Sort of the Middle (but not)

On Thursday she failed the weaning again… The doctor came in and explained to Dad (and us) that they would take her off the ventilator early the next day. Dad was devastated so we went home so he could lie down for a while. I went back up to see her with Faith. Then I took Melissa and the boys (Cameryn and Jordyn) up so she and they could say goodbye. I told Grady (another grandson) specifically to NOT go up to the hospital between 2:30 and 4:00, because we were bringing the boys up and we didn’t want any interruptions. He was in Mom’s room when we arrived.
The boys were wonderful. They each took one of their great-grandmother’s hands and took turns talking to her. They were brave and sad and eventually Cameryn began to cry. That was the catalyst Jordyn needed to release his own tears. Through every moment of their time with their beloved Muner, I was thinking how proud she would have been of them both.
Melissa, in tears, said her goodbyes to her Grandmother and we left with Grady in tow. The entire scene was surreal and heartbreaking and gut wrenching. Cameryn and I went to get the car. When everybody piled in, I realized that Grady was sandwiched between the kids in the back seat. He announced he wanted to come to the house for a while. Not knowing what else to do, I drove us home.
Shortly after that, Dad was ready to go back up to the hospital so Richard took everybody else and dropped them off while I took Dad to see Mom. We were unprepared for the next turn of events. When I had left earlier with the children, I told the nurse that Dad and I would be back soon. She began lightening Mom’s sedation. We walked into the room and began talking to her as we had been doing for days. But this time, she opened her eyes and looked at us. She squeezed our hands and responded to everything we did or said. There she was with the ventilator breathing for her and she was awake. It was a wonderful sight. Unfortunately, Dad saw it as a hopeful sign and truly believed it meant she was finally beginning to recover.
The doctor came in sometime after Richard arrived and explained that they were going to remove her from the ventilator the following morning. When Dad asked what would happen the doctor told him simply it would all be in God’s hands.
He suggested that he would call us if we weren’t there when they were ready to begin weaning her off it. By then, Richard and I knew that the writing was on the wall. As we were leaving for the night, the nurse told us to be there about 7 o’clock the next morning.
I couldn’t sleep Thursday night. It was after 3:00 am before I went to bed. I prayed myself to sleep. Sometime around 4:30, I awakened with a start and realized it made no sense to be there at 7 because they don’t do shift change until 7:30.

Unfortunately, I was so tired the sound of Richard’s alarm didn’t register with me Friday morning, until he headed upstairs 30 seconds after he turned it off to get Dad up. I was getting dressed when he returned a few minutes later.
I was grumpy from worry and lack of sleep. I was snappy when I pointed out my wee morning hour revelation. He told me I was ridiculous. So I called the nurses station on ICU and asked what they thought. I was informed that it would be ridiculous to come up there right then because they would be going through shift change and it would be 8:30 or 9:00 at the earliest. The nurse suggested we wait at home and they would call us when they were ready to begin (sort of what the doctor had said).
By 9:30, we were beyond antsy. Dad really wanted to get to the hospital so we went. When we got there, we were allowed to go straight in with Mom. They didn’t ask us to step out of the room until about noon. They removed the ventilator quickly and we were allowed back in.

Friday was an exceptionally long and joyous day in many ways. Mom was able to talk when she came off the ventilator. Her numbers were solid and everything looked surprisingly good. After 30 minutes, it was decided that she had “soared” (a term used for being taken off the ventilator successfully).
The first thing she asked was, "What does all this prove?" and she gestured toward the ventilator. She then asked if she could have some vanilla ice cream so Richard was allowed to feed her most of the cup. She smiled at me and showed her teeth. "See how pretty my teeth are? Thank you for remembering them." (I had grabbed her teeth and slipped them in my purse the morning we went to the ER. As she was eating it, a gurgling began to build up in her throat. I immediately recognized it for what it was… she was developing a “death rattle”. My heart broke even more and I thought I was going to have a panic attack. The nurse came in and told Richard that she couldn’t have any more to eat, just before they had to aspirate her. The ice cream had NOT gone to her stomach it had gone into her lung. My Ladybug had not “soared” after all. In fact, she was beginning to crash.
She napped off and on, struggling to breathe. At one point she opened her eyes and gazed around until she saw me. I immediately stepped closer to the bed. "I talked to God... told Him I'm tired." My heart broke into a million little pieces as it soared with her faith.

It was after 8:30 when Dad finally realized that it could be a long night. He decided he wanted to go home right as it started pouring down rain. I took him home. When we left the hospital, he thanked me for picking him up (I was with him the entire time) and complained about doctors making appointments so late in the day. I was shocked to realize he was completely disoriented and confused about why we were leaving the hospital. The whole way home he asked what other appointments we had coming up. And what the plans were for the next day. It was as if his memory was wiped clean of the current events.
But, when Richard helped him out of the car and into the elevator, Dad told him, “Rich, it’s just too sad. I couldn’t sit there all night and watch your mother die. I just wanted to come home.” As quickly as he had become unclear, he cleared up. Richard helped him upstairs.
He was quiet as I helped him get ready for bed. As soon as I had him settled, I headed back to the hospital to sit with Mom.