Sometimes people die in an instant. Other times, they die slowly. I’ve been watching Julie die for weeks now. Slowly, her world becomes smaller and more difficult for her. A few weeks ago she could visit for an hour or more. Two weeks ago it was 30 minutes. A week ago it was 15 minutes. Now it might be 5. Or zero.
A few weeks ago I started having to walk with her anytime she was moving, because she seemed a little unsteady. Then she needed a hand getting out of a chair. Now walking even a few steps alone is out of the question and she can’t stand up at all without a lot of help. Soon the two of us might not be able to get her standing at all.
At some point for most terminally ill people, the mental functions begin to deteriorate. Julie started searching for words a while back. Then she started using the wrong words for things. Decisions became more difficult to make, and I stopped giving her as many choices. In the last few days on occasion I’ve had to give her directions around the house — which way to the table, or the chair for example. Today she asked if this was our home, and then asked me to tell her about “home”, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.
Our dog was one of the great pleasures in her life. Yesterday I realized that he no longer brought her joy. If she notices him at all, she seems to find him more of a pest than anything else.
And today we passed something of a sad but expected milestone. For the first time, she didn’t know who I was.
As I say, I was expecting it, and it doesn’t change my job. She still trusts me to take care of her and watch out for her. When I tell her who I am, she believes me. It’s more like she doesn’t recognize my face than that she doesn’t know who “Brian” is. At one point she told me that “Brian will know where [something] is.” This could be a result of the disease, or of the meds. It doesn’t matter, since we’re not going to take her off of her pain meds in order to clear her mind. Comfort is the rule of the day — all else is optional.
And the meds do seem to be keeping her comfortable. That’s a blessing, and all I’m really hoping for. If the 9/22 guess is accurate, I’ve got something less than 10 days with her. If we can keep her comfortable through the final stretch, that will be a victory in my book. I’ll take my victories where I can find them.
I think that’s it for now. Take care, everyone. Thank you for all your warm thoughts, your prayers, and your good wishes.
-B.
