humor counts

I'm still spending my days in an ICU waiting room. I think it's been 8-plus days now. For the most part, the other family members there have been thoughtful, pleasant and quiet. My brother was here for a few days and that made the time there considerably better, but when he left, things got harder. No one to give reality checks to, no one to make fun of other people, and the little tad of privacy that we had managed to claim was taken over by a very large family who needed it more. The time goes by quickly on most days. Surprisingly quickly. At 8:30am we have the first visit. Mom has been asleep for the past 3 days at that time. My visit is brief, I check with the nurse to see how the night went, I look at all the tubes, monitors and medicines, check the oxygen level on the ventilator, make sure her feet are warm, and then exit. I read the paper, crochet for awhile, and then it's 12:30 and time for the next visit. Mom has been awake for this time for the past few days, and this is the hardest one of the day. She tries to communicate, but can't. I don't know what to do to help her. She squeezes my hand and pats it but there's little expression in her face. I don't know what is really "her" and what is sedation. I don't know what she's thinking or feeling. I don't know if she's in pain, or given up, or beyond feeling much. I spend the 30 minutes trying to understand her hand gestures, rubbing her feet, and dabbing a sponge on a stick into water and putting it in her mouth. I leave in tears, unable to speak.

Then there's lunch, hopefully a doctor will find me and give me an update (usually translated into 'no change'), and then more crochet, a few phone calls, and then it's 5:30 and another visiting time. She's usually asleep and I'm guiltily relieved. Then it's time for dinner, or sometimes I just hang out more and watch TV and crochet. Then the 8:30 visit, when she's usually asleep and I check in with the night nurse for any changes, hope, glimmers of improvement. Then home. While I drive home, I call my aunt, my mother's only remaining sister, who is 87 and give her the day's update. She is sweet, encouraging and thanks me for keeping her updated.

This is hell. I don't know what to do differently. I can't do anything else. I can't continue doing normal work or Saturday errands or shopping, but I can't keep this up for much longer either. I'm exhausted. Normally, I'm not a tearful person but now I tear up if someone just asks me how she is or if I find myself thinking about what might happen in the next days or weeks.

There was one bright point today that stood out. An elderly man in the waiting room who has a terminally ill wife in the ICU started the day today by telling me about his dream last night. He dreamed that the authorities came to him and told him that he had been neglecting his two young children. He felt terrible about it and told them that he had forgotten that he had two young kids. The authorities told him that he needed to put sweet potato lined underwear on them.

We both had a much needed chuckle over that.