Limbo

Eight days since Carol's death and I am still waiting for the next move.  The Medical Examiner, Funeral Director, Minister, and us as family are all dependent on what the Coroner determines about a post-mortem.  Through early confusion, when I was allocated a Coroner's Officer, who a day later (after many phone calls) I discovered was incorrectly given to me, I was given a really keen-to-help Officer.  However, she had not dealt with a possible Creutzfeldt-Jacob Disease before (not many have) so she needed to begin a slow discovery process.  Early I explained that the last scan Carol endured (that's the word) had revealed it was unlikely to be CJD but this didn't seem to register..

So, these last four days I learned that a CJD post mortem was likely to be inevitable. Various unhelpful facts emerged. That there were only a couple of UK mortuaries willing to undertake such a post-mortem - in Edinburgh and London.  The disease is seriously contagious when exposed -nobody wants the job! The plot thickened when I learned that actually no CJD postmortems have recently been carried out in the country.  In this exasperating limbo I kept pressing for the original researchers to be fully consulted. 

However, I'm relieved that there now appears to have been a high level neurological meeting today and we might know more next week. .All the time, I am remembering dear Carol in the suffering of the last few days - how unusual her disease is proving to be and how bravely she bore it. And I have been immeasurably comforted by the tens of cards, letters now coming each day (it's a long time since the postman was regular). Your memories, anecdotes and descriptions have been heart warming. Soul warming. I am so grateful and I know the family will be when they come to see the range and depth of greeting.  And, hopefully, there will be news of a thanksgiving service soon. 

Farewell dear Carol

Dara, my daughter-in-law sent me photos she had taken of Carol, singling out this one as her favourite. I like it too. It catches the smile and joy as she was with family. I posted it on Facebook yesterday which issued immediately in an overwhelming (in the best sense) torrent of sympathy with friends' memories. So far, over a hundred friends from our varied past have surprised me by their specific memories of her in action and their love for Carol.  What an extraordinary comfort it is to learn how others have been genuinely touched in meaningful ways by your loved one  Likewise, I so value each of the comments made by some of you on this blog.  I would love to be able to reply to everyone - please forgive me but the word 'overwhelming' is true in these first days and appropriate answers are some way off!  Thank you so much for your prayers.

7:05

Just returned from the hospice.  Simon and I had been with Carol all day with obviously increasing pain this morning, which the dr. on duty corrected. Sitting by her bed we were aware of some response but when two church friends popped into see her, and share in tea provided by volunteers, Carol seemed on the same gentle path of decline.

We left at 6:15 after prayer and promises to see her tomorrow. We had travelled two miles or so when the phone rang. The sister in charge told us that when they were changing her position it seemed that she has suddenly developed a sinister breathing pattern. She thought the end was close. We turned around and re-entered the hospice. Sister Rosa was sitting with Carol. I was stunned by the change.  It is often commented that people choose to die when their relatives leave. Was this happening? 

It gave us a chance to say our thanks to her and all she means to us,. I read some Scripture and prayed, especially that she might enter glory peacefully.  Within minutes her breathing had ceased! 7:05 is the recorded time.

I have too much to work through at present and, unfortunately, the Coroner has to be involved because of the unknown neurological illness.  Obviously I shall post details. For all your prayers and happy memories of dear Carol, thank you.

A pain day

 A brief post to share how I witnessed the hospice in action today. My son Simon arrived by train to give valued support by the bedside. Sadly, Carol's pain increased as the day wore on.  'Wore on' is an apt description! You could not only see pain on her face and increased involuntary body movements but in the way she punctuated breaths with groans. Increasingly, staff monitored ongoing medical response. Apparently Carol began on 5 mg of one particular med while others in the hospice are at 60 mg.  When and how should they increase dosage, especially because hospital notes excluded several options like morphine because of possible anaphylactic shock?  Today, I have been so impressed by the care and time spent by the doctors on seeking a safe balance of drugs to meet her pain. So much time spent explaining to me.

Eventually, by early evening they had established the right combination of drugs for the 'driver' (the name they give the shunt in her arm).  To our great relief her face relaxed, her body stilled and her breaths, though an effort, quietened.  It is such a relief to see pain come under control and the anguish abate !

