DNR

(A/N: this specific version of this song is part of the intro to my favorite horror game, “Until Dawn”. The song is very haunting and I love it. But there is a long gap between the first verse and the second, which makes sense when playing the game but is kind of annoying when listening to just the song. Just so you know.)

Day 2: DNR - Inspiration: “O Death Theme” by Jeff Grace and Amy Van Roekel

~~~~

It’s been a year since the diagnosis and I’ve gone through the 5 stages of grief at least twelve times. Denial, bargaining, anger, back to denial, acceptance, back to anger. A whole cycle that doesn’t seem to stop, up until a week ago.

I have discovered a 6th stage that I hadn’t known about; being done. Kind of like acceptance but I haven’t actually accepted that I’m dying. I’m not denying it either. I’m just…tired.

The hospital isn’t supposed to have a revolving door but I keep ending up here. I’m on a first name basis with everyone, including Lisa from housekeeping. (Thank your housekeepers as well as your healthcare team; they work hard too.)

“You’re too young for all this,” Mama says. She’s right but that doesn’t change anything.

She’d rubbed her eyes and shook her head when I finally signed the Do Not Resuscitate form the doctor has been inching my way for the past few months.

“No mother should have to bury their daughter,” she said. Again, she’s right. No parent should have to watch a piece of their heart get snuffed out, but cancer doesn’t care and death is impartial.

Mama huffed in anger to try to smother the despair when I signed up for hospice. Tried to talk me out of it, tried to rally the troops with a speech about how I can get through this! But I don’t really want to.

The cancer is in my pancreas, my liver, my spine. Just slowly colonizing every inch of my body and it is agonizing. I’ve put up a good fight; maybe if I’d have caught it earlier, I’d have stood a chance, but now? It’s too late. I did try though.

Now I’m just tired.

When I refused to change my mind about the paper, she wiped away tears, hoisted her purse over her shoulder, and said she’d get the spare room situated for me. I’m okay with that; some people have hang ups about needing to die in their own home, but, Hell, you can stick me on a chair in the hallway as long as you can make sure it’s painless.

Lucky for me, it’s the weekend and they don’t want me to leave before I get a hospice consult lined up; don’t want to discharge me just for me to come right back. They know I will. I’m needing the strongest IV pain meds they have just to be able to lie back comfortably.

My nurse, Carson (great guy) comes in with a new pretty purple armband.

DNR sits across the top in bold white letters.

Means let me die if I’m dying. Do not come barreling into my room and start tap dancing on my chest. No flurry of strangers at my bedside, barking orders like the circus is burning down. Nothing to prolong or save my life.

Yeah, Mama wasn’t happy about that decision. Not that it’s hers to make anyway.

She comes back within a few hours, has some clean clothes for me to change into. Carson is kind enough to bring her a cot and the fixings. Some places don’t let visitors on Med Surg stay over night while others depend on whoever is going to be in charge.

Mama gets away with it because she doesn’t bother anyone and she helps me out, so I don’t call much. Except for my pain meds. I need those.

Her eyes catch my new bracelet as she settles into a chair beside me and her nostrils flare angrily. Luckily, for both of us, she holds her tongue and reaches to squeeze my hand.

There is a sorrowful undertone to her sigh, but she smiles all the same.

“I love you, Tilly.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

It’s going to be hard on her, when death comes for me. Because he is; I can feel it, like a burning glare on my back. I just hope he’s kind.

~~~~

A lot can change in just a day when life-saving measures are stopped.

I now get my pain medication every two hours on the dot if I ask for it. My healthcare team doesn’t have to juggle the fine line of keeping me comfortable and alive anymore, so that’s stress off everyone’s back (except Mama’s).

My appetite has already been abysmal, but now I want nothing. They offer something for every meal and snacks, and they tell me to let them know if I change my mind when I refuse. No more nutrition consults or Ensures.

Overall, it’s not like I expected it to be. They’re still caring for me so diligently, but the pressure has lifted. It’s a whole new side to healthcare than I’d ever seen before.

When my medicine kicks in and I have a short respite from the pain, I sleep easily under a fresh warmed blanket.

~~~~

My blood pressure is tanking. I got my medicine about an hour ago, so not sure why it’s acting up now. Unless…this is just what dying is?

It starts with a dizziness, like my head is on a turntable and a DJ headliner is at the wheel. Then the rolling ocean of nausea flares up in my stomach and throat. I cry out for Mama on instinct, my lead-lined hand struggling to stretch out and point where the barf bags are.

Mama is across the room in seconds, handing me a bag but I don’t throw up. Still feel on the verge of it though.

My eyelids close against my will, heavy as a concrete slab, while Mama runs to the door and calls out for help, for Delilah (my night nurse).

She comes barreling in with the charge nurse, Cathy, in tow. There’s some nurse jargon, some tears from Mama, and a reminder that I’m DNR now.

If I wasn’t so dizzy and hot and nauseous, I’d thank whoever said that. Thank them for advocating for me.

Something is on my face, a hissing in my ear, and after a few shallow breaths my head isn’t swimming as much.

“W-Why the oxygen? I thought she…I thought she didn’t want it?” Mama asks.

“I know. It’s just to make her more comfortable,” Cathy explains. There is a pressure on my arm that is familiar but warped; blood pressure cuff I assume. “Mom, you’ll want to take a seat and hold her hand.”

Mama obeys.

Her hand is warm in mine. I still feel surreal, like my body is both part-mine and part-jello-cloud, but I’m okay.

Until…

A freezing cold grip. On my feet. It starts at the soles, traces up over all ten toes, along the top of my foot, to my ankle. Then a tugging…tugging…tugging…yank! Out of bed and into a weightless pool of nothing.

Is this you, Death? This nothingness I feel? If it is, consider this my acceptance.

I guess this is goodbye Mama. I'll miss you. Please remember that I chose this, and I'll be okay. I'll keep an eye on you. I love you.