Nani

We lost our grandmother on Mother's Day this year. This will be our first Holiday season without her.

So, here is the story: She was 94. According to my dad, she had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure and was only expected to live about another 6 years. That was 15 years ago. So we had been on borrowed time for a while.

Throughout 2007, she had been in and out of the hospital 3 or 4 times, each time to treat the fluid building on her lungs. The funny thing was, if you asked her, she would say she felt fine even if you could tell she was struggling to breathe. Her only complaint seemed to be her eyes. She was addicted to word search puzzles and she couldn't do them if her eyes were acting up that day. Breathe-schmeethe, she just wanted to do her puzzles!!!

Now, she was a sharp lady. She had her moments, according to my mom, when she could tell she was regressing a bit. But she was still with it. She took care of herself. No dementia or anything like that, so we were very lucky.

When she was admitted on May 9th, we all thought it was just another trip to treat the fluid. I worked my "fun job" on Saturday downtown and swung by to see her that evening when I got off. Again, she seemed to be struggling to breathe but when I asked her if she was having trouble, she said "no" and that she felt fine.

I gave her her Mother's Day card that night because I was supposed to spend Sunday with my husband's family and I wouldn't see her again until Monday when I returned to work at the hospital. My little brother and I had made her a coupon good for dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. I slipped it into her card and when she saw it, I told her we'd be going later that week after she got home. She didn't seem very excited and I thought that was a bit strange. Maybe she knew she wouldn't get to go.

So we had a nice chat and before I left, I asked her if she wanted me to bring her anything on Monday. Her response: "a puzzle book." I told her I would bring her one, that I loved her, and that I would call her the next day. I have her a hug and I left.

Early Sunday morning, my mom called and said we needed to get to the hospital. So I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and left for the 45 minute drive from my house to the hospital. I got there in 35 minutes.

When I got to her room in the ICU, I could tell she was already gone even though she still had vitals. They had her on an oxygen mask and the respiratory therapist was fiddling with the breathing machine. I recognized her from the NICU so I said hello. She looked surprised to see me and I explained that this was my grandmother. She apologized.

I beat my parents there so all I could do was sit and hold her hand. She kept trying to take the mask off and I kept telling her she had to leave it on. I knew they had been talking about a breathing tube and my parents had refused. They knew that if they made the decision to intubate, they would eventually have to make the decision to extubate and that would excruciating.

After what seemed like an eternity, my parents showed up. My mom took charge and asked them to remove the mask and put her back on the nasal oxygen. She told her that she was going to see Jesus really soon but I don't think she understood. I sat beside her and held her hand. I told her I loved her and watched her vitals.

We called my baby brother (BB) who we knew would not be able to get there and held the phone up to her ear so he could talk to her. We weren't sure if she even knew what was happening until we took the phone away. Then she said, "Tell (BB) I love him." Those were the last coherent words she spoke.

The time passed in a fog for me. Part of me wanted her to just go and not prolong the inevitable. Part of me wanted to sit with her forever. I knew her mind was pretty much gone. Her oxygenation levels were so low that there was no way she was really aware of what was happening.

As time passed, my mom would notice things that seemed to bother her and would ask for them to be removed. First it was the blood pressure cuff that automatically did it's thing every few minutes. Then it was the IVs and other tubes. Finally she was down to only the nasal cannula and the sensors that monitored her heart beat and pulse ox.

My little brother (LB) and SIL were on their way but they live an hour away and we didn't think they would make it. So at one point, we held the phone to her ear so he could say good bye as well.

So my mom and I sat there and held her hands and talked to her. My dad hung out in the background. He was probably in shock.

Finally, her heart rate slowed and then stopped. As soon as it hit zero, my mom and I were on our feet, pulling off the last of the sensors and cannula.

The nurses came in to clean her up and I stayed with them while my folks went to wait in the waiting room. One of the nurses I had known since I was 15 so it was nice to have a friend there helping take care of the end of life necessities.

When she was all cleaned up, I combed her hair. My parents came back in with LB, SIL, and a few close cousins. We chatted about the arrangements for a few minutes, gathered her belongings, and left. The last things I grabbed were the comb and her clipboard with the pen and half finished word search attached.

Having my brothers there would be the only thing I would have changed if I could. She went peacefully holding my mom's and my hands. She didn't suffer. She was aware of what was happening until the last 12 or so hours so that was a blessing.

More to come...