Part 3: Why Medicine

I still find it hard to articulate into a few sentences "why medicine."  Thus the 6 blog posts.  

If you're just tuning in to my 6 part series on my "Why Medicine" check out Part 1: Why Medicine and Part 2: Why Medicine to get the full story.

The day we got back from Phoenix was C's family's annual camping trip- which doubled as a family reunion.

There was no cell service.


While camping I pushed my mom out of my thoughts.  She'd be out of the hospital by the time we got back anyway.


While we drove back from camping I listened to my voicemail.

I had a few from my mom.

In a very strained and hushed voice was my mom. 
She said, "Thanks for always donating blood.  I'm getting a transfusion right now. I love you."


As soon as I got this voicemail I kept trying to call her phone all day but she wouldn't answer.  I figured she had left it on vibrate and couldn't hear it or the battery had died.

We got back to the house and showered because I turned into a quasi-cave woman while camping.

When I got out, my aunt was calling me.  I answered it and she said my mom was intubated and still in the ICU.  That was it.  That's all I knew.

I was 20.  What in hell did that mean?  What was I supposed to do?

I was in a haze.  What do I do?  I told Cody and he started helping me pack to go down there.  I don't even remember packing.  I just remember sitting in the car not being able to wrap my head around what had happened. I don't even know if I got out of the car and helped pack my things or not.

All I kept thinking was take some of my liver.  Take it from me. I don't need it all. Just let her be ok.

As we pulled into a gas station I felt like I needed to call someone.  Anyone.  I called my grandma.  She was my dad's mom.  She was always there for me growing up.  I told my grandma and she said, "Are you ok? Do I need to come get you to go there?"  I explained Cody was getting gas and we'd be there soon.

I hung up with my grandma..  I felt like I needed to tell others.  But who?  I called my uncle.  He asked a bazillion questions like he always does.  I don't remember really answering any of them other then him saying, "Are you ok?" "Is Cody driving?" "Is Jeffrey okay?"

We drove back to Phoenix.

I was on the phone with my another uncle and he was telling me how to get to the hospital and what room she was in.

We got to the hospital in the room he said and it was empty.

We were in the wrong freaking hospital.

This was before everyone had smartphones.

Luckily, I had a TomTom.  We plugged in the name of the hospital and listened to the stupid automated voice tell us to get on the same road and go across the street.

When we made it I went in and saw my mom.

My brother didn't want to.  But I drug him in.  C didn't feel like enough of the family yet but I drug him in anyway too.

She looked horrible.

Her hair was flat and plastered against her head. 
Her skin was another shade of yellow.
Her intubation tube drying out her lips.
And her body gagging on the intubation tube every so often.
Her pink nail polish was chipping.
She even smelt like there was something wrong with her.


I hated the sight of it.

She was supposed to have a biopsy that day to see exactly what it was.  But she got pneumonia instead and had to be intubated.  That biopsy would never happen.  She never got healthy enough to do it.

I stayed there for a few days but then decided I wanted to get away for the 4th of July.  I needed it.  I needed the fireworks.  I ran into one of my old soccer coaches at the festival and explained to her what was going on.  She just held me.  That was exactly what I needed.  I needed someone who loved me to hug me. A mom hug.

I went back down to Phoenix because they took my mom off the intubation.  She was convinced her Physical Therapist was a pervert.  I laughed and thought she was ridiculous.  She'd been so sick that her muscles atrophied and she needed the guy to help her to be able to walk again. I had no idea that this kind of damage could happen so quickly.

She was so embarrassed.  She had a catheter as well as a bowel catheter.  Her hands were too shaky to get food into her mouth.  So I sat on her bed and helped her eat her weird gelatinized food.  It was gross. And weird.

She was getting better!  She'd be fine.  The doctor's said she'd never be able to live alone again- but I knew they were crazy.  She was going to be fine. 
She had to be.  She was sitting up in bed and talking to me.  She was going to be fine.

We just kept talking and laughing.  Everything was going to be ok.

My mom told me I should go wake-boarding with my brother the next day at my uncles since we'd spent so much time in the hospital.  So I did.  I stayed as late as was physically possible for her talking.  I told her I had to go back to work but that promised I would be back in 4 days for her birthday.

While I was at the lake I texted my mom off and on. We drove home directly after the lake because I had to work early in the morning.  I was thinking about what I'd get my mom.  I'd get her some new eye shadow and take her on a date!  Yes, a movie and dinner she hadn't done either of those things in such a long time.  In the middle of that same night they intubated my mom again.

She had aspirated some of that weird gelatin food and was having a hard time breathing.