What also helped us today was the visit from our minister, Chris, who led prayers for Carol. He anointed her with oil, and with words of Scripture and trusting prayers committed Carol to Jesus' care.  Though I, and others, have prayed with Carol there was a weight and depth to this time that I pray, right in the midst of pain and anxiety, she knew Christ's grace and promises ministering peace.  Actually, it is particularly in times of pain and anxiety that the peace which passes human understanding brings comfort and hope.

Again, thank you for bearing yet another medical bulletin. I so appreciate your care.

Suddenly

After no posts for 4 days, because Carol gave me no particular news to report as she gently declined,  today is different. This morning two friends came and Carol showed some humour, though talking itself is clearly a problem. She and Andrew have always exchanged banter with gentle ribbing and to our delight she showed flashes of the old Carol in some jocular jousting.  Wonderful.

However, I had noticed earlier that my major daily comforting role of holding a straw to her sore lips, so that she could sip Diet Coke (of course!) no longer worked. I could see her trying to suck the liquid up but her sipping strength had failed. Her contorted face showed both the effort of trying to make her sipping work and her consternation that no liquid came. Later, in the afternoon her doctor appeared with great concern that her breathing was suddenly deteriorating. She thought that the neurological disease was shutting down more physical activity - like sipping and even breathing. Speaking directly to Carol she explained they would be putting a port in her arm to help her receive some pain killers. Carol croaked agreement though when the nurses arrived she loudly proclaimed she didn't need any pain relief.   

Sadly, the evidence quickly mounted about how much pain she was in. The doctor then revisited me and gave me the talk. Very sensitively. She  told me how Carol is now much closer to dying which could be happening very soon.  This requires my London son, Simon, to come tomorrow and for me to be ready  even tonight that they might call me. When I asked whether I should stay the night at the hospice she judged that was unnecessary, but kept emphasizing how difficult it is to tell about the dying process when the brain begins shutting down vital functions.  They have not seen this disease at Arthur Rank before but seemed surprised at its sudden reversal today (as I was!)

It is so strange to be in the situation I have already seen others in the hospice when loved ones have died. I knew it was going to happen and yet this has still caught me out with a shock. Thank you for all the love and prayers so many of you have showered our way.  I'll let you know the next stage.

Gratitude

I am filled with gratitude tonight. Prayers wonderfully answered. This morning the news came through to the G3 ward that at last a bed was available at the newish Arthur Rank Hospice - a splendid roomy home with ground-floor wards looking out onto hedges and bird tables. I visited with my home group (and Carol) when one of our members was dying, for a memorable prayer session in their garden room. Carol has been admitted to a four-bedded room which she shares with three older women - all frail and fading. Eventually, she will move into a solo room.

As a family we wondered whether this transition to a hospice would awaken Carol to the realization of how ill she really is. Her disease's dementia element has meant that at times she still sees herself as likely to return home and even to walk again. Will this new experience help her understand more and, importantly, help in her preparations for death?  Through many years she has helped people in exactly this situation as a palliative care visitor. I remember in the US hospital she became aware of a man whose anger at dying made him impossible to talk to. Indeed, some of the staff were frightened to go into his room. Yet Carol went in and began conversation which calmed and comforted him.  The rest of the team marvelled at her touch.

Her situation remains most unusual. And, perhaps she does know!  Whatever, we as her friends are praying for peace, comfort and faith these last days and for the best ways to help her.

Entering the building you are immediately aware of  loving concern which surrounds patients and their families. You really are. Only one day into the experience and I have experienced genuine comfort and skill and I am grateful.  We keep praying for this last chapter to be filled with God's love and peace.  

Sad waiting

Members of the palliative care team are becoming familiar to me. Several have now spoken since last week - all with genuine empathy I have to say. However, they have needed empathy. Yesterday they called to say they had a bed lined up for Carol but that a person in the hospital proved to be even more in need of end-stage care than Carol. So she lost her place in the queue. 

With voices full of warm care they said that they hoped something would happen today. 'We know how much Carol needs the care,' they commented, 'and she remains priority.'  However, it didn't happen - no bed became available at the hospice today. It's all doubly sad waiting. Sad for Carol who remains on a public ward with all the noise when I long for her to be in a more restful place, but sad because all the time talk about finding a bed means someone else dying, with all the grief and goodbyes, in order for a space to come free.

I shall hope to report better news soon. The one side-ways silver lining is that Carol has always loved Radio 4 on from the early hours until TV (Heartbeat especially recently) is switched on later in the day. She says that she loves the sound of people talking.  Well, that is certainly happening! 

Anyway, thank you again for all your prayers and concern