), stay there until 2.00 pm, take the bus back, arrive at my parent's home around 3.15 pm, have lunch and finish around 4.00 pm. Then leave the apartment around 5.45 pm, arrive at the hospital around 7.00 pm (2nd daily visiting hour). leave at 8.00 pm, arrive at my parent's home around 9.15pm, eat dinner, then relax a little while, and go back and do the same the next day, until I left on Sunday evening.
Saying goodbye to my mother was actually saying goodbye forever as we both pretty much knew that we would not see each other again. It was the toughest goodbye.
For the next few months I kept in contact with my father on a daily basis, and although my mother tried to get up and walk, I don't know if it was through her own will or my father trying to push her forward, she eventually started feeling the impact of being so many months in the hospital and she started deteriorating gradually but surely. First, around the end of last year, her kidneys stopped functioning properly, and she started retaining more and more liquid around her body and then because of the doctor's recommendations, she was sedated continuously as she suffered from panic attacks when she was not under the effects of the drugs. By then my father started telling me that this would probably go on until her body gave up which gave me the feeling that he was trying to prepare me for the inevitable, my mother's passing, something that, back in August, when I arrived there I knew would be the outcome of her hospitalization. I think that, deep down, he was trying to prepare himself for what he realized was the inevitable.
When I received the call from my father on the morning of February 6th I knew perfectly well why he was calling as he never called in the morning. The news for me was expected. I felt that although saying goodbye to one of your parents, to the person who always supported me regardless of what it was, and always trusted me, I felt that God had finally called her home. She was my mother, a friend and a shoulder. She loved unconditionally. She was warm and caring. It took me some time to come to the realization that she is no longer with us. I have felt her presence at times, when I'm alone. I felt it a few days after her passing. A good friend of mine says that it is all in our mind and that may be the case, but some of us still feel the spirit of a loved one near.
At times I feel I'm still not over her passing. As I wasn't there at the time of her passing, I did not see her body lying on the hospital bed, I did not travel to her funeral and witness the disappearance of her casket on the belt as it was going to the place of her cremation, I say that I did not go through the motions of her death and loss.
After my mother's passing my father came to stay with my family in the U.S. for a couple of months. It was the first time that we would be physically together since her passing. We spoke about the events, the last period of her life, and his hopes, but primarily it was a time of sharing, a time of getting closer, of not having to talk, of mutual support, and of loss.
Like my father said while he was staying on vacation with us, “life goes on”.
There will be another sunset and another sunrise. We will eventually go down the same path that my mother took. Our body is not eternal. But it still doesn't get any easier to get used to. Just as I would always tell my mother while she was alive, we always have to be thankful for what God gives us, that we were able to enjoy my mother's life and the way she enriched all of ours.
From the distance I found myself puzzled and confused about the development of what I thought would be a routine hospitalization. My mother was in an induced coma for a period of two to three weeks.
As I found myself having to travel to Argentina to be with my father I was uncertain what I would find when I arrived. By then my mother had been almost three months in the Coronary Unit of a hospital. The day I arrived we went to see her. She had limited visiting hours, from 12.30pm to 2.00 pm. It hardly gave us time to interact with her and talk with the doctors and nurses before the visiting hours were over. My parents live over an hour away by public transport from the hospital where my mother was staying. There was another visiting hour in the evening but my father felt that it made no sense to go back, primarily because of the length of the journey.
As I was getting ready to travel to see my parents I had some questions for the doctors and nurses who attended my mother. Those questions became irrelevant once I got there and the head of the doctors met us in the hallway of the hospital and explained to my father and me that my mother was then a patient who should not be alive, that she should have deceased with the heart condition she had, and to make matters worse she was having trouble with her lungs as well at the time. That gave me an indication of the severity of my mother's illness. As I had not lived near her for over 27 years I had never seen her in a hospital before. She had completely lost her muscle tone, she could not speak because she had a tracheotomy, and she constantly had secretions from her lungs. She was also suffering from almost complete deafness so communicating with her was not exactly easy. Also, as I spoke to nurses who attended to my mother, I came to realize that there was no way that she could leave the hospital as she was under constant surveillance, something that made her return to their home out of the question.
