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nmnita sorry for your loss, it is so difficult to see our love one go this way.
sweepea, I can fell everything you are going through because I am going through the same thing..my mom has PC and has been so strong but she is so fragile too, she always wanted to be in control, so her hospice doctor is giving her oxycontin, because the morphine for her meant everything is over, and she did not want to lose control or be knocked out all day. Everyday this disease is stealing everything, her body, her strength, her appetite, her mind. She is fighting so hard, sometimes I feel so sorry for her, because she has not accepted this happening to her, and it breaks my heart when I see her in the eyes and I know this disease is taking her away from the life and family she dearly love.... I am too feeling so hopelessly, I try to give her everything she wants and need, but this nightmare started a year ago, and I am soooo sooo tire, we all are....
Anagrace, your story is so similar to mine. My heart goes out to you. This disease is a monster.
My mom feels the same way yours does about losing control, and for her, too, morphine means the end. She insisted on oxycodone (a little less strong than oxycontin) and managed that way until a few days ago. Now she is getting liquid morphine, and it's not even working that well. I was there most of yesterday, including at night. I've been asking that she be medicated enough to relieve pain while keeping her alert; last night's experience taught me that this may be unattainable. I had to make a decision: keep her comfortable, period. What good is it to be alert and "in control" when you are no longer in control of your life at all, and all you are alert to is ferocious pain?
She sat there moaning and saying "no good" over and over...the nurses talked to me about the difficulty of finding that line between comfort/alertness and pain/grogginess, and how I might have to make a decision about choosing one over the other. After what I witnessed last night, pain relief is on top.
Anagrace, your story is so similar to mine. My heart goes out to you. This disease is a monster.
My mom feels the same way yours does about losing control, and for her, too, morphine means the end. She insisted on oxycodone (a little less strong than oxycontin) and managed that way until a few days ago. Now she is getting liquid morphine, and it's not even working that well. I was there most of yesterday, including at night. I've been asking that she be medicated enough to relieve pain while keeping her alert; last night's experience taught me that this may be unattainable. I had to make a decision: keep her comfortable, period. What good is it to be alert and "in control" when you are no longer in control of your life at all, and all you are alert to is ferocious pain?
She sat there moaning and saying "no good" over and over...the nurses talked to me about the difficulty of finding that line between comfort/alertness and pain/grogginess, and how I might have to make a decision about choosing one over the other. After what I witnessed last night, pain relief is on top.
That is a wise choice to manage the pain.
I had typed out what the process is for end of life, I have witnessed it a time or two before. However, I am not sure is it would have been appropiate to broach.
I had typed out what the process is for end of life, I have witnessed it a time or two before. However, I am not sure is it would have been appropiate to broach.
It is okay to broach. I just had a 20-min. phone conversation with our hospice nurse about where my mom is, the dying process, what happens next, how medication will be adjusted over the following days, etc.
She explained -- but I can only remember parts -- something about the body's energy and focus moving mainly toward the head, heart, central organs, and away from the extremities. It was tied into a reason for not beginning a morphine drip too soon, and staying with the current medications. She also agreed about keeping mom comfortable, and also using the Ativan in small doses to allay anxiety.
Most of the time it is peaceful. Breathing will slow down, it will be more intermintent, or she will take some pauses. Eventually it will stop all together. It will be harder on the family than on your mom.
Anagrace, your story is so similar to mine. My heart goes out to you. This disease is a monster.
My mom feels the same way yours does about losing control, and for her, too, morphine means the end. She insisted on oxycodone (a little less strong than oxycontin) and managed that way until a few days ago. Now she is getting liquid morphine, and it's not even working that well. I was there most of yesterday, including at night. I've been asking that she be medicated enough to relieve pain while keeping her alert; last night's experience taught me that this may be unattainable. I had to make a decision: keep her comfortable, period. What good is it to be alert and "in control" when you are no longer in control of your life at all, and all you are alert to is ferocious pain?
She sat there moaning and saying "no good" over and over...the nurses talked to me about the difficulty of finding that line between comfort/alertness and pain/grogginess, and how I might have to make a decision about choosing one over the other. After what I witnessed last night, pain relief is on top.
sweepea, at this stage I think her comfort is the most important thing. I know you are facing some tough decisirons, but you are trying to make the right ones and it sounds like you are. I have said a prayer for you the last few nights when we do our grace at dinner. No, we are not over the top when it comes to religion, but we do take a few minutes each day to prayer for our friends, even our internet ones.
Nita
ps: just read your last post, and just read CDs, yes the missing a breath and the slowing, shallow breathing is how our neice explained the process when we last my step mom last month.
I just left her. A hospital bed is on the way. I've spoken to all the nurses at the facility and the hospice nurse: we are all on the same page, comfort first.
She recognized me and my daughters at first, but seemed to lose track of who was in the room with her and even where she was after a while. She's not eating at all today.
Sweetea, I'm very sorry to hear about your mom. I lost a brother-in-law to this very unforgiving cancer last year.
My family's prayers are with your family.
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