Hard to believe that it is now Feb 29th, 2024 and I am revisiting this blog. A place to express my own thoughts, perhaps to work through them. I have no goal of reaching anyone with these thoughts, people have long since taken their positions and don't want to know otherwise.
My husband Nicholas died on August 10th, 2022. He had been discharged from the hospital on Feb 25 because I would not let him go to the nursing home. I knew that, if he went there, they would not allow me to visit him due to my being unvaccinated. And I just could not bring myself to take that jab. Nor him. So the hospital called and said I would have to take him back home, regardless of whether I was up to the task or not. So Nick came home, and we settled into a routine of rising, eating, napping, taking medications, napping again, eating, fighting his demons in the evenings, and finally going to bed at 10 pm, only to face a night time of broken sleep, taking of meds, night time sweats, more broken sleep. This went on for 5 months, with the only help being 5 hours of a PSW coming in so that I could go and grocery shop and run errands. And one friend of daughter Martha, Jeff, who came on Monday afternoons to spend a couple of hours with Nick so that I could get some respite.
I would not have got through this period without the help and support of Martha, who came every single day to visit and offer relief. It was a gruelling time, as Nick became less and less independent. He required help with dressing, help with showering, and the hardest part was the number of times he had to go to the bathroom but could not get there quickly without help. I became quite adept at pushing him down the narrow hallway to the bathroom on a walker, as the wheelchair was too cumbersome to manoevre in our small home.
Nick had a couple of times when he had to go to the emergency department as he collapsed at home. Our doctor told me to use the ER as respite when I needed it, however if Nick were to be admitted to hospital, his name would go to the bottom of the list for the nursing home. Which would mean an even longer wait for long-term help. Fortunately, things didn't resolve that way. Nick collapsed in late July and asked that I take him to hospital for medical help. I could not lift him from the floor and he could not get himself up. Once in the hospital, he became very agitated and restless. He kept trying to get out of the bed and that would risk another fall. The nurse told me that I must provide 24-hour care for him in the ER, as they didn't have the staff to do it. So my son-in-law and daughter Martha and I took turns for the next 48 hours. At that point, Nick became terribly agitated and was trying to escape. I called the nurse, who consulted with the doctor on call, and the doctor prescribed 5 mg of Haldol to sedate him. Nick was terrified of the injection and rightly so. Haldol is never to be given to someone with Parkinsons or with dementia, and Nick developed "tardive dyskinesia", which means he was plagued with involuntary muscle spasms. This was concentrated in his hands and arms and he kept jabbing his hands into each other until our doctor returned to the floor and ordered something to counteract this drug. But it was too late.
Nick's covid test came back positive and the nurse told me that he would have to be isolated for 10 days, with no visitors. I knew from my years of volunteering in palliative care in Halifax, that they cannot refuse family visits if a patient is in palliative care. I knew that Nick was dying (his urine was almost black) so I requested that they put him in palliative care. He was moved to a bed upstairs on the ward, and his room was marked off limits except to medical staff and immediate family. Thus began a 14 day vigil of keeping watch and keeping Nick company for almost all hours of the day and night. Our daughter Rebecca arrived from Texas and she and Martha and I split up the days and nights into hours we could manage. Elena, our middle daughter, came when she could but she has a family of nine children, so you can imagine how many demands there are on her time.
Rebecca, being the night owl, stayed with her dad from about 8 pm until 1 or 2 pm. Then I would come in early morning and stay until around early afternoon, when Martha would take over until Rebecca came back. So it went for almost two weeks. We talked with Nick and held his hand, but he soon became withdrawn as he could no longer speak. His voice had failed him. He seemed unconscious for most of the time, although he did acknowledge the grandchildren when they came to say good bye.
After about five days, he stopped eating, and then he stopped drinking. We would put a soaked sponge into his mouth but he even refused that in the last 3-4 days. It is an awful thing to see someone become dehydrated unto death.
