Just Breathe Again (10 page)

  “Because your sister’s sick, Michael. She did not want to stay in the hospital, so we are caring for her at home,” said Jeannie.

  “How long will she have to use this? I don’t like looking at this stuff,” he said.

  “Michael, remember I told you Lydia’s not going to get better?” asked Jeannie.

   He shook his head yes. He didn’t want to believe it.

  “Well, these are to help Lydia until she does pass away. She doesn’t want to stay in the hospital. You do know she’s going to go be with Daddy soon, right?” she asked. She knows he knew because they had this conversation many times.

  “Yes, I know. I don’t like it. It’s not fair.”

  “Honey, life isn’t fair. I don’t understand any of it,” said Jeannie. 

  “I want to go upstairs,” he said, once again acting like a typical twelve year old.

  “Go ahead. Listen to some of that crazy rap, read, or play a video game,” said Jeannie. 

  “Okay,” he said and ran upstairs. That was the end of the conversation for a while. Jeannie surprised herself at how strong she was explaining Lydia’s condition to him. Jeannie tried to spend as much time with him as she could between working and being with Lydia. She quit her second job and worked at the trucking company for the time being. During the day while she worked, Marsha and John took over caring for Lydia. Marsha would watch talk shows with her, or take her outside and sit and John would read to her and take Michael fishing. A perfect set up that only a true friend would offer.

Chapter 7

T
he first real visit from hospice was a bit overwhelming for everyone. Hospice came and explained to Jeannie what was going to happen and had her fill out loads of paperwork. Marsha and John sat with her for support, and since they were part of that too, they should be included in what was going to happen.

  The nurse assigned to Lydia was an angel in disguise named, Hooty. Her skin was the color of coffee with a hint of cream, and she had her hair dyed, blonde. Her hair was short and stuck out everywhere like a porcupine, a contrast against her ebony skin and blue painted eyes. She had bright orange fingernails long and shiny with sparkles glistening in the sunlight. Without even trying, she made everyone feel good.

  “Hey, how y’all doin’ today?” She asked as she walked up the porch, seeing them in the screen door.

  When she walked up to the house, John and Marsha were eating breakfast at the counter. Jeannie was downstairs, helping Lydia get dressed, and Michael already left for school. 

 Marsha stood up and let Hooty in before she dropped her bags. “Hi, you must be from hospice?”

  “I sure am. Are you Jeannie?” she asked, coming in sideways because she had three bags on her shoulder and a box.

 “No, I’m Marsha and this is my husband, John. Jeannie, Lydia and her son, Michael, moved in with us so we could help her take care of Lydia.”

  “Wow, you is real good friends. I need me friends like ya’ll,” she smiled, putting her bags down on the counter. 

  “Come on over here and give me a hug. You two deserve a hug.” Hooty put her arms up and waited for John and Marsh to walk into them.

  They embraced this beautiful woman and knew she was someone special. A sense of peace and warmth enveloped everyone around her.

  “We love them like family. This had been a little too much for everyone. Plus, Jeannie lost her husband last year, and I didn’t know how much she could take,” said Marsha.

  “Oh, you can take as much as the good Lord gives you. He don’t do nothin’ without a plan. Where is Ms. Jeannie and Ms. Lydia?” asked Hooty, picking up her bags again.

  “Oh, forgive me. Let me take you down to them. They have their own separate entrance downstairs so you can just use that one from now on so it’s easier for you.  It’s like a little apartment down here. Watch your step, and please let us help you carry that.”    

  “Honey, I thank you. Them old bags is rough on the back. I’m totin’ them everywhere. By the end of the day, I can’t stand up straight. I look like I searchin’ for night crawlers at night, bent down.” Marsha and John both laughed. 

  “Jeannie? It’s me and Hooty. Are you decent?” asked Marsha, walking down the stairs.

  “Come on down here, we’re dressed. What’s a Hooty?” she asked.

  “Hooty, is from the at-home care office,” Marsha laughed. They didn’t like to say hospice in front of Lydia. 

  Jeannie went to shake her hand, and knew right away this woman was going to be a blessing for Lydia.

