msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My mothers hands A horrible day really. Ugly. Not horrible so much as ugly. Woken at 5am, 3 hours after falling asleep to the sound of my mother panting and groaning downstairs. I dont know how it even woke me up, and how i was so quickly able to spring out of bed and run downstairs. The panic of the unknown. Whats happening? Do we call an ambulance? What started it? Will it pass? What can I do? Do you want me to look away? Just bubbling over with questions. Eventually she settled back in bed. Eventually i settled in next to her and we slept facing one another, her not yet knowing i was there, in her sleep her hands worry over sheets, her feet twitch and flex, the beginnings and middles and ends of sentences all seperate from one another, pass their way through chapped lips and dry mouth unorganised, like a collage. I fall asleep to this, mentally wrapping her in golden wool, remembering as a child weekend mornings spent like this in bed next to her, chatting away in between dozing off. Some hours later she wakes me by swatting a hand at me, as if to check if I am real, i open my eyes in time to catch hers close again behind a sweet smile. The moment is shortlived though as she begins to groan again, and again I spring from the bed to swing her legs down, help pull her up. Before long she is slouched sitting on the toilet, plastic bowl in her hand, bile and mucus dripping from her face. Questions bubble and boil again. An ambulance is called, and arrives. The same team (with the addition of a student) has been here before, know us and know her. She is incredibly sick, but still polite enough to exchange pleasantries with the student stranger, and in a raspy whisper to wish him well on his studies when he leaves. They came, dispensed some medication, talked for awhile and left. Its better for her to be home. The day was just beginning. Thankfully she did improve slightly. Sat in bed with the plastic bowl instead of on the toilet. Sipped some powerade. Took some pills. In the afternoon even cracked some jokes. We opened a door to outside and let some fresh air in, I sat on the bed and knitted while she slept, we debated the pros and cons of trying to eat and exchanged theories about what could be happening and what could help. I purchased and installed a doorbell in the house, a makeshift nurse call button that plays the Big Ben chime. She hasnt eaten for days. She’s expelled so much - from a drain attached to her abdomen as well as the traditional ways bodies expel. She is shrinking in front of us. I know she wants to die soon. Sooner than later. I dont know how much longer we (I) will have her. 8:01 p.m. - 2018-05-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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