THE Conversation…

Last night, I had THE conversation with my mom.

The one where I gently reminded her that SHE gets to decide when she’s done.

The one where I told her that SHE gets to determine whether to keep going for tests, and prods, and needles and procedures.

The one where I reminded her of how much she’s been through and that we’ve always admired and looked up to her strength and fighting spirit.

The one where I told her we would honor no matter what she decides.

The one where I held back tears for the entire conversation.

Her response surprised me beyond words:

“Really? You mean it? THAT makes all the difference.”

What did I expect?

“So, you’re telling me it’s OK to die; you don’t need a mother anymore.”

That’s how I know she’s done.

She’s been a Type 1 Diabetic since she was 11–for 69 years. She’s had 7 back surgeries and just had a spinal cord stimulator implanted in her back at 80.

Diabetics don’t heal like the rest of us, and the wound is on the verge of being infected despite the diligence of the caretaking team in and out of her facility.

Her body is just tired.

There’s a danger that they may have to go back in and take the device out.

A device that stimulates her nerves because she has never given up the hope of walking and getting out of her chair.

This fighting woman, who can’t walk and is confined to a chair is now being told that if she doesn’t get off her bottom every two hours she risks infection.

“What am I supposed to do? ” she cries. “How am I supposed to sit and sleep?”

I’d be done too.

So, although I wasn’t expecting to go down until April (a global travel schedule in February and March), I will venture down to Ft. Myers the weekend after this.

To make sure nothing is left unsaid, and to tell her to her face that it’s OK to go.

Who am I kidding? She’ll probably stick around for a few more years.

This time, I’m not so sure.

~ by Butch on January 27, 2016.

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