Zeroing In...

Since my last post, both my parents caught my cold. So much for the miracle of honey. The germs in their midst defeated them. They were both hit hard, sleeping almost continually for several days, eating nearly nothing, coughing without end, and both lost weight. Hunk was admitted to the hospice program on Feb 7th. Yesterday, Bitchy was inducted as well...

Given the events of yesterday I more-than-half expected dad to pass away during the night. He was SO depleted in strength and energy, and sleeping so much during the day, even without those heavy cold symptoms of two weeks ago. He truly seemed like he might be on the way "out."

And of course, with my helper and mom sitting for hours talking about him, his condition, their lives together, etc., it had that storybook aura that would have made his passing perfect.

DingDong at 4:55AM and it seemed he needed to pee. :o) So I thought I'd try to walk him in, even though last night, at the end of the day, my helper had to bring the commode to him, and even then it was unsuccessful. I think he was trying to sit up when I got there, and he did stand, a little wobbly, but we inched into the bathroom and had a successful pee. I changed his depends (and added another extra pad to it) before inching him back to bed. Tucked him in and went back to my room to try and get the rest of my rest.

Another dingdong at 6:30 when I heard mom speaking angrily to him about getting up, forchrissake, and I got the gait belt around him to walk into the living room. Brought the transport chair along behind us with my foot so when he gave up halfway around the bed, I could just pop him in it for the rest of the trip.

Got him settled in his chair, turned on the heat, added a lap blanket, got him "breakfast" (which he asked for) -- a shake, of which he finished one glass. Then he started calling for Bitchy, and I told him that she wanted to stay asleep and I could get what he wanted. Of course, that was to "go home" and "stop playing this game" and "get dressed and get out of here." He said he wanted Daughter. Would not believe me when I told him I was Daughter. "I know Daughter and you're not her!" I told him I'd go find her, and went and got the ativan that I'd left in his room, dissolved in the spoon of water, about 10 minutes earlier, before his symptoms of agitation really started up.

Then he wanted to go back to bed. Wanted to walk... I helped him up minimally ("you gotta push with your legs dad, to stand up...") and walked holding the gait belt, back to the bedroom. When he said he had to sit or he'd faint I just encouraged him to walk a little faster, a little bigger, and we got around the end and to his spot. Got him settled, even with shoes off. Tucked in. And before I even got to leave again he was at it... "I want to go home!" "Where's Bitchy?!" "What the hell is this game. I'm sick of it." etc...

Now Bitchy was in no mood to comfort him. "Oh shut up!" "I want to go home, too!" "Why can't we just die??!!"

... more asking for Bitchy, more bitchy responses, to which I answered her, "what happened to that loving wife we saw last night?" "I'm not her! I have my own problems!!!"...

"Can't you do something? I just want all this to stop," he was saying, to me, to her, to the world. I want to get up, I want to go to sleep, I want to get dressed and go get some work done. It made me chuckle out loud.

Mom said "What's funny?!" I said "It's just comical, that's all. You have to see the comedy, you won't get out of here all bound up in anger." "Well, I don't see it," she insisted.

Well, try harder, I suggested. Or just meditate. Just breathe. In and out, breathe deeply and count your breaths. Close your eyes and focus your attention behind them and count your breaths. And relax your body, start at your eyes, feel the anxiety wash off you as you relax your shoulders, your arms, down through your belly, and breathe and count and settle into your center.

And dad said, "Please help me out of this." So I told him to just quiet, and breathe, and settle, and I held his shaky hand gently and closed his eyes delicately, and stroked his temple softly and breathed with him audibly. And stood there beside him doing this for 5-10 minutes until he was softly snoring and I was able to inch my hand out of his.

While doing this I focussed on him, but would glance at mom from time to time, as she glared out at the winter scene. Finally she met my eyes and I smiled softly, took my open hand, circled my center forehead and exaggerated my breathing for her to mimic. My eyes welled up so I closed them and stood beside dad, breathing for her. When I opened them, hers were closed, so to moved around the bed and took her hand. She was still on the surface because she asked me if anyone was coming today. I shook my head and leaned down to whisper she should close her eyes and breathe. And I gave her a minute to follow, which she did haltingly. Once I saw her eyes close, I breathed my way out of the room and back here.

It struck me that nobody else, in hospice or otherwise, has even suggested that they meditate...and even that I forgot how comforting it can be...