  “Sweetie, you come here and give me a hug. I’m going to be here quite a bit. I ain’t goin’ for no handshake now, you hear? “Jeannie felt her put her arms around her and she smelled like Ivory soap and Bengay. Jeannie offered her coffee, which she accepted, and they sat at the little table in the kitchen area.

  Hooty explained to them what to expect. She told Jeannie there are times when the patient knows there’s no hope, they accepted the fact they will die, and death and acceptance comes quicker than we want. 

  The worst part of the whole experience, and what brought Jeannie to her knees, was when Hooty showed her “the box”, or the “comfort kit”, as hospice called it. The comfort kit was not something she could discuss. Seeing the white box sealed up and labeled with Lydia’s name sent Jeannie in hysterics. She ran to the bathroom and screamed into a towel so no one would hear her cries of complete agony. When she felt she had conquered her misery over the situation, she walked back out to discuss the finalization of her daughter’s life. The box was the last step for a dying patient and when it had to be opened, the end of the road was right around the corner. The box was to be put somewhere not to be opened, or touched, until the Hospice nurse approved. It was needed in order for Lydia to die comfortably.  Inside it was the liquid morphine, Ativan,
drops
used to treat wet respirations, also known as the death rattle, and valium in case she had a seizure. Hooty explained to them with Lydia, the chances she would need all or any of that was slim. With a brain tumor, she may have a seizure, or she may go in her sleep.

  Lydia woke up and Hooty introduced herself. She didn’t mention hospice. To Lydia, she was a home health nurse. 

  “How many people have you watched die?” asked Lydia

  “A lot. But, we ain’t here to talk about death today. Today, you are alive and it’s a good thing, Miss Lydia. I’m here to make sure you are feeling as well as possible. Are you feeling comfortable?” asked Hooty.

  Lydia nodded her head.

  “Are you sleeping well?”

  Again Lydia nodded and said in a whisper, “Sleeping seems to be all I do.”

  “That’s fine, baby. Sleeping is one of Gods great gifts to us. You sleep as much as you want,” said Hooty, smiling and rubbing her hand.

  “If we have an emergency at night, like I get in a lot of pain or something, does my mom take me to the hospital?” asked Lydia.

  “No, you use the hotline we have for our patients. We know people are better at home and that’s where we want to keep you, Miss Lydia. If it’s the middle of the night, I’ll be here, don’t you worry,” she said.

  Hooty looked at Jeannie as Lydia fell back to sleep.

  “Is there anything else we can do for you today, Miss Jeannie?” she asked. Jeannie was overwhelmed and couldn’t answer. It pained Hooty to see the young ones dying. Over the years she had been doing this, she never got over the young ones dying so soon.    

  “Can you come over here with me? I have somethin for you to sign, baby,” asked Hooty. They walked away from Lydia and over to another area where she couldn’t hear.

  “I need you to sign this paper. The document states with hospice care, there would be no resuscitation. No medical recitation, no intubation, and no respirator. I know it’s hard, suga’.  I know it’s killin’ you inside, but you have to remember when it gets to that point, Miss Lydia won’t know what is happenin’.  She’ll be asleep and the only thing she’ll know is what she is dreamin.” Hooty rubbed Jeannie on her back as she handed her a pen. Jeannie started crying again. She took the pen and signed on the line, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she sealed her daughter’s fate.

  “You know as dumb as this sounds, she is more worried about you. She wants to make sure you are going to be okay. Her fear is you’ll be sad, Miss Jeannie, and that scares her.” 

  “Of course I’ll be sad. I am going to be devastated. She’s always worried. When her dad died she was the one there for me. I don’t know where she gets this strength, Hooty.”

 “She gets it from the faith that you done gave her, Miss Jeannie. That’s what keeps her goin.”

  Jeannie nodded her head not wanting to go into a discussion about God and faith.

   Hooty stayed for a while longer and checked to make sure everything was there. She made a couple of phone calls to the office and said she would be back the next day. If anything were to happen during the night, they were to call her.

  They made it through a couple of weeks without anything major happening. Jeannie noticed Lydia was getting weaker. It took more effort to get up in the morning, and she slept continuously. Her speech was slurred and at times she didn’t make sense. This started to move along faster than anyone anticipated and faster than Jeannie could bear.

