It is nearly over, My Nan’s doctors are no longer treating her following the stroke and unconsciousness. They are just keeping the drip going, and painkillers if she seems uncomfortable. They want to let her die.
I am still torn as to whether Nan could hear me talking, whether she knew I held her hand for hours, and was rubbing her shoulder. I know she reacted to Jen’s voice, but did she “hear” it or was it a reflex? That question will haunt me a long time I am sure.
My Nan was like a Mum to me, we lived with her when I was little. Then when things all got awkward I lived with Nan and gramps as a teenager too.
Right now its like torture, I am waiting for my Nan to die, then feeling awfully guilty for thinking this. She might have hope I thought, but if the doctors are treating her similar to a DNR patient then I guess there isn’t. I want her to live, I want her to wake up, I want to hug her and kiss her on the forehead. I was afraid to hug her laying there on the bed with all those tubes and wires and beepers. How stupid is that, I could say I love you, and so could my boys, But I couldn’t kiss her?? Whats wrong with me? What if she was “awake” in there and could tell I was frightened by her? I hope she knows how much I love her, even if I couldn’t show her this last time. I also couldn’t bring myself to take a photo of Nan and me, or Nan and boys.
When Gramps died it was not like this, he was aware and we had chats and hugs. The photos I took of the last few days in that hospice with him, I couldn’t look at them for years, but they bring me comfort. I KNOW he knew we cared, forever and right up to the end. Nan doesn’t know?
Things that are keeping me going, I saw her Saturday and Sunday. I’m comforting my little sister by phone, and trying to keep it together for my boys. I am still wearing Nan and Grampses engagement ring on my left hand, and a ring that was a gift from Gramps some 15 years ago on the other hand. I NEVER take these off, and have no intention of doing so now.
When I saw Nan this weekend I did feel she was gone, no longer in there, but I’m no doctor.
Goodbye my Nanny Mildge, go look after my Gramps. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx