Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

OT: Sad times

Last week, I heard from my stepsister (my stepfather M’s daughter). I have not seen her or talked with her in over 20 years — we never got along all that well. She told me that M had fallen at his assisted-living facility and broken his hip, and he was in a rehab center. That he was probably near the end.

He’s 96, and has been deteriorating steadily for the past couple of years. The news did not surprise me, but it’s still sad.

I think M had a purpose in his life when my mother was still alive and suffering from dementia. He went to see her every day and was so completely devoted to her. After she died in 2012, he began to slowly decline.

His eyesight started failing, and he was no longer able to drive, which completely removed his independence. He couldn’t do any of his hobbies anymore, like fishing and golfing. He couldn’t even read, which he loved to do. Even the littlest pleasures were taken from him: he used to love soaking in a hot bath, but when he could no longer get himself out of the tub, the baths had to stop. Most of his friends had passed and his life narrowed into the hours between sleep spent sitting in his room watching TV.

He had to remind himself to eat, because he had no appetite. His once tall and robust body shrunk into bones, his flesh hanging from them.

Why do people have to go on this way? What kind of life is this? When I called him and asked how he was, his answer was always a sigh and “Well, I’m still here.” But he never complained. He was miserable, but he still made his usual jokes and faces and tried to be brave. 

After I heard from his daughter, John and I went to the rehab center yesterday to see him. The drive was horrible; we were in traffic all the way, the setting sun glaring in my eyes, and when we finally got off the freeway, I discovered that the Mapquest directions had been incorrect and we got lost. My phone, which is older, kept screwing up when I tried the Navigation, giving me directions to go to “2445 2nd Street” when I asked for “24452 Xxxxxx Drive.” John’s phone finally got us there, but nothing prepared me for how bad M would look.

He lay in the bed, his feet sticking out the bottom, his hair wild around his head. We greeted him, and he just stared at us. His arms twitched and trembled. The nurse was feeding him his dinner, wiping his mouth when he slobbered the food. She asked me if I’d like to feed him. I said no. There’s no way I could handle that.

We sat by his bed, and I tried not to look at his toenails, which I’ll have nightmares about for the rest of my life, I think. He didn’t interact with us for about 45 minutes, but then he started mumbling things, trying to talk to us, but we couldn’t understand a lot of what he was trying to say. One thing we did comprehend was when he kept grabbing at the bars on the bed and muttering, “Wanna get out of here.” He kept thrusting his legs to the side of the bed, like he was trying to swing them off. Poor thing. John moved his legs back and we both kept telling him, “No, you can’t go home now. You have to rest, and get better, and then you can leave, OK?” But he won’t be leaving. He’s 96, for Christ’s sake. He is stubborn, but his body is saying enough already.

The doctor wouldn’t tell me anything, because I’m not blood family. So we hung out for an hour and a half, just being with him. Even got a tiny smile out of him toward the end. He still kept grabbing at the bars, so I gently disengaged his fingers and held his hand, which still had a pretty decent grip. Then I kissed the top of his head, said I loved him, and we left. I managed to get out of the hospital before I started to cry.

Fortunately, there was no traffic on the drive back. It was after eight, and we both needed to eat. I was glad John came with me. I don’t think I could have stood it by myself. I’m so done with all this… first my dad, then my mother, and now my stepfather. John is still dealing with it, with his mother, whom he visits every single week without fail, but I no longer go with him. I still will have to deal with my stepmother’s passing eventually, but I know she will not allow herself to linger for years with illness or dementia. She has already told me that she has plans and orders in place, if her health starts to deteriorate, to move her to Oregon or Washington, where euthanasia is allowed. “I will not be a burden to my loved ones,” she said flatly and emphatically. I get it. I will feel the same way.

What a backward country we live in, one in which only five states out of fifty allow a person to legally die with dignity. Where we kindly put our pets out of their pain, but force our humans to go on and on and on, suffering with the indignities and illnesses of age, of existence without a shred of quality. And please, please don’t tell me that it’s God’s will. It’s OK if you believe that, but I do not, and I really don’t want to hear it.

Anyway. Now we wait. I spoke to his daughter again tonight, and she promised to keep me posted. All of a sudden she’s acting like I’m her best friend, which I don’t trust at all. She’s always been kind of crazy. But I will be civil.

Enough. All this crying is making my face hurt. Sorry for the unloading.