Chapter 8

L
ike an unexpected storm appearing out of nowhere, Victoria called to say she planned on coming down to visit. There was no preparing for her arrival happening the next day.

  “Honey, I’m going to be there tomorrow. The remodeling is done with the house and I’ll be there for you. How’s everything going?”

  “Well, they;re going, Mom. Lydia’s getting worse faster than we expected. Just so you know, she does not look like the Lydia you are used to seeing. She doesn’t act like Lydia. I want to prepare you for what’s happening.” Jeannie hoped warning her with how bad things were would scare her into not coming. She was too busy a month ago when she needed her mom the most.  

  “What do you mean, prepare me for?” she asked.

  “Lydia is dying, Mom. She sleeps all day, and is hooked up to oxygen. She has a hard time walking and has to take a wheelchair. There are hospice workers here and a lot of her friends stop by to spend time with her.”

  “Okay. I can handle sickness, honey. Maybe she will be doing better when I get there,” she said, refusing to comprehend how serious things were.

  “Mom, she isn’t going to get better. There is no getting better. She is going to die soon. You need to realize this.”

  “We can talk about this when I get there. I don’t need to get upset right now.”

  Victoria felt everything was about her. Somehow she found a way to make this her problem. That is how she was ever since Jeannie could remember. Victoria Bridgeport, fifty eight years old and not a wrinkle on her surgically altered face. Five feet eleven inches tall and rail thin, she modeled in the sixties for a local department store. To any one she met for the first time, she was more than happy to bring this fact up. Victoria had no tolerance for overweight people. If Jeannie gained a couple of pounds, she humiliated her to lose the weight. Victoria always fretted over her looks and didn’t leave the house without being made up and dressed to the hilt. She had no patience for sloppiness, and when Jeannie grew up, she forced her beliefs on her. 

Fifteen years ago, Jeannie’s dad Max died of heart failure. He had a heart attack on the seventh hole of the golf course in Florida. No better place for him to take his last breath then his favorite spot. An avid golfer, Jeannie’s dad would have been a pro if he didn’t meet her mother and get her pregnant at nineteen. Back then, two young people getting pregnant before marriage was considered an unforgiveable scandal. With both of their parents being strict Catholics, their only choice was marriage. The two of them were not in love, and the marriage should have not happened. Jeannie considered herself a burden to her parents and the reason they were so unhappy. Their unhappiness showed throughout their entire marriage. Her father was a wealthy investor so she didn’t do without anything, except the love parents were to give their children unconditionally. They bought her everything she needed, sent her on vacations, and enrolled her in everything they thought would keep her busy. No one ever kissed her, hugged her, or spent much time with her like most parents. Jeannie couldn’t remember being able to go to her dad and talk to him like most father and daughters. She didn’t have a heart to heart with her mom about boys, sex, or life in general. Those types of talks made her mom uncomfortable and vulnerable. She didn’t let Jeannie see her cry, and she rarely laughed.

  Jeannie’s mom, didn’t remarry, sat on a bunch of money, and she seemed to have even less time for her daughter and grandchildren as she got older. She traveled, shopped, or remodeled the house and didn’t have an interest in anything else. Her new obsession became Botox and she insisted Jeannie get work done before she turned forty. She also suggested it wouldn’t hurt her to consider a tummy tuck, since she had not gotten her figure completely back. Jeannie swore to herself she wouldn’t turn into her as she got older. Being with her at any time proved to be a nightmare for Jeannie. This time was going to be even worse.

  When she arrived, she brought more gifts than Santa Claus. Victoria bought out the stores before she came. Not only did she buy gifts for Lydia and Michael, but Jeannie as well. Michael was ecstatic over a new video game system with at least, ten games included. She bought Marsha a gift certificate for a day at the spa. For Jeannie, Victoria bought her new clothes and a gift certificate to get her hair and nails done. Jeannie could have cared less. The biggest amount of gifts were for Lydia. Victoria bought her pajamas in different colors with matching slippers, books teen girls were reading, an mp3 player, and DVDs of the latest movies. All the gifts were a sure sign of Victoria’s guilt.