On August 10, I was in the hospital room, unable to stay awake. Rebecca had to return to Texas, so Martha and I were trying to cover the hours. I stayed that night until about 6 am, then I just had to go home and get something to eat and walk the dog. I could not keep my eyes open. Elena called and said that I should take a break, she was going to go in, but I said no I must go in too. I returned to the hospital at 8:30 am, and when I walked into the room, I knew he was gone. He was in the exact same position that the nurses had turned him to, which was a strange side twist, not the normal one. And he was lifeless. The nurse came in and pronounced him dead.
The following days are a blur. Of course, there was the funeral and burial. Many people around, most of whom I didn't want to talk to as they had all avoided us during the lockdowns. I had told my brother to tell our sister Mary that I didn't wish to speak with her at all, because she had posted awful things on Instagram about how we had to get vaccinated and that she would have nothing to do with us unless we did. I had written to her, stating that I would forgive her but would never trust her again, and she responded by saying that I was never to contact her ever again, either by phone, or email, or in person. So I did just that and never spoke to her again.
It is stunning how this pandemic and the way it was handled has divided people from one another. It is as if we have been divided into two camps, those who took the jab and those who didn't. Only the most open-minded people are willing to associate with those on the other side. This has resulted in such loneliness and isolation that it is at time almost unbearable.
Fast forward and now my brother John has died from aggressive stomach cancer. This has had the effect of bringing Sandy, his wife, and I close together in our grief. Although we disagree on so many issues, she is a liberal-minded person and I am rather conservatively right-wing, we put those areas aside and concentrate on what unites us. Perhaps one day we will be able to discuss our differences, but for now, it is best to leave them aside.
Years ago, before I met and married Nick, I thought perhaps I was called to be a hermit. Years of visiting Madonna House had instilled in me a desire for what they call "poustinia" which is a Russian word for hermitage. Ironic, that after almost 50 years of marriage, I am now living that poustinia lifestyle. I spend many days alone, and have many many hours for prayer and reflection. And I have no longer any desire to be active socially. I am content to live this solitary existence, with the odd time of social activity. I don't avoid people, it is just that this move to a small rural town in Ontario has eliminated a lot of the contacts that kept my life busy in the past. That is okay, I am at peace with that.
But I sometimes feel the need to write and converse on topics that matter to me. Hence this blog. We shall see where it goes.
My husband Nicholas died on August 10th, 2022. He had been discharged from the hospital on Feb 25 because I would not let him go to the nursing home. I knew that, if he went there, they would not allow me to visit him due to my being unvaccinated. And I just could not bring myself to take that jab. Nor him. So the hospital called and said I would have to take him back home, regardless of whether I was up to the task or not. So Nick came home, and we settled into a routine of rising, eating, napping, taking medications, napping again, eating, fighting his demons in the evenings, and finally going to bed at 10 pm, only to face a night time of broken sleep, taking of meds, night time sweats, more broken sleep. This went on for 5 months, with the only help being 5 hours of a PSW coming in so that I could go and grocery shop and run errands. And one friend of daughter Martha, Jeff, who came on Monday afternoons to spend a couple of hours with Nick so that I could get some respite.
I would not have got through this period without the help and support of Martha, who came every single day to visit and offer relief. It was a gruelling time, as Nick became less and less independent. He required help with dressing, help with showering, and the hardest part was the number of times he had to go to the bathroom but could not get there quickly without help. I became quite adept at pushing him down the narrow hallway to the bathroom on a walker, as the wheelchair was too cumbersome to manoevre in our small home.
Nick had a couple of times when he had to go to the emergency department as he collapsed at home. Our doctor told me to use the ER as respite when I needed it, however if Nick were to be admitted to hospital, his name would go to the bottom of the list for the nursing home. Which would mean an even longer wait for long-term help. Fortunately, things didn't resolve that way. Nick collapsed in late July and asked that I take him to hospital for medical help. I could not lift him from the floor and he could not get himself up. Once in the hospital, he became very agitated and restless. He kept trying to get out of the bed and that would risk another fall. The nurse told me that I must provide 24-hour care for him in the ER, as they didn't have the staff to do it. So my son-in-law and daughter Martha and I took turns for the next 48 hours. At that point, Nick became terribly agitated and was trying to escape. I called the nurse, who consulted with the doctor on call, and the doctor prescribed 5 mg of Haldol to sedate him. Nick was terrified of the injection and rightly so. Haldol is never to be given to someone with Parkinsons or with dementia, and Nick developed "tardive dyskinesia", which means he was plagued with involuntary muscle spasms. This was concentrated in his hands and arms and he kept jabbing his hands into each other until our doctor returned to the floor and ordered something to counteract this drug. But it was too late.
