selfish brat, too busy to be bothered with her mother in the hospital.
“Fine.” Amanda wanted to tell her off, but she wasn’t sure what she could say in her own defense. Amanda used to live at the hospital, but that had changed this summer after she had met Jake and his family. Her reality used to be dictated by her mother’s condition minute by minute, but Amanda had reached the point where she couldn’t stand to live her life around a sick person, even if that sick person was her mother.
Amanda went back into her mother’s room and sat in the rocking chair. She looked closely at her mother, and realized for the first time that her mother had changed drastically in the last week. It looked like her body had dried in the sun like a prune. Her skin was gray and looked thin as paper. Her lips were pulled away from her mouth, and her hands looked like they belonged to a one-hundred-year-old woman. Amanda usually came around 9:00 a.m. so she was not troubled that her mom was usually asleep when she got there and slept through most of the visit. But then Amanda realized she hadn’t seen her mother fully conscious for days.
The doctor walked in, another young, new face. She was Asian with long black hair in a low ponytail. She wore small, rectangular wire-rimmed glasses, and no make up. She looked businesslike.
“Hi, Amanda. I’m Dr. Sam. I don’t think we’ve met before.” Dr. Sam shook Amanda’s hand, and Amanda searched her face for signs of judgment on her absence. “Amanda, I want to inform you about your mom’s situation. I’m sure you’ve recognized that she’s slipping.” She paused, waiting for Amanda to respond, but there was nothing Amanda could say because she hadn’t really noticed the difference until today. “Your mom has an advance directive that she changed about two weeks ago. Her former orders stated that she wanted tube feedings and many other measures taken to prolong her life. Recently, she changed her orders to state almost the opposite. She wants no heroic measures other than minimal morphine for pain.”
Amanda couldn’t absorb what the doctor was trying to tell her. “My mom always wants lots of medicine, especially for pain. She’s always bugging the nurses about her pain and asking for something to help her sleep or make her more comfortable.”
“She receives morphine every three hours, and otherwise takes nothing. I’m sure you can see that your mother hasn’t been able to communicate clearly for at least ten days.”
Ten days? Amanda thought. Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t even notice that her mother had been unresponsive for over a week? Apparently, this was what the doctor was trying to tell her.
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.” Amanda stared at her mom, snoring quietly in her same hospital bed, wearing her same Harley Davidson t-shirt.
“I’m telling you this because the nurses feel that you don’t realize that it’s almost the end.” Dr. Sam looked at her intently but with kindness in her eyes and her voice. Amanda just nodded blankly. “She hasn’t eaten since Sunday, and even then she was only taking a few sips of broth at every meal. Today on rounds it appeared she had slipped further into a coma-like state. My best guess is that it will only be a few more days.” She reached out and patted Amanda’s leg. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you have any questions?”
Questions? Definitely she had questions. How had her mother changed her advance directive without talking to her? How had she been unconscious for ten days without Amanda’s knowledge? What were the last words she had said to her mother? Have they had a real conversation in days? Amanda didn’t know the answer to any of this. What kind of daughter wouldn’t have noticed these things? She knew the answer to that.
Dr. Sam was still looking at her closely. “Is there someone I should call for you?”
Amanda knew she
“Fine.” Amanda wanted to tell her off, but she wasn’t sure what she could say in her own defense. Amanda used to live at the hospital, but that had changed this summer after she had met Jake and his family. Her reality used to be dictated by her mother’s condition minute by minute, but Amanda had reached the point where she couldn’t stand to live her life around a sick person, even if that sick person was her mother.
Amanda went back into her mother’s room and sat in the rocking chair. She looked closely at her mother, and realized for the first time that her mother had changed drastically in the last week. It looked like her body had dried in the sun like a prune. Her skin was gray and looked thin as paper. Her lips were pulled away from her mouth, and her hands looked like they belonged to a one-hundred-year-old woman. Amanda usually came around 9:00 a.m. so she was not troubled that her mom was usually asleep when she got there and slept through most of the visit. But then Amanda realized she hadn’t seen her mother fully conscious for days.
The doctor walked in, another young, new face. She was Asian with long black hair in a low ponytail. She wore small, rectangular wire-rimmed glasses, and no make up. She looked businesslike.
“Hi, Amanda. I’m Dr. Sam. I don’t think we’ve met before.” Dr. Sam shook Amanda’s hand, and Amanda searched her face for signs of judgment on her absence. “Amanda, I want to inform you about your mom’s situation. I’m sure you’ve recognized that she’s slipping.” She paused, waiting for Amanda to respond, but there was nothing Amanda could say because she hadn’t really noticed the difference until today. “Your mom has an advance directive that she changed about two weeks ago. Her former orders stated that she wanted tube feedings and many other measures taken to prolong her life. Recently, she changed her orders to state almost the opposite. She wants no heroic measures other than minimal morphine for pain.”
Amanda couldn’t absorb what the doctor was trying to tell her. “My mom always wants lots of medicine, especially for pain. She’s always bugging the nurses about her pain and asking for something to help her sleep or make her more comfortable.”
“She receives morphine every three hours, and otherwise takes nothing. I’m sure you can see that your mother hasn’t been able to communicate clearly for at least ten days.”
Ten days? Amanda thought. Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t even notice that her mother had been unresponsive for over a week? Apparently, this was what the doctor was trying to tell her.
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.” Amanda stared at her mom, snoring quietly in her same hospital bed, wearing her same Harley Davidson t-shirt.
“I’m telling you this because the nurses feel that you don’t realize that it’s almost the end.” Dr. Sam looked at her intently but with kindness in her eyes and her voice. Amanda just nodded blankly. “She hasn’t eaten since Sunday, and even then she was only taking a few sips of broth at every meal. Today on rounds it appeared she had slipped further into a coma-like state. My best guess is that it will only be a few more days.” She reached out and patted Amanda’s leg. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you have any questions?”
Questions? Definitely she had questions. How had her mother changed her advance directive without talking to her? How had she been unconscious for ten days without Amanda’s knowledge? What were the last words she had said to her mother? Have they had a real conversation in days? Amanda didn’t know the answer to any of this. What kind of daughter wouldn’t have noticed these things? She knew the answer to that.
Dr. Sam was still looking at her closely. “Is there someone I should call for you?”
Amanda knew she
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