I should have known that it would be a bad omen to take the book, above, to read while sitting through the deathwatch.
Bad things did happen. My brother bullied his way into making me the obstructionist in reaching an agreement on the care my mother will get in her final hours. With pressure on me from more than a half-dozen hospital staff, he had her taken off the morphine drip. I finally gave in, provided that the nurses can put her back on if she demonstrates distress. The problem is that my brother interprets her distress as “feistiness.” I can only hope that she is so far gone that her brain is dead and will not relay pain messages to her nerves.
It remains to be seen whether the nurses will, indeed, put her back on if she looks like she needs it. Or will my brother bully them into folding to his interpretations.
Let this be a lesson to all who delegate health care proxies and power of attorneys. Choose carefully. Choose someone who doesn’t have his/her own agenda for how your long life ends — which should be neither bang nor whimper, but rather a peaceful slide into oblivion. Or wherever.
Yes, I’m pissed at the staff here, who let him do the wrong thing for the wrong reason. I’m pissed at myself that, with little sleep for 48 hours, I folded under pressure.
This is about me, and I’m not done yet.