Nick's covid test came back positive and the nurse told me that he would have to be isolated for 10 days, with no visitors. I knew from my years of volunteering in palliative care in Halifax, that they cannot refuse family visits if a patient is in palliative care. I knew that Nick was dying (his urine was almost black) so I requested that they put him in palliative care. He was moved to a bed upstairs on the ward, and his room was marked off limits except to medical staff and immediate family. Thus began a 14 day vigil of keeping watch and keeping Nick company for almost all hours of the day and night. Our daughter Rebecca arrived from Texas and she and Martha and I split up the days and nights into hours we could manage. Elena, our middle daughter, came when she could but she has a family of nine children, so you can imagine how many demands there are on her time.
Rebecca, being the night owl, stayed with her dad from about 8 pm until 1 or 2 pm. Then I would come in early morning and stay until around early afternoon, when Martha would take over until Rebecca came back. So it went for almost two weeks. We talked with Nick and held his hand, but he soon became withdrawn as he could no longer speak. His voice had failed him. He seemed unconscious for most of the time, although he did acknowledge the grandchildren when they came to say good bye.
After about five days, he stopped eating, and then he stopped drinking. We would put a soaked sponge into his mouth but he even refused that in the last 3-4 days. It is an awful thing to see someone become dehydrated unto death.
On August 10, I was in the hospital room, unable to stay awake. Rebecca had to return to Texas, so Martha and I were trying to cover the hours. I stayed that night until about 6 am, then I just had to go home and get something to eat and walk the dog. I could not keep my eyes open. Elena called and said that I should take a break, she was going to go in, but I said no I must go in too. I returned to the hospital at 8:30 am, and when I walked into the room, I knew he was gone. He was in the exact same position that the nurses had turned him to, which was a strange side twist, not the normal one. And he was lifeless. The nurse came in and pronounced him dead.
The following days are a blur. Of course, there was the funeral and burial. Many people around, most of whom I didn't want to talk to as they had all avoided us during the lockdowns. I had told my brother to tell our sister Mary that I didn't wish to speak with her at all, because she had posted awful things on Instagram about how we had to get vaccinated and that she would have nothing to do with us unless we did. I had written to her, stating that I would forgive her but would never trust her again, and she responded by saying that I was never to contact her ever again, either by phone, or email, or in person. So I did just that and never spoke to her again.
It is stunning how this pandemic and the way it was handled has divided people from one another. It is as if we have been divided into two camps, those who took the jab and those who didn't. Only the most open-minded people are willing to associate with those on the other side. This has resulted in such loneliness and isolation that it is at time almost unbearable.
Fast forward and now my brother John has died from aggressive stomach cancer. This has had the effect of bringing Sandy, his wife, and I close together in our grief. Although we disagree on so many issues, she is a liberal-minded person and I am rather conservatively right-wing, we put those areas aside and concentrate on what unites us. Perhaps one day we will be able to discuss our differences, but for now, it is best to leave them aside.
Years ago, before I met and married Nick, I thought perhaps I was called to be a hermit. Years of visiting Madonna House had instilled in me a desire for what they call "poustinia" which is a Russian word for hermitage. Ironic, that after almost 50 years of marriage, I am now living that poustinia lifestyle. I spend many days alone, and have many many hours for prayer and reflection. And I have no longer any desire to be active socially. I am content to live this solitary existence, with the odd time of social activity. I don't avoid people, it is just that this move to a small rural town in Ontario has eliminated a lot of the contacts that kept my life busy in the past. That is okay, I am at peace with that.
But I sometimes feel the need to write and converse on topics that matter to me. Hence this blog. We shall see where it goes.
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