The Toughest Ladybug Ever

It was a very long night with just the 2 of us there (and an occasional nurse). I sang to her, read Psalms to her and talked to her. Every once in a while, her eyes would fly open and try to bring me into focus. I would smooth her hair away from her face and talk softly as I encouraged her to relax. The struggle to breath was terrifying to watch. For a period of over 3 hours, she was only breathing at 8 breaths per minute. Each breath she took shook the entire bed.
There is a point where the carbon dioxide that cannot be exhaled from the lungs begins to build up and causes an erratic fluctuation in pulse, respiration, heart rate, blood pressure, etc. This is a sign that the end is approaching. About 11:30 Mom had the first episode. It was frightening and the nurse quietly explained that there was no turning back, that there was no way she could recover. Her brain was now being too deprived of oxygen. After the episode, all of her stats leveled off and actually rose back up to normal range. She was fighting to live for all she was worth!
About 4:30, I had my head resting on the bed while I prayed and I fell asleep. When I woke up just before 6:00, I felt a weight on my face. I carefully turned my head to see Mom’s hand resting on my cheek. What an incredible gift I was given in that touch! I closed my eyes and cried. A short while later, the nurse explained that she had been slowly moving her fingers toward me (it was a space of a few inches) until they rested on me. I was also informed that she had had another carbon dioxide episode while I slept.
I asked the nurse to keep an eye on her and went outside to get some air and admire the incredible thunderstorm that had been raging all night. I stepped out into the rain and sobbed until my stomach hurt as I let the rain pelt me. It washed away the tears as they fell. I walked to the car and composed myself (and dried off somewhat) before going back upstairs. The family pastor came by and visited briefly.

Finally about 9:30 or so, Dad and Richard arrived. We gave Dad a few minutes alone with Mom and went outside for some air. When we returned, it was obvious that she was taking a down turn. Her stats had begun to drop and her breathing was more erratic.
Dad excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he returned he told me he had had an accident, he needed to go home and change clothes. I asked Richard to please take him home to change. I implored him to hurry.
A few minutes after they left, Mom’s stats began to once again rise and her breathing leveled out somewhat. I asked the nurse why that kept happening. She asked me if there was anyone who should be here that wasn’t. I suggested possibly her daughters. The nurse told me to call them and tell them to come NOW! I explained that it wasn’t at all possible.
She asked me if I had told Mom it was ok to leave us. I assured her I had. I had made many promises to Mom during the night. I told her it was ok to go to heaven because I would take care of Dad until he joined her.
She then asked me if Dad had told Mom it was ok for her to go. “In exactly those words,” she asked. I said not that I had heard.
“Shari, I need you to do something. You have to tell him when he gets back to tell her it’s alright to go. He has to let her know it is ok to die. That may be what she’s waiting for.”

It was quite some time before Richard and Dad got back. Dad had to shower and find something to wear. I pulled him into the hall and explained what the nurse had told me. I told him I knew how hard it would be but that he had to tell Mom it was ok to go to heaven without him. That it was ok for her to die because he was going to keep going until God called him Home, too.
He went to her side and did exactly that. He held her close and told her that he loved her so, so much. He said he didn’t understand why God was doing this but that it was all in His plan. He told her it was time for her to go. And he warned her not to pay any attention to all those good-looking fellows in heaven because he would be there as soon as God let him. He cried as he held her. He gently smoothed back her hair and leaned his face to hers. He kissed her numerous times.
And as we watched, the stats began their descent once more. Dad begged the nurse to help her as her breathing became unimaginably worse. Quietly the nurse stepped forward and injected a syringe of morphine into the IV of morphine. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, and the numbers began to drop rapidly.
And suddenly it seemed, she simply didn’t take another breath. We watched and waited but it never came again. On April 24, 2010 at 12:27 pm, my Ladybug flew away Home. And while I know she is in a far better place, my heart aches with missing her. I can’t begin to imagine the ache in Dad’s heart at losing his “bride” of almost 70 years…

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.