A Home Coming

I obviously am getting some kind of therapy by writing here, plus it’s free, but it hasn’t seemed to make this particular piece of our pie go down any easier.  Each step we’ve taken these last 6 months has been one of blind trust, trial and error, and deepening the relationship we’ve created together.  From insurance to pain meds and Cribbage to emotional upheavals that come from nowhere, I would do it all again in a heartbeat, as long as it was her heartbeat.

I have had an inordinate amount of quiet time in hospital rooms and at home as part of this leg of our journey since retirement.  I’ve had to practice patience and selflessness and I hate to practice anything, except maybe golf.  But I can spend and entire day sitting next to Miki, holding her hand as she sleeps, studying her face, and the next thing I know, the day is gone.

As the hospice visitors told her today, “You will not be going back to the hospital again.”  With a few exceptions, this was the last Centerpoint Medical Center would see of my Miki.  So like the first day of school, I took her picture with Bobby her nurse, as we loaded up and headed home.

Yes, Bobby looks like he is twelve, but assured
us he is no Doogie Howser

Of course there is a sense of security being in a hospital, surrounded by technology, knowledge, and compassion from most watching over you.  That intravenous medication kicks in a lot faster than the pill form we have at home and even though I’ve seen it done a lot, Miki doesn’t trust me with bags of fluid, pumps, and needles yet.  So as the miles pile up between us and them, as we drove home today, there was a significant shift in the weight on our shoulders to be vigilant and confident, more so on this trip home than previous ones.  We’re entering unknown territory for us.  Previously, the goal was to become whole again and relief from all that was a burden to Miki.  And as I am writing, it dawns on me that we still have the same goal.  The difference is…well…I think you already know.

Upon arriving home and pulling into the driveway, I was sensing a little something different than previous return trips from The Point.  As we approached the front door with her in her wheelchair, Miki began to tear up.  Showing emotion since her decision has been infrequent, whereas the frequency in which I have become an opened fire hydrant without warning, has become alarming to me.  She said she loves her front door.  And in turn revealed she loves her house.  As unfinished as it is, it evokes emotion that I have not been able to.

You would think six days out of our routine would not be that hard to fall back into, but it was different coming home this time.  Hospice had delivered Miki’s “hospital” bed and oxygen before we got home and our sister-in-law, Barb, was already out buying new sheets for it after waiting a significant time to receive the bed for us and watch over it’s installation in the living room.  There were many new cards to read to Miki that arrived in the mail since she’s been gone, well wishes in the form of “care packages,” and two dogs that weren’t sure who these two were, taking over things again.  I guess there really wasn’t a routine, since that indicates the same thing happening over and over again.  Everyday has been different and as Miki’s says, “It’s all perfect.”

Miki’s new “bedroom” is evolving.  Of course it has to align with Feng Shui (gesundheit!) and, well…it’s a process.  Part of which took a chunk of the evening, but it’s all good.  Chairs for visitors, conversation areas…the queen will apparently be holding court.  Speaking of which, if you would like to visit her majesty in the coming days, I’d like to request and bring a few things to your attention.  Please call or text before dropping by.  In order to make your time meaningful and to make sure she gets rest, you will need to be flexible.  I will be trying to coordinate 5-10 minute visits, which is about her limit before wearing out.  Family will be a priority, along with our friends from hospice.  And don’t be surprised, if there is heavy traffic that a timer goes off to make sure Miki gets her down time and you make room for the next person to park on the street.  I’ve always wanted to be a “bouncer.”  And don’t be surprised if I meet you at the door and tell you she’s already run out of gas.  She wants to see you as much or more than you want to see her.  Just remember this is the culmination of a difficult 6 month journey.  As her bouncer, don’t make me bounce you!  You’ve not let us down yet.

We have no clue how long or short Miki’s run will last, so this blog will act as a guidepost, where I will share with you what I know from my observations and the guidance our hospice friends will give as they hold our hands as we go.

My Zen from Home:  Most of us have heard of hospice and the good work these people do and some of us have had first hand experience with the people that make this transition as graceful as it can be.  I was not raised a real huggy kind of guy (surprise, right?), but this journey has chiseled away at that to some extent and after meeting two of the hospice nurses today, I took another leap to open my arms more frequently.  Having not met either one of these people before and having spent a minimal amount of time with them, I was hugging them as they left the house today, they left that kind of impression.  They are taking a painfully insurmountable situation and making it as dignified and respectful as it can possibly be.  How can you not hug them?  And in turn, those people around you that make your life better, how can you not hug them too?

Miki's sister and brother-in-law stop in for a visit with new festive
Thanksgiving headwear.  Anyone see a turkey?

There's the turkey!

And another one!