My mom nailed her Hospice by the Bay interview.
Peter, the good looking millennial admitting nurse spent an hour talking to me, my sister Jamie, and Pilar, the extraordinary caregiver and founder of Shalom House, a group home for people with dementia. He asked several questions intended to qualify my mom for the Medicare funded range of hospice services.
Then he asked to speak directly to my mom, who slumped in her wheelchair at the dining room table, eyes closed, right arm shaking. We believe that she suffered a series of TIAS, or mini strokes this week, bringing her to a new level of dysfunction, unable to move, speak more than a word, or eat more than a few bites of soft food with assistance.
“Hello, my name is Peter,” he said leaning in, his face close to hers. “Can you tell me your first and last name?”
No response. He asked again. Nothing.
“Mom, can you open your eyes and meet Peter. He’s here to help us.”
She manages to open her eyes and looks for a second at Peter, who repeats, “What is your first and last name?
“Sexy,” she says and we all crack up.
Peter, the good looking millennial admitting nurse spent an hour talking to me, my sister Jamie, and Pilar, the extraordinary caregiver and founder of Shalom House, a group home for people with dementia. He asked several questions intended to qualify my mom for the Medicare funded range of hospice services.
Then he asked to speak directly to my mom, who slumped in her wheelchair at the dining room table, eyes closed, right arm shaking. We believe that she suffered a series of TIAS, or mini strokes this week, bringing her to a new level of dysfunction, unable to move, speak more than a word, or eat more than a few bites of soft food with assistance.
“Hello, my name is Peter,” he said leaning in, his face close to hers. “Can you tell me your first and last name?”
No response. He asked again. Nothing.
“Mom, can you open your eyes and meet Peter. He’s here to help us.”
She manages to open her eyes and looks for a second at Peter, who repeats, “What is your first and last name?
“Sexy,” she says and we all crack up.
“Sexy” Zemel qualified for hospice services. Within a day, I received calls and met with members of her support team including her nurse, Casey, a social worker Katerina, and Rabbi Miriam, our spiritual counselor. From my intense conversations with each of them, ranging from understanding how to make decisions about discontinuing medications, to honoring our cultural Jewish roots and practicing loving kindness in the face of death, to identifying mortuary services, I am sure that we are in good hands.
Though I have witnessed family and friends utilizing hospice services, this is the first time I have been so intimately involved. I am greatly relieved. Providing pain and symptom management, and care and comfort to patients, their families, and caregivers, is the mission of this organization that has been around in Marin for 44 years.
End of life – these people have seen a lot of endings and know what to do. For the past few months I have been using an app on my iPhone called “WeCroak.” It randomly sends me 5 quotes per day, all reminding me that we are going to die. The creators of the app decided on the number 5 because in Bhutan “they say that contemplating death five times daily brings happiness.”
I enjoy this antidote to the bad news barrage of other social media. Reading words from writers, thinkers, and spiritual leaders about death keeps life real and grounds me as I navigate this transition with my mom. My own mantra this week has been “embrace fragility, accept uncertainty.”
Dying is one incredible process to witness and experience. We don’t talk about it nearly enough. Nor do we discuss ambiguous loss and dementia, though this robber of a disease has stolen so much from so many families. Often what I’ve experienced with my mom this past ten years has left me feeling very alone and sad. I am still very sad but feeling less alone as we make this journey towards her death.
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