I didn’t get to hold my mom’s hand through Parkinson’s, she died before it progressed very far. But today I held someone else’s mom’s hands as they shook, waiting for the Parkinsons meds to kick in and make it easier for her to breathe.
Waiting with her for the pain of being moved to subside and the agitation to dissipate.
For all the evil shit pharmaceutical companies do, I sure am grateful for this side of the equation that helps a dying woman not have such a rough time. I’m not into drugging into oblivion and compliance, but there is certainly a benefit to being able to meet the person where they’re at with handling the pain, and making them comfortable (this is a heated topic in the field).
I stood there holding her hands for about an hour before my feet got sore enough, and she seemed to be drifting off, that I decided it was ok to switch activities. I had been there for hours already. As long as it seemed to me to be standing there, I was sad for the far greater quantity of hours no one was standing there quietly, just breathing and persisting with her. She gets excellent care from her caregiver, she’s not alone at all in that reguard.
It made me think of when I was in chronic debilitating pain and took care of myself, and how that has developed into an assumption that I will allways have to.
And then there are the points where you can only lie there helpless at the mercy of the process and whomever is there, or not there, and wait for what’s on the other side of this episode.
1 Comment