The Grave Yard Shift

I eventually gave up my video store job during Mom's Cancer Year much to parents' dismay.

But God had a plan.  And His Plan was for me to be free to be my mother's side during the last two month's of her life spent at two hospitals.

 

Mom wanted to die in a hospital.  She did not want to die at home.  She wanted her home to be remembered as a place of life ~ not death.

 

And so she was admitted on October 27, 1994.  She never came back home.

When she started choking on her food on the second day, Dad and I decided that we would take turns being at the hospital during all of her mealtimes ~ which basically meant that one of has a day shift and one of us had a swing shift that ended before her bedtime.  We would switch the shifts up occasionally, but mostly Dad had a day shift. 

I have always been more than a bit psychic.  One night after my shift, I fell asleep early only to be awakened by a nightmare that Mom had fallen.  In my dream, we were at the old Sashmill Cinema where we used to love to watch classic films.  The Sashmill had tiny little Winchester Mystery house type of stairs that led up from the lobby and snack bar into the theater.  Mom fell backwards on these stairs and hurt her back.  She winced loudly, and I crouched by her side trying to help her back up on her feet.

 

The next day, the hospital informed us that Mom had fallen.  The drugs she had taken for the pain were too strong at the time, and the side effects were that Mom thought she could get out of bed on her own to use the bathroom.  She had fallen on her back as she stepped out of her bed.  I asked what time she had fallen, and it was the exact time I had awakened from my nightmare ~ around 8:30 p.m. on Sunday night.

We were told that Mom would have to be strapped into her bed that night to prevent her from falling until the medication could be better regulated.  I was horrified.  I told the nurses that I would stay there all night ~ awake ~ and watch her to make sure she did not get out of bed.  They agreed.

And so I went home for awhile, rested, and packed a peanut butter sandwich in a little baggie just like Mom used to do for me as a kid.  I stayed with Mom that night and sat up in a chair that looked more comfortable than it really was and fought off the sleep that lured me by the hour.  It was really hard to stay awake and very emotional to watch my terminally ill mother sleep in a darkened hospital instead of her own bed at home.  Even the sight of my dinner before dawn ~ now a squished little peanut butter sandwich ~ made me sad and made me long for a time when life was not so difficult.

As each hour of the night passed, I was transported back to a time when she offered the same help to me.

 

On February 9, 1972, I was riding down the hill on my lavendar Flower Power banana seat bike with high rise handlebars.  Speeding down the Oakland Hills, I turned to my friend, and shouted, "Hey, Heather, isn't this fun?"  And that was the last thing I remember.

They say I hit a parked car and flew over the handle bars.  Broke my jaw in three places.  Mom was called to the gory scene of what she described as seeing a "second mouth" on me.  All I remember was being in some stranger's kitchen with a white towel being held up to my chin and blood running out of my ears.  

Mom rushed me to Emergency Room at Kaiser in the old white station wagon.  Upon arrival, she was given the unfortunate assignment of being asked to help the three interns hold me down on the examination table ~ as my little 7-year-old arms were flailing about while these interns forcibly stuck their fingers in my throat trying to "relocate" what that then thought was a dislocated jaw.  

And that night, she stayed with me while Dad went back home to take care of Rhonda and Randy.  Help had also arrived in the form of my Dear Aunt Sharon who drove all the way down from Sonora on her 37th birthday to be by my family's side during this time of crisis.  

They thought I would have surgery the next day to wire my broken jaw shut for three weeks.  So I was allowed no food or water of any kind.  I was so thirsty to the point of tears.  My Dear Mother wet a brown paper towel for me and fed it to me all night long.  She stayed awake the whole night just to keep me comfortable.  I can still taste that wet brown paper to this day. 

Her little girl remembered this heartfelt gesture, when 22 years later, she was told her mother would have to be tied down in her sleep in order not to fall out of bed.

The Grave Yard Shift spanned three decades ~ we protected each other right up until the end ~

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I still feel you in my dreams, Mama, and I thank God you graced my life Here on Earth for nearly 30 years ~