I’ve been a little quiet lately, or at least quieter than normal. That’s because I’ve spent the week wondering whether I was dying.
I am writing you from one of our local hospices, where I was moved on Wednesday, after three days of sleeping day and night. I spent three days sleeping on the couch, then moved to bed and slept through the night. Three days of profound fatigue and a very sore throat.
Initially I thought it was the flu but J. called the palliative home care nurse, who suggested I’d enter the hospice. I put my name in for a bed here and by that evening, we knew that a spot would be available the next morning. So after three days of sleeping day and night, on the morning of day 4, an ambulance transported me to my new home.
I will be honest with you: moving to a place I will be in until I die has been tough. It may be the right decision but it has been scary and overwhelming to move in. I don’t know how I’ve not died from the emotional upheaval of moving to a place like this, even though the care has been exemplary. J., bless her soul, has been sleeping on a cot by my side. She has been fed generously at mealtimes, the same meals as the residents, and is welcome to be here as much as she wants. And this place starts the day out with the best iced water around, and there’s nothing I like as much as a good cold glassa iced water. These folks know what dying people need; I couldn’t be in better hands.
After a few days of lazing around in my new bed, I’m questioning whether my admission was premature. I believe I am dying, and that it will happen sooner rather than later, but my death does not seem to be as imminent as it was when I was admitted. My mornings are fatigue and naps, but by noon I’m alert and even up to a visitor or two.
Late this afternoon, we spoke with the doctor. She heard my concerns and suggested the best of both worlds, for now at least: a day pass to see how I’d function in the community. If she takes me home, J. will be responsible for caring for me, but she seems up to the task. I am not incontinent, I do not need help with self care, and, although I am weak, I can make it to the washroom and fridge on my own. J. will need to feed me and do my laundry, but she’s been doing that for some time already. If my condition declines, I’ll return to the hospice pronto.
Blogging is low priority now. J. has access to my blog, and you will know if I die. But know that the end is near and, day passes or not, I imagine I will die in this spacious room with large windows and caring staff and great food. (If only our hospitals fed us so well! Two meals with bacon so far.)
I will be writing as long as I can. If I do not respond to your comments, I trust you will understand. I am grateful for your persistence and support. You have motivated me to write.