After her third stroke, she lost the ability to speak. She could no longer coordinate her tongue. It flopped about madly in her mouth. This also meant that she couldn’t chew or swallow her food. After spoon feeding her pureed apple sauce, I would have to reach over and massage her throat. If the baby food didn’t go down, it would be regurgitated in her mouth and I would have to stick my fingers in and try to scoop it out so that she didn’t choke.
We would sit together and watch the hospital tv. One evening there was a Nature program on seagulls. She had once sent me a rubber seagull from Florida that squeaked when squeezed, so I thought she probably would enjoy this documentary. We watched the mother seagull toss fish back into her gull and, after masticating the food, lean forward for the baby seagulls to eat from her mouth. Mother beamed at me and attempted to say something that I pretended to understand.
I wondered why, among children in the family, I had been picked to care for Mother. She had made me executrix of her estate, so if it came time to disconnect life support, I was the one authorized to do so. Mother and I had never gotten along well after she had abandoned my father and run off to Florida. In those last months, though, we both struggled to learn how to speak. I would talk about the endless difficulties at my job and put her to sleep listening. After the forth stroke, when the doctors said they couldn’t so anything more for her, I called my brothers in so they could sit beside her. Then I authorized her living will, had all the equipment disconnected, and let her die. None of this was easy, and for a couple of days, I couldn’t speak to anybody without choking up.
I grew up in Christian fundamentalism, went to hell, came back, became a Presbyterian then a Buddhist Presbyterian, and now I'm a profane Presbyterian Zen Taoist -- not that I'm into labels or anything. Here's what I've learned so far: The more you know, the more you know you don't know.
2 comments:
Feeding Mother
After her third stroke, she lost the ability to speak. She could no longer coordinate her tongue. It flopped about madly in her mouth. This also meant that she couldn’t chew or swallow her food. After spoon feeding her pureed apple sauce, I would have to reach over and massage her throat. If the baby food didn’t go down, it would be regurgitated in her mouth and I would have to stick my fingers in and try to scoop it out so that she didn’t choke.
We would sit together and watch the hospital tv. One evening there was a Nature program on seagulls. She had once sent me a rubber seagull from Florida that squeaked when squeezed, so I thought she probably would enjoy this documentary. We watched the mother seagull toss fish back into her gull and, after masticating the food, lean forward for the baby seagulls to eat from her mouth. Mother beamed at me and attempted to say something that I pretended to understand.
I wondered why, among children in the family, I had been picked to care for Mother. She had made me executrix of her estate, so if it came time to disconnect life support, I was the one authorized to do so. Mother and I had never gotten along well after she had abandoned my father and run off to Florida. In those last months, though, we both struggled to learn how to speak. I would talk about the endless difficulties at my job and put her to sleep listening. After the forth stroke, when the doctors said they couldn’t so anything more for her, I called my brothers in so they could sit beside her. Then I authorized her living will, had all the equipment disconnected, and let her die. None of this was easy, and for a couple of days, I couldn’t speak to anybody without choking up.
[Disposable Prose October 24, 2009]
Dr. Mike
The answer to your question is quite easy! WE make daily sojourns to this blog. :)
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