The Waiting Room

By Sheila Williams

One woman's journey through the care giving and death of a loved one as told in a daily journal. This story depicts the actual hospice care and guidance given throughout this personal journey. A must read for anyone that makes the decision to bring a loved one home to die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sheila Williams
• Release date: Jun 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301193196

Sheila Williams

Sheila Williams slipped into this world on Guy Fawkes Night, under cover of fireworks and bonfires. Outraged to find other nurslings in the nest, she attempted to return to her own world but found the portal closed. Adopting a ‘make the best of it’ attitude (which has remained with her to this day) she endured a period of indoctrination to equip her for her place in society. This included learning a language that no-one ever speaks (latinus deadicus) and making complex calculations of no perceivable value (algebraicus complicatus). Freeing herself as soon as possible from such torture, she embarked on a series of adventures – or to use the vernacular – careers; hospital manager, business consultant, life coach, sheep farmer. She attempted to integrate into society by means first of marriage and then partnered before setting out alone to discover another world, known as France, where she now resides. Always fascinated by these humans amongst whom she dwells, she has developed an interest in psychology, magic, the supernatural, ghosts, Ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. Dark thoughts and black humour lurk within her. In her quest to understand this world she pursues knowledge of its history; not of kings and queens but of its ordinary people and how they lived and worked. To this end, she haunts events such as boot fairs, vide-greniers and sales rooms where many ancient artefacts can be uncovered. Her outlets from this unfathomable world include nature, animals (especially funny videos of), books and writing stories. This latter occupation enables her to create her own worlds, populate them and dispose of the residents as she thinks fit. She finds holding the fate of these poor souls in her hands immensely satisfying.   Should you wish to contact Sheila a message sent to: [e-mail] will fly through the ether to her  

Book preview

Prologue

Grief, a finely woven thread through the Fabric of Life

I sincerely hope this journal will help anyone who has to make a decision of bringing someone you love, home to die. It is a personal choice and one I will never regret. I found strength that I never knew I had, but I also found pain that was almost unbearable.

I hope as you read this journal that it will help anyone make a serious decision in care giving a parent. I know it is not a journal that is easy reading, but I feel the importance of knowing what you may be facing is critical to your decision. Not all death experiences are like my mother’s; however, some are and if you are fortunate enough to have a wonderful experience you are truly blessed.

This is my journey through a dark stage of my life. My husband and I had inherited my mother through a very difficult divorce from my father after thirty years of marriage. My mother lived with us off and on for the next fifteen years. She had never learned to drive and never really worked in the years of her marriage.

Because my husband and I were moving to Colorado from Indiana, we sent my mother to my sister in California to stay until we got settled in. As she climbed up the steps to the plane, she waved goodbye and I could sense her fear of flying and I knew she really didn’t want to go.

After staying at my sister’s home for two months, it was time to bring her to our home. I received the call from my sister saying that mom was coughing a lot and seemed very weak. This seemed strange to me since she was fine when she left. To this day, I feel she contracted something from the plane.

She arrived with my sister in a wheelchair and that is when this journey begins.

My mother was a very timid woman and feared most things in her life. She had suffered through two husbands leaving her which resulted in depression most of her days. My sister and I at times felt like we were the mother when she would shut down. My father left us when I was eighteen months old and then my step father left her after thirty years of marriage. She was broken after that and lived with us off and on for fifteen years. The glass was always half full for her no matter how much we tried to lift her spirits.

When she arrived in Colorado from her two month stay with my sister in California, she almost immediately went into the hospital. There was fluid in her lungs that they had to drain. After her release from the hospital, she came to stay at our apartment until we could find her a nice apartment at a senior center. We were able to find a beautiful place with an atrium in the center and lots of activities. We moved her in and got her settled. Within one week, she called and said she couldn’t breathe. I rushed her to the hospital. They admitted her, gave her oxygen and she seemed to rally a little. However, soon she decided that she didn’t want to eat or cooperate. The nurses had to physically take her to the bathroom and she would fight them. I was frightened because my mother had never been confrontational in her entire life. My husband and I did everything we could to get her to eat and allow the nursing staff to care for her. This was a new side of my mother I had never experienced. I was confused and frightened. The hospital staff did everything they could to get her to eat, but she refused. I would bring her scampi from a restaurant just to coax her to eat something. A feeding tube was not allowed because of the living will she had done earlier at the nursing home. Days went by without any sign of improvement. One day, I guess, when the benefits ran out, the doctor approached me and said I must make a decision to put her in a rest home facility or take her home. He told me she was unwilling to live and there was nothing else they could do. I’ll never forget the words he spoke, I’m sorry, but your mother is dying,