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22 thoughts on “OT: Sad times

  1. Erica, I'm so sorry to hear that M is failing. It's so sad. It must be very hard on you. Keep your chin up!

    Hugs,
    Hermione

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  2. I'm so sorry, Erica. I really hadn't dealt with death that was so close to home until Tom's father (everyone else I didn't know personally). It's still hard for me and even worse for him. (Lots of hugs)

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  3. Erica, my heart goes out to you. The whole description of what happened to M's health after his wife died is one I'm familiar with intimately. My mother's health rapidly declined. She took to her bed about 2 months after my step-father died and she died a year later. The visual image your words create of M in the nursing home are vivid and real. Our experience was different in details but not in the overall picture.

    I'm not surprised that your stepsister acts differently now. Death and the anticipation of death are huge, life changing. Sometimes for the better in a family. (As here.) Sometimes, of course, for the worse. If I had to guess, I expect your stepsister's emotions will be all over the lot until well after M dies. Expect some angry phone calls and some pleasant ones. Wait before you decide she hasn't changed for the better.

    Ditto re dying with dignity. In the end, both my parents stopped eating to hasten the finale.

    All of the above is merely my opinion. Warm hug. Jon

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  4. Oh Erica I am so sorry. I had to watch my dad deteriorate right before my eyes. It's not easy.

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  5. Anonymous on said:

    The end game of life is seldom a pretty one. It is past time to allow people the right to die with dignity.

    I feel for you.

    Anon E. Mouse

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  6. Hermione — thanks. We go back a long way; I've known him since I was eight years old.

    Jay — sudden, unexpected death is a dreadful thing and I'm sorry you both had to experience that.

    Jon — I am going to be very cautious about her, for many reasons which I won't go into here. But I appreciate that she's being civil and nice right now.

    KB — sorry! It really does suck. 😦

    Mouse — my mother had zero dignity in her final years, and it profoundly affected me. If I had a ton of money, I would pump it into Compassion and Choices.

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  7. Sorry Erica –
    Death and dying is never an easy thing to deal with no matter what the age. The Deterioration just makes it all worse in my opinion. I have dealt with it and deal with it and I often think the only thing that works (momentarily) is venting.

    Hugs.

    Best,
    Enzo

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  8. Erica, so sorry. I go to see my MIL every week who has dementia, it's so sad to see her like that.

    Love,
    Ronnie
    xx

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  9. Enzo — yeah, venting a bit at least keeps me from imploding. Thanks.

    Ronnie — you're kinder than I am. I cannot visit John's mom anymore. I did, every week, for seven years. But after my own mother passed, I just couldn't do it.

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  10. What to say?
    Just a very firm hug.

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  11. I'm sorry you had to experience that sight. I fully agree all 50 states should allow for consent to legally end terminal suffering.

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  12. Anonymous on said:

    Sending you my heartfelt love.

    Pam

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  13. MrJ — thank you.

    Kelly — maybe someday, I hope. But I doubt in our lifetime.

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  14. Hi Erica — I am so VERY sorry about your Stepdad 😦 this is TERRIBLE 😦 reading this made me sad,it brought tears to my eyes I know how you feel, I lost my Grandmother 5 weeks ago, Dementia is a no good EVIL BASTARD 😦 I saw her go down hill VERY fast it wasn't a pretty sight 😦 I lost a Aunt and Uncle to stupid cancer last year.I know death is a part of life but everything is happening all at once 😦 It is very scary and I am having a very hard time dealing with it 😦 Oreo passed away suddenly last Wednesday it happened in front of us, that broke my heart.the vet said he had a heart mumor, my dad thinks he had a heart attack even though he was very thin 😦 I want you to know that I am always here for you, if you need anything at all don't be afraid to ask.I Love you my very special friend.Sending you big hugs always from naughty girl Jade/ Emily Jean. PS. I voted for your blog I hope you win 🙂 I tried voting for Alex too but it would only let me vote for one which SUCKS 😦

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  15. Jade — thank you, dear. I'm sorry for all your losses.

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  16. You have my condolences as well, Erica. My mom died a day shy of her 95th birthday after a long bout with Alzheimer's. She had long ago forgotten I or my brothers even exist. What a cruel disease! I also agree that euthanasia should be an option for people to die with dignity.

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  17. Biker — dementia is horrible. I'm sorry your mother (and your family) had to endure it. My stepdad has the opposite problem — his mind still works, but his body is failing.

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  18. Anonymous on said:

    I hope my earlier comment didn't offend you. If it did, I am most sorry.

    Pam

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  19. ACK! Pam! I'm sorry. I just overlooked it. My apologies. 😦

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  20. Oh, dammit. I hate it when I do this. I overlooked this comment and I am so sorry.

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  21. So sorry my friend, we just lost a dear friend who we took care of and went through the same stuff, sad
    Always
    Ron

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  22. Ron — I'm sorry.

    Like

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