When I got here, Sunday, she was in considerable pain. She was doing her best to manage it with Tylenol and Advil since the stronger painkillers were coming right back up, but she was losing the battle.
She'd invited a hospice team to come in and talk with her about the services they offer, they came in on Monday. After some discussion, she and Scott decided to sign up.
These people don't fool around. By the time they'd left, they had a list of medications, and had given advice on which ones she should and shouldn't be taking in which combinations. A courier arrived with a pack of new ones to try before bedtime. By Tuesday, she was much improved. A few days later, her pain levels are down considerably; her nausea is under control. Her color is better, she's getting some restful sleep.
I'm singing the praises of her hospice team. They listen, they care, they are treating the whole person, not just the symptoms of her disease. Just what she needs right now.
One of the things the hospice people talked about in the initial discussion was that their goal was to help her prepare for what was coming, not plan for it. I appreciate the linguistic distinction, and it's stuck with me all week. She's not dying yet, but any plans she makes are on shaky ground. However, she can work to prepare for the days ahead; to lay the groundwork for how she wants to spend the days she has.
One of her daughters is still in high school, and struggling to cope with the changes rocking her world. A few months ago, they went out and picked up two kittens. The little gals are destined to be outdoor cats. They have a warm house, and many mice to learn to catch. As I watch them outside the window, they are practicing their pouncing skills on the leaves blowing about the yard.
Because they are so small, they are still spending nights inside, closed up in the bathroom. Turns out they are the perfect therapy animals. When her life gets overwhelming, Onnika goes into the bathroom, and the kittens provide some much-needed therapy. They climb on her, they purr. They chase the toys scattered about the room. She relaxes, she smiles. Her troubles fade to the background just a bit, life is better.
Goodness Is.
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