Mum's Next Steps - Anticimpatient

There ought to be a name for that specific kind of anticipation where you are impatiently awaiting news that you don’t really want to hear; I presume the Germans have one.

Our family honestly didn’t have to wait all that long for the news about Mum, it only felt that way. We saw the neurologist serving as Mum's doctor on Wednesday, and he largely confirmed what we already knew: that Mum was unlikely to be going home any time soon. She is so frail, in fact, that she is not only ineligible for chemotherapy, but they don’t even want to do a biopsy, for fear of her having another stroke when they take her off the blood thinners, or even spreading the cancer further.

The doctor said Mum had suffered between 30-40 small but damaging strokes, like a shotgun blast to the brain. The word he used to describe how these clots can avoid simple detection and mask their symptoms for as long as these ones did was both ominous and telling; he called them “insidious.”

He agrees with Tara and I that our goal at this point has to be Mum’s quality of life, and that a transfer to palliative care is what’s needed. This brought us to the discussion of timelines; just how long are we looking at here?

The oncologist had told him that based on the spread of the cancer and it’s placement, we are probably looking at four to five months.

Now, obviously, these are only estimates and are subject to change with Mum’s condition and strength, but it really puts things into perspective when you realize that, just like Dad, Mum is unlikely to see her 80th birthday.

At any rate, with chemo for the cancer and intensive rehab for the stroke both off the table, the next step would be moving Mum into some sort of palliative care situation, preferably in Leduc so Tara can be at hand in Mum's apartment and her friends can visit easily. The neurologist started the ball rolling, and we awaited the consultation from the palliative team. 

When we met with him on Friday, he agreed that moving her to care centred on her comfort was the right choice, and signed off on the request the neurologist had already put into motion.

In the meantime, the strength in the right arm comes and goes - the musculature is there, and listening, but the signal doesn't always get through. It's like a bus route that's been disrupted by construction and has to improvise a detour every time.

Mum's level of comfort is still reasonable. She is still frustrated at her inability to articulate what she is thinking, but is actually quite good at the fill-in-the-blank questions the speech pathologist left with us (e.g. "We ride a (bike). We bake a (cake).") Hopefully more connections will be made over time making it a little easier for her to communicate.

I am going over in the evenings most days, and occasionally in the afternoon, so yesterday was the first opportunity in almost a week for Audrey and me to take her out and about in a wheelchair. I don't know how interested Mum would be if not for all the attention Willow gets. The number of smiles she brings and conversations she propagates with complete strangers is absolutely stunning.  Everyone marvels when told she is not a puppy but seven years old, and it has encouraged a number of people to ask about bringing their loved ones' dogs in for a visit, which is very gratifying.

It prompted a chuckle from her when a man approached saying "What a cutie," and I deadpanned "You can't talk about my mum that way, mister," in response.

We brought Mum down to the first floor Starbucks and grabbed a couple of latte's, sharing spoonfuls of whipped cream and sweetened coffee with her. We explored the gift shop and a couple of kiosks set up in the open area before heading into the art gallery they have on-site.

The McMullen Gallery features an intriguing array of pieces by Alberta artists in a variety of mediums and is easily accessed by wheelchair. If you happen to be in the neighbourhood, I highly recommend checking it out. Mum's eye was caught by a series of intensely coloured plaques adorned with ribbons, while Audrey and I were intrigued by the rubber boots decorated with wheat. The abstract painting of grain elevators struck both us, reminding me of the one in Leduc where I grew up, and her of her father who painted them as his first job after coming to Canada.

It was a good little outing, and got Mum out of her bed for more than two hours, during which time we got our picture taken together outside the gallery and she also had a friend visit from Leduc.

After bringing Mum back to her room for a nap, the charge nurse let us know that a palliative bed had been found for her in Leduc, and they expected to be transporting her by ambulance in less than 24 hours. Tara found out the news shortly after we did, immediately after arriving at the hospital.

Audrey and I stopped for groceries on our way home, and Tara called just as I was putting the burgers on the grill - Mum was already on her way, and Tara was following the ambulance to Leduc Community Hospital.

Mum is now in place in Leduc but found the ride very disruptive. She was very restless today and complained of her first real discomfort, which they gave her morphine for. 

None of us really know what is specifically involved in terms of palliative care, or whether or not their specialists can do something about Mum's lack of appetite, but at least now she has a room to herself, fewer tests with less poking and prodding, and the staff all seem excellent thus far. I will probably be spending most of my evenings in Leduc this week, and plan to overnight there on Thursday so I can visit with her during the day on Friday, which I have off.

But now we are back once again to waiting; unsure of what we will learn, unknowing of what the future holds and uncertain of what we even want to have happen. We know where the road is going, and now pray we can take a route that suits Mum's wishes.