Through these Eyes Part 70

June 27, 1986... I'm beginning to understand the meaning of intolerable. Sometimes, any more, I feel like a person tottering on sanity's limits. As my weakness increases, my capabilities decrease; I now not only have confined myself to my room, but to one small quadrant thereof, in which I am surrounded by my bed, my chair, my T.V.

and (of course), my toilet. At least my mind is still free. Perhaps it will remain so as long as I allow myself to cry and feel.

Last night was the first time I ever felt scared of life.

June 29, 1986... Tonight is loud with thunder... the deep, sharp rumbling that shakes the house as if to remind the world that it is alive. It is not subtle, but in it's brazen clap, I can find a reason to rejoice; I live in the shadows of a wondrous and beautiful world, yet thunder is one element of nature from which I have not been excluded, for it penetrates walls.

July 9, 1986... It seems that I cry every day now. Overall, my life is a discouraging mess. I'm just too tired to write. . . and scared to try to sleep. Blast.

July 11, 1986... (Fri.) Yesterday Sharon sent me a carnation flower arrangement. . . 2 pink carnations, greens and baby's breath. Real pretty.

It's been getting more and more difficult at home. Last night Mom and Dad had to lift my legs into bed; Mom is sleeping in my queen-size bed right with me so that she can help me get back in after using the toilet. It's tough to sleep, and I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of bed... my arms and legs are virtually useless. They're like sticks.

We had some tough conversation.

(Mother's note). . . Laurie wanted me to call Hospice and arrange for someone to come to the home and explain the various programs available.

I did so. Laurel Anderson was willing to come on Sat.u.r.day morning, but I felt this was not within her scheduled working hours and deferred the appointment to Monday morning at 11:00 A.M.

Laurel Anderson came promptly on July 14 and we climbed the stairs to Laurie's hide-a-way. There were many questions; if a contract was signed, could the patient refuse food. . . would the "Concern for the Dying" contract be respected in that no artificial means would be used to keep the patient alive... would medication for pain be of the type that would not sustain life. . . all of these must be answered before Laurie would want to consider signing a contract with Hospice. In the conversation, answers were given, but always with one addition; it would be hoped that the patient could return to her home. HOPE was no longer a part of Laurie's vocabulary. Just a few short weeks ago, it had been there. She had not been wearing earrings for some time, and noticed that one of the openings had begun to close. She had asked for my a.s.sistance in piercing it again. Now she wanted an end to her existence. There was not one position in which she could be comfortable; her desire was to find comfort in the hospital bed's maneuverability.

Satisfied that her wishes could be fulfilled, Laurie signed the contract. Her remaining fear was that Laurel Anderson and the hospital staff would think her a wimp!

July 14, 1986... (her last entry)... I made the decision today... I am going into Hospice. No more fun... no more nuthin'

The ambulance service came at two o'clock. Through all of this ordeal it was a comfort to have Sharon, Laurie's older sister, with us. The two young men who brought Laurie downstairs were cheerful and so very careful. The stretcher had been fashioned into a chair position because of the limited s.p.a.ce going down the steps. Upon arriving outside, they positioned her so that she could remain seated, but with legs extended. Not having been outside since December, and not being able to walk the distance to a window for many weeks, Laurie was fascinated by the beauty of the warm summer day.

As I rode in the front with the driver he noted an unusual odor and both men were quite concerned. It was decided they not turn on the siren and proceed at a faster pace because Sharon and Dad were following in the family car; they didn't want to cause further trauma!

The ambulance made it to the hospital; it was found to be in need of a "mechanical doctor," but it had fulfilled its mission.

The room was done in vivid color, not of the old vintage beige. As Laurie was helped into bed, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror; she had not visibly known how she looked for some time. It caused both disbelief and pain. Now came the true test. She was manipulated into several positions; none seemed to help. As the nurse left the room, Laurie finally gave vent to tears. During all of this, she had been a true soldier. It was too much! She now felt she had made a big mistake! Could we bring her back home? It was so little to ask, and yet we knew we could not immediately ask to have her returned.

The hospital staff was in transition; the next shift was coming in.

This alone added to the confusion, but it also brought help. A veteran of Hospice entered; with a mult.i.tude of pillows, plus more manipulating, she was able to bring the comfort Laurie had longed for!

Later in the evening, that same veteran came in to talk and to advise Laurie that it would be best to accept liquids rather than no nourishment at all. We asked concerning the Lazy Boy and the porta-pot from home. Both would add to her comfort. Sharon had left for Dubuque before knowing that "bed comfort" had come to her sister, so I called her as soon as I knew she was in her home. It was very difficult to leave the hospital that night, but I had grown so tired over the past weeks; I selfishly did go home.

Les and Dad placed the Lazy Boy in close proximity to Laurie's bed.

It was a welcome change. The staff informed me that Laurie had talked most of the night. She had been given a bath in a portable tub; quite a contraption! I had brought several photo alb.u.ms as well as photo files and a lovely volunteer was seated by Laurie as I left for my 11:00 appointment with the dentist.

After lunch, Laurie remarked that a tray had been brought with eggs and bacon, a roll and fruit, but she had refused it. It had looked so tempting, but she was determined to follow her own plan. The day pa.s.sed uneventfully. That evening her cousin, Gary, stopped by for a visit. Upon his leaving, she kidded with him. Later, I went to another section of the hospital to fulfill her desire for frozen bar-type fruit juice. Dad and I left around 11:30.

July 16. . . Laurie was seated in the Lazy Boy when we arrived. Her breakfast tray had her requested liquid diet, untouched. I wanted to help her but she felt too nauseous. She wanted to sit on the edge of the bed. We sat together for over twelve minutes; I, with my arm around her back to brace her, she with her head leaning against mine.

She asked if I would help with just a sponge bath this time. We had agreed. The nurse entered and wanted to begin preparing for her bath.

Laurie just shook her head and said that she felt too sick. She asked to be seated in her chair; the nurse declined that wish. She wanted to have Laurie lie down. We used the draw sheet and Dad and I lifted her as far to the head of the bed as was possible. She asked to be raised to a sitting position. Each time we pushed the controls she indicated she wanted it higher. As she reached the highest level she looked at Dad and me and said, "Hey, you guys, I'm going!"

Seconds later she was gone. It was what she wanted!

It was finally over!

EPILOGUE

written by Todd Alan Isaacson

As a once beautiful young lady saw the torture of her own body, and witnessed the relentless expansion of a cruel weed that demanded to claim her life; a new beauty could be seen through her determined spirit:

Soft, gentle eyes fully accepted the losing battle of life on earth, and glowed a tired eternal sweetness that transcended time itself.

The timeless beauty of Lauren, a spirit set free to soar in the love of G.o.d forever; this is the joyous gift that will bless us forever.