I thought it would be the same again- she'd get better and wake up again.  I worked my 3 days and got someone to cover for me.  I was there on her birthday like I promised, July 13th with her new makeup and a card explaining our date.

One of my cousins had brought a huge hokey flamingo to hang in her room - her absolute favorite - to make her feel better.  Every year growing up she made sure we had those hideous plastic flamingos in our garden because they made her smile.  She knew they were tacky but it always made her smile.  I put the card I got her as well as other cards people gave her.  And I'd read them to her when I thought she needed a boost.

This time was different.

Now she had a feeding tube along with her intubation tubing.  I hated it.  I hated the color of her "food" and the noises all her monitors and machines made.

The next day they put these weird compression things on her legs.  They were to help prop her ankle up as well as push blood back up to her heart.  I can still hear the sound those things made.  Brrrrrrrrep. Rep. Rep. Rep. Brrrrrrrrrep. Repetitive.  Repetitive. Repetitive.  Never a change in pitch or in timing.


And this was our life for a few days.  I stayed every night in the hospital with her.  Because I didn't want her to be afraid.  During the day when other people would go to be with her I'd go to my aunts house, shower and grab some food.. Everyone said I needed a break from that place.  But every time I was gone my mind was only on one thing; getting back to her as quick as possible.

One morning they took the repetitive compression boots off.  I knew something was wrong.

The doctor came in later that day and explained that my mom was not going to get better.  And that it was our choice of when to take her off life support.

I don't remember the day.  My life stopped spinning. I don't know what calendar day it was.

I'm guessing it was around July 16th.  Who knows.  Who cares.

Two weeks prior my grandpa - her dad- had made his long trip back to Missouri since he had made the trek for my wedding.

We decided to wait until he could get back to Arizona to take her off of life support.


The doctors told us, "it could be any minute from when we take her off that she dies."

It wasn't. 

I hung on every breath after they took her off of life support...

Nothing happened.  She just kept doing her thing.  

Breathing and sleeping.  Sleeping and breathing.

I was mad they made me think I needed to brace my self like that.

She stayed like this for another day.  The doctors then asked how I felt about hospice, I said we should do it.  They warned that she might not make the transport over- that it'd be too much for her body.  I said I'd ride with the ambulance so she wasn't alone.

Nothing happened.

She was fine.

Breathing and sleeping.  Sleeping and breathing.

Now we wait in hospice. Hospice was an odd place.

What do I do now?  My life had been sleeping at hospitals and hospice in a recliner sofa next to my mom for the past few weeks.

Not what?

I guessed it was best to go back to my aunt's house for the night.

We walked in and we went straight to the room we were staying at.  I closed the door behind me not wanting to see anyone.  I laid on the floor with my new puppy who just wanted to cuddle and lick my face off.  Tears streaming down my face the entire time.

This was now my life.

That night I couldn't stop crying.  The picture of my mom's death kissed faced kept playing in my mind every time I shut my eyes.  It has horrible.  How was I going to sleep seeing such a horrendous vision?

C sang to me to help me get to sleep.  He did this for a few weeks every night because it was the only soothing thing to me.

My mom had always said she didn't want a funeral.  She just wanted the people she loved most to get together and celebrate her life.

That's what we did.  There was no funeral.  No eulogy.  

For the next few days I went to my grandma (dad's stepmom's) home.  She told me she would help me scrapbook pictures of her as a guest sign in would be great.  She didn't.  She slept or would run off to go shopping.  When she returned and saw what I did all she said was, "Eh, that's ok for your first time scrapbooking."

Scrapbooking was horrible.  All I did was look at these fun and lively photos of my newly dead mom.  

I needed so badly for someone to be strong for me and I thought she was going to be. 

That weekend we had people over at my aunt's house to celebrate my mom.  

As I sat at my aunt's house with people telling us sorry and other crap I didn't want to hear, I was okay.  I wrote a little blurb about my mom for the obituaries.  I was going to be okay.

The next day I wanted to go home with C and finally start our life.

He loaded up the car.  I was fine.  No tears.  My aunt's house had been "home base" for the last few weeks for me to shower and eat and occasionally sleep at.

The moment we drove off was the hardest I've ever cried in my entire life.  

As we drove back home, I was uncontrollably crying.  Leaving home base meant this was for real.  My mom had really died.  She really wasn't coming back.  

I would never again receive an uplifting text.  I would never hear my chipper mom say, "It's gonna be a great day, alright!" in the morning again.  

I would never see her again.

And this was now "normal" life for me.

What am I supposed to do now with my life?  This was not normal. 

I wanted to be stronger.  But there was nothing.  I had nothing left to give or feel.