Then She Was Alone

The entire month of November my greatest victory would be finding the best parking spot at United Health otherwise known as Memorial.

The same hospital I came into this earth at I would suddenly know every nook and cranny of the entire 7th floor.

Tte rehab center where people in learned how to walk, breathe, take a step, get into a fake car again or in stroke victim cases learn how to talk again. It became my favorite place.

The eery chairs with huge windows show casing every angle of the Rocky mountains always saddened me. Knowing that thousands of people were out there to see the beauty of it all once last time or for family members who are crushed at least had the best views Colorado had to offer in those moments.

The family room with their puzzles, the piano, the fridge where you can bring in outside food, the expresso and coffee machines. The cabinets stuffed with goodies (candy, snacks, uncrustables) for people to share with whoever.

The nurse stations were all different. Varying from large units of 15-20 or the more personal 2-5 and they all worked 12 hours 4 times a week. All completely different types of people. Jamaican, Panamanian, Norwegian ethnicities would chat with Mom about anything she wanted for as as long as she wanted.

Mom was 82 pounds when she was admitted. Skin and bones but ready to fight right away. Whatever they suggested she was up for it.

At age 68 she has never taken a single Tylenol in over a decade. On night one she took 4 pills, 2 opiates and a anxiety med.

Us kids huddled around her. I slept on the floor because my insomnia was so terrible the first week I just couldn't keep my eyes open and there was very little to do. It was scans, then more scans, then blood draw, then wait and well wait a little longer for the results.

I became familiar with the cafeteria in the basement and what to avoid. There was always tension in the cafe as my older sister has always struggled with her weight in a large way would have to decide to eat food she shouldn't or just say F it. I never have cared one way or another.

Now I've seen some shit in my day. I've seen people do some remarkable stuff but I've never seen anything like this.

The entire 7th floor is called the penthouse. The penthouse is ran by one man. Dr. Kennedy is medium height, straight white hair and a bit overweight and he walks the entire floor and meets with every single patient for no less than 5 minutes at a time. Not just once but sometimes multiple times in a day.

By my count that is 108 at minimum patients per day. He talks slow and intentional and writes in a small notepad any questions, requests, he nods mostly.

He is the bearer of all news. He reads you the results of the pet scan, the biopsy, the blood results and quietly tells you only the upside.

Unfortunately and as heartbreaking as this is to write. Dr. Kennedy knew all of us from just weeks earlier. When you're moved to the penthouse, you meet him as a family. We knew most of the staff from just weeks earlier.

Dad didn't like Kennedy or the palative care specialist Adam (the grim reaper) who have to tell people the worst news of their lives but do so in the gentlest manner possible. Wally hated their phony as they had him sign a DNR, despised them for a day or two.

We were all there when Mom got her first news. She had advanced stage 4 and they believe it began in her right breast but it was so advanced there was no telling.

It had ate through both hip joints and she would need both femurs replaced at once with bolts that would allow her to walk again. Her lungs would need to be drained of fluid buildup (this was a 4 time procedure and the most painful) and radiation of any clusters near the spine.

She took the news so well initially that it was hard to comprehend. I get my anxiety and insomnia from my mother so seeing her not bat a eye at major surgeries and a uncertainty of whether she would ever leave where she laid unnerved me.

I would get there at 10 am and leave at 5 pm and sleep in this huge freaking home in my 15 year old sisters bedroom (she's at prep school for soccer she's basically a 5* in that world I guess) surrounded by Drake posters and teenager bedding.

I tried the first couple weeks to act like staying there was the same as any visit. Feed the chickens, goats, cook for my brother at least one meal before leaving for the day but it would weigh on me so heavily that there were the tasks Mom loved. Hell she even loved the rooster at 6 am for no apparent reason.

I would break down a lot. I found tremendous guilt with my wife when I'd often forget to ask about her day or the dogs for a couple days at a time.

Day by day we found joy. Little by little. Mom ate ice cream which she hasn't had in years and cried out how good it was. I brought bagels and smears the next day. Nachos, burritos, pizza all the things she avoided to live to be 129 years old were going to enjoy no matter what.

Before I forget. So in the terminal unit of a hospital you are going to get a different type of staff. They're beyond kind, they will never refuse any request unless it's life threatening (med requests that would obviously cause a overdose) so if mom wants Eggplant Parmesan that is what she gets. If Mom wants A chocolate magic ice cream cup she gets 4.

They try to joke, gossip, laugh. It's the ultimate comfort care. They're the most fucking dedicated people and yes I know they get paid much more and have to go through extensive training but could you imagine 12 hours a day of seeing person after person leaving this earth and staying over the top, up beat? That's special.

Mom had 3 roommates in 5 weeks. When Mom arrived she was alone for the first week and once stable she was moved to a new room with a 26 year old Breann who was a long distant runner/sprinter who had a brain tumor.

She had a interesting trait. If your heart rate drops too much it will set off a alarm and nurses and staff will run to your room to revive you. She was in such tremendous shape that her resting heart rate was 55. After 6 hours they unhooked her heart alarm.

I was sitting in the room working on football while mom napped and Breann began chatting with me quietly. She was bored. We talked trails we had hiked, her love for soup, being lactose intolerant and how bad it sucked.

We talked about her fiance who visited every night, her want to adopt someday even if it was just a dog. Her running the entire boulder trail (600 miles) and one person canoeing the Arkansas river.

Like any night I left at 430 and my sister took over for me. I would drive home with some sense of hope, reality wasn't there yet.

I drove to the hospital at 8 am and stopped to get Mom's German pastries and a coffee for myself. I walked into the room with my CFB notebook in one hand and went to greet my mom and it hasn't hit me as we had our morning conversation.

Mom was alone.