This isn't a lighthearted post, so don't say you weren't warned....
I had a moment today that brought the following story into my active memory, and for whatever reason I know the only way I’m going to be able to purge it is to put it up here. Back when my sister was sick, the job of keeping the long list of concerned family and friends in the loop about her progress fell to me, being Writer Boy and all. So here are some excepts from the hundred-plus pages of text I mass-mailed out over a period of eight months.
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Update - July 19
Erin called me this evening with some news she wanted to pass along. Her hospice nurse was out to see her and scheduled a hospital visit for her to have a PICC line implanted in her arm. She was bothered about this as she is whenever something new happens, but Jenny told her having a PICC line implanted was a pretty routine thing.
Mom says Erin will definitely spend at least one night in the hospital, but beyond that we don't know. It might only be one night, it might be two -- I guess we wait and see. She is tired of trying to cough so much and hopefully having this will minimize the pain she feels. After talking with her nurse, she had to admit things are progressing. She feels like she has a pretty good timeline in her head now and is trying to accept it.
Update - July 25
Erin didn't get as much sleep as she normally does and was a bit stressed about being away from her home, where she feels safe. Mom stayed with her in the room, sleeping in a chair. Jenny and I went to visit the first night for an hour or two. Mom was pretty wound up about being in the hospital again. She'd been in the room for more than a few hours when we got there, so I said I was hungry and wanted to go down to the cafeteria, which was only partially true. Mom said she had a sandwich in her bag that I could have and Jenny made a joke about Ron Weasley, a reference some people will get and some won’t. We were both thinking -- independently as it turns out -- that we wanted to get Mom out of the room for a much needed change in her surroundings. We eventually did.
Erin's mood bounced in several directions during her stay, but she was always welcoming and personable when one of the nurses stopped in. Those of you who know her well won't be surprised to hear she made fast friends with the nurses, and many of them stopped in just to chat during her visit. She had several other visitors as well; it was a lucky bit of chance her doctor was on duty during her stay so he was in to check up on her a few times. Every person that Erin knows through both hospice and the cancer center came up to see her when they heard she was checked in. Many came in on a professional basis, but several also came to visit during their time off. Erin’s hospice nurse even brought her one of the Monte Cristo sandwiches she treasures so much, a step up from hospital food.
The PICC line went in on Wednesday morning. The procedure was fairly simple, though she felt a little stiffness in her arm afterward. Jenny and I were there most of the day Wednesday. There was a lot of TV, reading, walks down the hall, snacks, naps, talks, breaks for meals, and visits from the hospital staff. One of Erin’s friends had sent me pictures of her new baby girl, which I printed and brought to show her.
Erin decided she wanted to continue her treatment relying only on the new pump for her morphine, which means she can finally stop using the patches. However, giving up the patches would mean staying in the hospital another day so the medicine from her current patch would have time to wear off before the pump can be calibrated. She is now done with the morphine patches, as well as the liquid morphine and the morphine she took from the nebulizer. She does still use the neb, though for a different medicine so she can breathe more clearly. Yeah, it's a lot of morphine and it’s all pretty nasty, but trust me when I say you’re being spared the worst of it. Erin, Jenny, and I were making some jokes about her symptoms on Monday night that some of you would find thoroughly nauseating.
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After she died, I wrote out a cinder-block sized manuscript that described in excruciating detail what the whole experience had been like for our family -- my therapy. When I wrote about this hospital visit, I did actually describe the symptoms mentioned above. Out of context of the whole story, I’m pretty sure it would be appreciated if I leave them out here online. You're welcome.
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We were there for a long time on Wednesday, but as I look back at the day now I don't remember it feeling long or boring. Mom stayed again Wednesday night, and in fact did not leave the hospital the entire time Erin was admitted. Although I'm sure she was wishing she'd brought a change of clothes.
When I got home on Wednesday I had an e-mail from my cousin Kelly, who works in pharmacy like Jenny, and is scary-smart about it all like Jenny. She said getting a PICC line was pretty routine and could be a wonderful thing when it came to pain management.
Dad brought Erin and Mom home Friday morning. Erin slept while Mom washed their clothes and cleaned up after being a hospital guest herself for three days. Erin was kind of down now that the whole thing was over, and here she had this "next thing" sticking out of her arm that she had to deal with.
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She lived a little more than two months past these events. It was always the “next things” that would come along, the surprising benchmarks that would remind me everything about her illness was real. These days, so many years later, it’s still the random reminders that unexpectedly remind me it all really happened.
