When Hospice Does More Damage Than Good

You know that movie they play over & over at Christmas with Jimmy Stewart? I’m going to take this opportunity to re-write it....

It’s a Miserable Life
By Vickie Bacon

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...

no wait; that’s a different book...

Okay so the memorial yesterday was a total bust. It was so hard to get there---gushing like a menstrual fountain and feeling like a mack truck had run me over. But we got there and walked through the doors (being thoroughly ignored by the greeters, I might add).

When up comes our social worker who proceeds to tell me that Anne’s name is NOT in the program afterall because she never got my rsvp. HUH??? I rsvp’d on the 31st of August; what do you mean you didn’t get it??? The whole reason why I went was for that stupid program to add to her scrapbox. I felt like I was in a clueless fog; I didn’t understand what she was saying...

So I choked back my tears and asked her to explain it to me again---why was Anne’s name forgotten from the list again??? I told her that the whole reason we made the attempt to come was for Anne’s name to be in the program, and that I didn’t know if I could stay through the pain, fatigue & disappointment. She apologized profusely, but too little too late seems to be the story of my fucking life!

So she pointed me in the direction of the guest book, and scurried off seeing that she’d royally screwed up by not following up with me sooner[td] And then up walks Anne’s nurse---the one who took her off the lasix and made sure that she would die sooner than later.

She was a bundle of excitement (and actually seemed to expect me to be too). And of course, she looked like a million bucks I might add--total makeover and about 75lbs of weight loss. While I, on the other hand, have gained those 75lbs she lost, so I rather look like a disheveled beached whale (swelling in its decay, enveloped in rotting sea weed & sand crabs).

She took note of how distressed I was and asked how I was doing---that tone of pity that just sends shivers down your spine I couldn’t even muster an answer as I attempted to choke back the tears. I just wagged my head and attempted to sign the quest book. Thankfully, she just walked away without saying another word. I still had my sunglasses on, so gratefully much of my deeper distress was masked.

I guess I didn’t realize how angry I’d feel in seeing her--even though I was prepared to feel some anger. I’d not seen her since that June 29th when she came to pronounce my little sweetie officially dead. Her newfound beauty didn’t help any. It would appear that she got a great new lease on life while I get to be a walking swollen corpse. Great! I didn’t realize how crushed I’d feel not having Anne’s name on the program either. It just never occurred to me that they’d screw that up so badly. It never occured to me that they'd be instrumental in letting her die either, but that fact has sunken in more clearly now.

So we couldn’t decide to stay or go. Brian was upset and hoped that I’d want to leave, but didn’t know how to express his own feelings with so many people mulling around. I felt so freakin’ flustered by it all, but I figured I’d try. So we took a program and went & sat down, but in looking over the brochure, I just started to come apart. There was Katrina’s name and Melanie’s name and D’ana’s name, and several other names from the baby cemetery. All their names were there, but what about mine???

And then I read the "featured poem," a common poem on death & grieving that I utterly despise, and that was the very last straw. I just couldn’t stay a second longer. I whispered to Brian that I had to leave before I came unglued. I could sense his relief as I gathered my purse, got up and left. The social worker and the nurse just stood and watched us leave.

Brian was so upset in the car as we drove off that I cried all afternoon---I cried for us both. He just kept saying “this is the last straw; those people better not ever contact us again for anything, ever...” over and over he expressed words of hurt & frustration while I wept the tears of sorrow & sadness that accompanied his words. It was like a duet; a chorus for grieving parents---a song that no man & woman should ever have to sing with each other.

I was going to sit at the computer and write the rest of the afternoon away, but he bugged me go come away from typing and go to the cemetery while the afternoon was still nice. The man finds solace in his lawn trimmers. He was so pissed when they finally died right in the middle of tending to Katrina’s edging. I’ve been nagging him all summer to go buy new ones, but tight wad that he is they had to completely die before he’d shell out the $40bucks for new ones.
He took the day off today and was over at the Lowe’s first thing when they opened. You’d have thought it was his favorite Christmas toy the way he's pined over those new clippers. Already he’s bugging me to hurry up and finish this so he can go try them out.

It must be approaching the season of Abigail because I’ve been quite moved by my husband’s open expression of his feelings and speaking of the girls so often. He comes home filled with stories of children and babies that captured his attention throughout his day. When we're out & about, he even sees ones that I don’t--and I thought my baby radar was pretty keen.

It’s been emotionally rough, but at least we have each other. At the very least we’re on the same page. I’d die if I had one of those husbands that expected me to be my old self again--a lot of husbands are like that. Many of them never talked openly about their feelings and few have a similar obsession with babies & toddlers like mine does. Thank God Brian & I have that together. He lets me cry on his shoulder whenever I need to--which is almost daily. And he lets me be broken & fragile and pampers me through my recovery. He never puts pressured expectations on me to do better than I have---in fact, he praises me and commends me for doing as well as I have. Even Ben commended me to my niece the other day in his tirade about how his mom had strength the likes of which she’d never begin to understand. It made me feel good to know that amidst my shattered, broken, fragile tears, they have seen God's strength and mighty faith prevail. Thank you God for that!