Get Real: Watching my mother die

Nothing is more difficult than watching a loved one die, especially when it's your mother.

My Mom, Mayme Wilkins, died Jan. 15 at 3:30 a.m.

It was not a good death. It was a slow, painful process. And the worst part, is that it didn't have to be that way.

Mom was born Dec. 13, 1930, in Kinloss Township. She became a teacher and taught for a couple of years before she married my Dad, Charlie Wilkins, Oct. 14, 1950.

They farmed for almost 30 years on the 12^th Concession of Ashfield Township, before selling the dairy operation to my brothers, and moving to a farm on Highway 86, east of Amberley where they raised pigs, veal calves and then laying hens.

Mom was a busy farm wife and mother. She had seven children, and later, 15 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

When Dad died in 2012, she moved to Kincardine where she lived at Forbes Lambton Court for three years, then the assisted-living lodge at Trillium Court Seniors' Community for four years, and her final three weeks were spent in long-term care at Trillium Court.

Mom and Dad never talked about death and dying – that generation and my generation believe that your ultimate demise should be kept quiet and under the rug, never spoken of until it actually happens.

Both my parents suffered from medical issues. Dad had problems with his heart and his respiratory system, and later, his legs failed him; plus, he was deaf as a stone. Meanwhile, Mom had high blood pressure and arthritis, and later, had several minor strokes and suffered from dementia.

With all this going on, neither thought to mention how they wanted their end-of-life care to play out. The only thing I heard them say was that their funerals were pre-planned; they didn't want to be sent to Pinecrest Manor Nursing Home in Lucknow; and they had purchased burial plots at Greenhill Cemetery in Lucknow.

Dad died suddenly after falling at home; he was in the Kincardine hospital for a couple of days, seemed to be rallying, and then became non-responsive and died July 26, 2012 at 9:30 a.m. I was in the hospital room with Mom at the time and we held his hands. He gasped for air for about a half-hour and then died.

When we moved Mom to long-term care at Trillium Court, Dec. 19, I never believed that she would be dead in less than three weeks. So, we weren't prepared. But we should have been.

Mom contracted a bacterial infection, and was taken to the emergency room at Kincardine hospital, Jan. 8. She was admitted to hospital; later transferred to the intensive care unit (ICU); and then ended up in the palliative care room where she died a week later.

It was a sad, painful process – and completely unnecessary. Mom never should have suffered the indignity of lying in that palliative care room for four days dying. It was the most miserable thing to watch, and I'm sure it was horrendous for her to experience.

I commend the nurses in palliative care at the Kincardine hospital for making a difficult situation somewhat tolerable. They treated Mom like a person, not just a dying patient who was absorbing huge amounts of pain killers and sedatives. And I have a greater respect for all hospice workers and volunteers, because their job is tough – very tough.

While Mom was in ICU, the doctor told us she had Streptococcus A (flesh-eating disease) in her left leg and the antibiotics were not working. The only treatment available would be to remove her leg, and at the age of 89, she would not survive the surgery.

So, we made the difficult decision to take her off antibiotics and fluids, and allow the nurses to administer pain killers and sedatives, and let her die peacefully.

Well, it didn't actually happen that way. She suffered for four days, flinching and grimacing in pain when the nurses would turn her, or when we would hold her hands. Because her leg was infectious, we had to put on protective gowns, gloves and masks, so we must have looked like aliens to her.

After two days of this, I asked the doctor if there was any medication Mom could be given to end this charade of a peaceful death. He said, no, because she had not consented to such a thing. So, this road of misery was the only way.

By Day 3, the bedside vigil seemed endless. Fortunately, we had a great nurse arrive on the scene. She managed to get the medication increased so, finally, Mom was not in pain. And by Day 4, Mom was actually peaceful and on her way out. She died the next morning.

It's hard to believe that Mom would ever want such a long, excruciating exit, but that's how life ends, sometimes. What's unfortunate, is that it didn't have to be that way.

Everyone should draw up a health care plan, and an end-of-life care plan, so that what happens to you at the end, is what you want to happen. Once you're lying in the hospital bed, and someone else is making those decisions, it's too late.

The Huron Shores Hospice board has been educating the public and holding Death Cafes, trying to get people to talk about death and dying; and how to plan a “good” death. The board plans to hold workshops on end-of-life planning, and I, for one, will be attending.

Because I don't want to be the one lying in pain and misery for four days before I die. And I certainly don't want to put my family through that either.