My parents live in a 3rd floor apartment with no elevator. Getting in and out for them is somewhat of an ordeal as it is not easy climbing up the steps. Even if my mother could recover to the point where she could return home, getting out would make it impossible, therefore she would just come back to die there. As I said earlier, all these things gave me a very clear picture of the future. It was just a matter of time and when God would have compassion on her and call her home.
My father was not there yet, at least my impression at the time was that he was hopeful for a recovery. I am usually someone who loves to bring people down to reality as I feel that reality is, although tough, the only real barometer of things.
On the other hand, my mother was frustrated, she felt jailed, "tied down" to a bed with all the tubes that she had connected. One day I witnessed the volatile rapid change of her condition. In just a matter of minutes she deteriorated, going from stable to struggling, as her sugar level had gone down. This was all foreign to me.
I was there with them for almost three weeks, and during the last week, as I knew that this would probably be the last time that I would see my mother alive, I wanted to spend a little more time with her. She was alone in a room for 22 and a half hours. I know that I would blow my brains out in that situation. So I decided to go to the hospital twice a day, once with my father from 12.30 pm to 2.00 pm, then go back to my parent's home with my father, have something to eat and then turn around and go back. As I said earlier, we would leave the apartment at around 11.00am, get to the hospital at 12.15pm (if everything went ok with the traffic), stay there until 2.00 pm, take the bus back, arrive at my parent's home around 3.15 pm, have lunch and finish around 4.00 pm. Then leave the apartment around 5.45 pm, arrive at the hospital around 7.00 pm (2nd daily visiting hour). leave at 8.00 pm, arrive at my parent's home around 9.15pm, eat dinner, then relax a little while, and go back and do the same the next day, until I left on Sunday evening.
Saying goodbye to my mother was actually saying goodbye forever as we both pretty much knew that we would not see each other again. It was the toughest goodbye.
For the next few months I kept in contact with my father on a daily basis, and although my mother tried to get up and walk, I don't know if it was through her own will or my father trying to push her forward, she eventually started feeling the impact of being so many months in the hospital and she started deteriorating gradually but surely. First, around the end of last year, her kidneys stopped functioning properly, and she started retaining more and more liquid around her body and then because of the doctor's recommendations, she was sedated continuously as she suffered from panic attacks when she was not under the effects of the drugs. By then my father started telling me that this would probably go on until her body gave up which gave me the feeling that he was trying to prepare me for the inevitable, my mother's passing, something that, back in August, when I arrived there I knew would be the outcome of her hospitalization. I think that, deep down, he was trying to prepare himself for what he realized was the inevitable.
When I received the call from my father on the morning of February 6th I knew perfectly well why he was calling as he never called in the morning. The news for me was expected. I felt that although saying goodbye to one of your parents, to the person who always supported me regardless of what it was, and always trusted me, I felt that God had finally called her home. She was my mother, a friend and a shoulder. She loved unconditionally. She was warm and caring. It took me some time to come to the realization that she is no longer with us. I have felt her presence at times, when I'm alone. I felt it a few days after her passing. A good friend of mine says that it is all in our mind and that may be the case, but some of us still feel the spirit of a loved one near.
At times I feel I'm still not over her passing. As I wasn't there at the time of her passing, I did not see her body lying on the hospital bed, I did not travel to her funeral and witness the disappearance of her casket on the belt as it was going to the place of her cremation, I say that I did not go through the motions of her death and loss.
After my mother's passing my father came to stay with my family in the U.S. for a couple of months. It was the first time that we would be physically together since her passing. We spoke about the events, the last period of her life, and his hopes, but primarily it was a time of sharing, a time of getting closer, of not having to talk, of mutual support, and of loss.
Like my father said while he was staying on vacation with us, “life goes on”.
There will be another sunset and another sunrise. We will eventually go down the same path that my mother took. Our body is not eternal. But it still doesn't get any easier to get used to. Just as I would always tell my mother while she was alive, we always have to be thankful for what God gives us, that we were able to enjoy my mother's life and the way she enriched all of ours.
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