Healthy living Blog
Carer Diary
April 15, 2009: the end of the chapter
For many years, Marianne Talbot's life centred around caring for her beloved mother, who had Alzheimer's disease. In this poignant instalment of her online diary, Marianne describes the closing of the final chapter
Last Wednesday I spent two hours with mum. I had intended just to hug her. But I was still there when supper started. So, hoping to persuade her to eat, I stayed.
She managed five teaspoonsful of ratatouille. But her heart wasn’t in it. I was ridiculously proud, however, when she then ate two small flapjacks.
She didn’t seem to be in pain, though she clearly wasn’t comfortable. At about 6.15 she was getting sleepy, so I gave her another hug and left.
At 12.45am I almost fell out of bed when the phone rang. It was the home. Mum had been vomiting. They wanted me to confirm I didn’t want an ambulance. I confirmed this, and said I was coming.
For 20 minutes I couldn’t do anything right. I was half asleep but every fibre of my being was directed at mum. Finally, no underwear, my jumper inside out, my shoes only just on the right feet, I went to get my bike. Only to remember I’d left it in town.
I had to walk. It was a full hour later that I punched in the home’s security combination and rushed to mum’s side.
She was asleep. But as she had vomited twice, a couple of hours apart, I decided to stay. The nurses found me a mattress, and I changed into a pair of mum’s pyjamas. I lay on the mattress, listening to the sounds of a nursing home at night, and mentally packing myself a bag for a protracted stay.
Then mum started making little whimpering sounds. Half an hour later she was clearly in pain, and the doctor was called again. But when she arrived, she had no morphine. She gave mum an injection of something else and assured me it would take effect in about half an hour.
Half an hour later mum was in agony. And so was I. Is there any torture more agonising than to see someone you love in pain, yet be unable to do anything?
Throughout the night I had been wondering whether I should ring my sister and brothers. But Judy and Richard were abroad. It seemed cruel to ring them when they couldn’t do anything until the following day. I did ring Christopher, having forgotten that without a car he too would be helpless.
At about 4.30am, mum abruptly stopped writhing. She lay on one side breathing heavily, her eyes open, but not seeing. I hope she was feeling and hearing because I was stroking her and telling her how much I loved her. Then her breathing slowed and became intermittent.
At 5.30am on Maundy Thursday my darling mum drew her last breath and died.
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