5:32 pm
I’m sitting next to grandma right now, holding her hand. She has an oxygen mask on and is still being fed through an IV + feeding tube, but she is dying. The nurse gave her morphine (a little more than earlier) so that she wouldn’t be uncomfortable.
Earlier, mom and I came in (around 12) to meet with the doctor on call and have grandma taken off of the respirator. Mom stepped out while I stayed and watched. She showed minimal signs of discomfort while the respirator was taken off. Mom was upset and crying though she remained under control.
Now, here I am, by myself. I read grandma her letter that I wrote last night. The nurse who is taking care of her is doing a nice job. Her name is Mary Browne, and earlier, she had given my mom a big hug when my mother was upset. I brought my camera with me and paused before coming into the hospital to take a few pictures outside. The area outside of the hospital is nice. You can see the Statue of Liberty from here and the Brooklyn Bridge as well.
Behind my grandmother’s bed is a large window through which I can see the sun setting. Blues and pinks and peach shades. The weather today was unusually warm- mid 60s they were saying.
Right now, grandma’s heart rate is down from 130s earlier when my mom and I were here, down to the mid 70s-low 80s. Her oxygen levels are fluctuating around 85ish.
I allowed myself to cry privately, though I know that it won’t do me any good. I also don’t want to risk the chance of grandma hearing me so upset.
The nurse (Mary Browne, RN) came in earlier to tell me that I had just missed Lionel. I would say that I don’t care, but I don’t say anything because I know how much he means to grandma.
Grandma’s blood pressure is at 91/32. She’s no longer having any involuntary movements- not while I’ve been here anyway. It’s very strange- a very strange feeling indeed to sit beside someone you care so much about while they are dying.
Part of me wants to cry out because, selfishly, I want to keep her here. But I know that it’s time to say goodbye.
The sky is now a pale grey blue with traces of white. The only sound I hear are the sounds of air, pure oxygen, escaping through subways of blue, plastic tubing. My grandmother’s head leans slightly towards her left, towards where I have pulled a chair close to her bedside. Her left hand, the one that I am holding, is lukewarm, and her skin is like sticky silk. Her mouth is halfway open, and her tongue is showing- though it is not fully sticking out of the left side of her mouth.
With every labored breath she takes, her entire upper chest is wearing itself out just a little more. I want to move her tongue out of the way so that she can breathe easier, but I know that this would be a futile attempt.
She is fading away before my eyes.
I am at a crossroads between science and spirituality. Lost in this placid sea of death and dying, I want so badly to believe that there is something after this torture called life. I want to believe that as I observe the final, shallow breaths- the last ditch attempts by my grandmother’s body to force life into her lungs and heart- that she is not in pain..
But I fear that I will never know.
~*~
Diahan, Agnes’ daughter, showed up, and we wound up sitting with grandma and talking for over 3 hours. I was grateful after she showed up. We cried together, talked about how wonderful grandma is and finally walked out into the windy night. I would write more, but I’m exhausted.
1:23 am | February 19
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