i wish

happens so fast

happens so fast
Written by Cathoel Jorss,

Mum’s in hospital. Dad’s in hospital. Both in the same hospital and admitted on the same night. He has pneumonia, we think, and they’re waiting for the results of the PSA test on his prostate cancer this morning. If he has a heart attack, he told the doctor, he does not want to be revived. My mother ten minutes after Dad was carted off in the ambulance went downstairs to water the garden, tripped over her own pants leg, and broke her hip. My brother was trying to tend to both of them while they were two beds apart on the emergency ward and when Mum was wheeled off for her Xray, and Dad was wheeled up to the ward, he asked as they passed the doors of the Xray department, can’t we just open the door a crack? And let them say hello to each other.

The door was opened. They got to see each other and wish each other good luck. Dad’s doctor was doubtful he would make it through the night. Describing my parents saying hello through the Xray department door my brother broke down and sobbed. He kept saying, We need to talk about this as a family, we’re not ready to say goodbye yet! I said, this is very hard what you are doing. I wish I could be there to support you, and them. I’ve been tormented since I heard by the thought of them both being in such pain, and under the same roof, but separated. I said, even though it hurts us, I think it’s Dad’s own decision. It is his life and no one can keep him here if he is suffering. I described my friend who died last month, of euthanasia, when her quality of life became unbearable. Yes, said my brother very slowly. I know it might be very hard for you to do I said, and it’s asking a lot. But if you were able to find it in yourself – when Dad is awake and alert – to provide him with a calm enough conversational space so that he can clearly, plainly express his own wishes for his fate: I think it would be a truly loving service you could offer him. My brother said, I think he’ll want to hang on, for Mum. May 28th will be their fiftieth wedding anniversary. We’d imagined that I was the only one who wouldn’t be there, for that.

44 comments on “happens so fast

  1. Peter Stuart McAdam says:

    Huge, x ‘oel. Thanks

  2. Jane says:

    Life is so complicated…. at the beginning and at the end…. and it’s not so straightforward in the middle either. I wish all of you & your family strength and care.

    • Cathoel Jorss says:

      This is so true! All of it, it’s all complicated. I know you know this from your own life & I thank you for taking time to absorb and to respond, Jane. Merci x

  3. jeanie says:

    Oh Cathoel – so very hard, and even harder to hear second=hand.

    I had a visit to Brissie recently that was meant to be for one purpose and ended up visiting various relatives in various hospitals (my mother did try to circumvent that by directing the ambulance to the hospital my sister was at, but the specialist for some reason wanted her at HIS hospital) – so very frightening when we are facing being the oldest generation…

    • Cathoel Jorss says:

      Ah, painful! I am so sorry to hear you went through all this! Harrowing. The frantic round, all in that sense of almost slow-motion unreality and surely-this-can’t-be – I hope everybody’s ok and am glad you were able to be there for them, compadre. Now we get to work on being not only the oldest *but wisest*… Agh.

  4. Cynthia says:

    Oh Cathoel,

    That is all so difficult to take in. I hope you are being kind to yourself throughout this difficult period, as well as giving your parents whatever support you can.

    • Cathoel Jorss says:

      dear Cynthia, thank you indeed. What wise and kind advice. I shall take it. Thanks for reading and for responding. x

  5. Alison Lambert says:

    Feeling for you all. It’s never the right time, even when it’s time. On a day just like today, any one of us…
    Certainly the Advanced Health Directive – you never know when it might be too late. Very best wishes and love xx

    • Cathoel Jorss says:

      This is really good advice, Alison, and I have spoken to my brother and parents about it. Thank you. It’s so true, isn’t it? The sun shines down out of the sky. A bus turns a corner. And ~

      love to you in your green mountain home xx

  6. Loni says:

    I feel for you Cathoel, being so far away from your folks at this time. I noticed that this was written about 4 days ago. How are your parents doing now? What hospital are they in and is there anything I can do in your name, for them and or your brother?

  7. Russell says:

    I can’t find words. A hug, just a touch, would be worth more than any words, so please feel hugged.

  8. Brendan Kelly says:

    Such a jarring time. I’ve had my parents playing tag, in and out of hospital for 18 months or more. There was a period in 2011 when they were both in hospital at the same time, at opposite ends of the Gold Coast. Fortunately, neither of them were in truly life threatening situations, but Dad was pretty bad. I was driving up from the far North coast of NSW to see them, so had that advantage. It must tear at your soul that this is happening half a world away. I wish you a measure of serenity to give your heart a rest. Take care of yourself, as well. I throw an ethereal hug your way.

    • Cathoel Jorss says:

      Och, Brendan, that sounds very stressful. Thank you for your kind loving wishes. I am thinking reading your story about the memoir I read a couple of years back when a man’s little daughter had been injured and then died very suddenly, he was driving between one hospital and the next for over an hour, being turned back by one phone call after another as they redirected his daughter’s helicopter ambulance – it’s a kind of netherworld. I’m glad your parents got through it and had you to be there for them.

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