The Beginning (not)...The Middle (not)...

This will be one of the hardest entries I have made on here. I have kept notes and will draw on them for future reference. I will try to do this in a dignified and befitting manor to one of the last true, great "Southern Belles" of my time. Mom constantly reminded me that it wasn't where I was born, it was who I was born to...and it was obvious to anyone who met the women of my family that I was born of the hardiest, most compassionate of stock in the South. Oddly, I take great comfort in that and gladly embrace that! She taught me more than anyone could ever know about being a lady but she completely understood my need for individuality. She LIKED my eyebrow ring. She said it was a most eye-catching accessory.
I will miss her so much more than most people ever could because she was my mother-in-law, one of my best friends and one of the people who understood me most. She never learned to love unconditionally completely...

But I know, she loved me unconditionally. I am so intensely blessed to have been loved by her. I am blessed to have known her. Here is an overview of our last days with Mom, Del Herndon Felker....


We admitted Mom to the hospital on Friday with Pneumonia and congestive heart failure. Saturday morning she went into Respiratory Failure and we moved to the PCU (Progressive Care Unit).
Here we were introduced to the BIPap machine. (The BIPAP machine is a small, bedside respiratory machine connected to tubing and a face mask worn by the patient. The BIPAP machine does two things - it helps push air into the lungs and helps hold the lungs open to allow more oxygen to enter the lungs. Each time the patient takes a breath, the BIPAP machine assists by applying air pressure to the lungs while the patient is exhaling in order to hold open the air sacs in the lungs. A BIPAP machine is used when a patient cannot breathe completely on their own and needs help getting oxygen into the blood. BIPAP machine is used in an attempt to avoid using a ventilator.)

We were thrilled that she was so much better by the time they took her off it several hours later. But, for the following 30 hours or so, she would go into distress and back on the machine numerous times. By Sunday night, she was too worn out to keep up the fight on her own. We moved to ICU with the threat of a ventilator in an hour if her blood gases didn’t improve and back on BIPap she went.
An hour later, they drew the blood and we held our breath as we waited for the test results. Amazingly, they were back in record time and Mom was back in normal range. I was allowed to help the nurse get her into a fresh gown and linens and give her, her medications by mouth. She did so well, they let me feed her a cup of vanilla ice cream before we left for the night. We left the hospital with hope in our hearts…

On Monday morning, at 6:34 a.m., my cell phone rang. I knew as I glanced at the time and reached for my phone that it had to be the hospital. I was right, and the news wasn’t good. The voice at the other end informed me they had just put Mom on the ventilator. I was struggling to get fully awake and hear/understand everything the voice was saying. I was also trying to pull on my clothes. Richard had heard enough to know what was happening. ”Where are you going?” he asked.
I tried, rather poorly, to explain that I had to get to the hospital. He was confused as to why. Finally, I told him it wasn’t for her. It was for ME.
I ran through the door as they were putting the last piece of tape in place to hold the tube in her mouth. The nurse moved aside and gestured me forward. I bent over and kissed her forehead, then I stroked the hair away from her face as the nurse assured me that she had done very well during the procedure. I asked if I could talk to her and the nurse assured me it was not only fine, but encouraged.
“Hey, Ladybug,” I said loudly to Mom, “You need to hurry up and get better so we can go home.” Suddenly, her eyes opened and she looked straight at me. The recognition in her eyes was unmistakable. Then they fluttered closed and she began gagging on the tube so hard she turned dark red. The nurse encouraged me to talk to her while the sleeping cocktail they were hooking to her IV did its work, part of which was Diprivan (the drug that killed Michael Jackson).
As she gagged and silently choked, I stroked her arm, held her hand and repeatedly told her to relax. Finally, she did and over the next several minutes it worked like a charm as her body slowly began to relax. By the time the drugs had her completely under, I was in agony for her. I stood by her bed crying, feeling so scared and alone that I had to step into the hallway for a breath of air.
I was insanely relieved when I looked up and saw Richard and Dad coming down the hall toward me. It was my job to take care of her and for a moment I felt like I had let she and Dad down in that respect. I quickly realized there was nothing any of us could have done to prevent the turn of events that had brought us here. After a lifetime of debilitating Asthma, her lungs were just plain worn out.

Tuesday the daily “weaning” from the ventilator went very well. And she breathed well… it was considered a successful weaning. But her lungs just weren’t ready to maintain it long enough.

On Wednesday she failed the test… The doctor called me on my cell phone (it took us 5 phone calls between us to get to the point of the conversation). He told me we would have to find a way to tell Dad. It was time to make a decision. After lengthy discussion, we made the decision… we would wait to see the results of the next 48 hours. Beyond that, we would rapidly lose any chance of getting her off the ventilator successfully. I began calling the family and telling them this would probably be their last chance to say goodbye. We announced it would not happen until Friday (to allow time for anyone who wanted to get here or if it was possible for them to, to be here.). Nobody came.