Pain, oxygen and a decline

Deep breath.

Mom was walking (with her walker) back from a meal a few days ago when she became quite short of breath, and remained that way for a time.  She called for help using her ever-present button, and the staff called the hospice nurse, who said to help her use the oxygen machine that had been sitting in the corner since she started hospice.  The episode resolved, she went back to normal, and she has had staff take her to meals in her wheelchair to meals to prevent a recurrence of the shortness of breath.

Hospice sent portable tanks and tubing to be available, in addition to the big machine.  Mom started stressing about needing to have oxygen ever-present, asking help from the assisted living aides.  (I think it was a little bit of a thrill to have a new addition to her routine.) Asking for help led to (unfortunately), the unit manager raising red flags immediately about such routine oxygen support not being included in the level of care, that Mom may have to move.  This of course was upsetting to Mom.  Sigh.

We determined that, while she may need oxygen occasionally, she does not have to be 'on' oxygen 24x7 at all - at least not now.

Next she heard from a table-mate that a 'pain patch' is a great way to control pain, which has been increasing with arthritis and back pain (due to both slumping and falls).  So I brought her to the doctor to talk about pain management and a pain patch.  She tried it, and in less than 24 hours, she fell this morninig due to dizziness, and then at noon, she threw up.  The patch is off, and we're back to her just having to ask for pills.

I was with her when she threw up, and so I took her back to her room, made her bed, helped her change her clothes, and helped her into bed.  It was so sad, how frail she was. Her confusion - she called me by the wrong name, said silly nonsensical things (kind of an elderly game of Word Association).  How desperate and afraid. She is tired of this. She hurts most of the time and the effort to go through daily life is overwhelming.  She cannot easily get about without aid.  She often cannot manage toileting successfully.  She requires help showering.  Her life is shrinking even more.

As I left her today, in bed to rest, I again realized that it is not unthinkable that she may die before I see her next.  I suspect that is not the case, that her frailness is more due to the residual effect of the pain patch medicine that didn't sit well with her.  But one day, probably soon, will be her last.  And what a relief for all.  Poor thing.