I knew that her breathing had changed that day, but that had happened several times over the past few days.
I took her to her room, where all of us spent time with her again. Everyone really thought it was her last night.
Around 9pm, her breathing changed again, becoming more regular and less labored. Her temperature was very high still, and I gave Tylenol around that time. I began to think she would make it through another night. I was exhausted from the long, emotional days and nights. I was terrified of her actually dying, and yet I couldn't stand her suffering.
Around 11, everything was the same as it had been every night, so I decided we should all try to get some rest. I settled in beside Abby, wrote a quick blog, and then put my arms around my child. She was so hot, and very thin, so I didn't want put the weight of my arms on her. I had one under her pillow, and my head next to hers on the same pillow. My other arm was tucked in between us, so I could feel her breathing and be sure she was warm/not too hot.
I dozed on and off, feeling her skin, kissing her and telling her how loved she was each time I woke. I brought my stethoscope to bed each night in case I needed it, as well as her IV meds for the night. Around 1, I took her temperature because her hands felt cool. It was 104.2, which was normal at that point. I listened to her breathing and heart rate, and not finding anything different from several hours ago, drifted back off.
I woke again at 2:15. I put my hand on her chest and felt her heart beating normally and her breathing continued regularly. She was still warm. I kissed her again, and felt her breath on my cheek. Once more "I love you so much, Abby".
Then I closed my eyes again.
I woke at 2:44am, and immediately just knew. She was still warm, but not breathing.
I grabbed my stethescope to confirm what I already knew. I listened as long as I could bear to. I'm not sure if it was the full minute I was going for or not. I knew that at the end, breathing could stop and start a lot, and I wanted to be sure. Each silent second, waiting for the sound of a heart beat that I knew wouldn't come, broke my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I gently set the stethescope down.
I wrapped my arms around her and cried. I held my girl, and looked down at her peaceful face. She had a tiny smile, and looked so incredibly peaceful. I felt a sense of relief that she didn't look awful. I knew that she had gone quietly and gently the way I hoped she would. My arms were around her, and I knew she hadn't made a sound or shuttered. Later, I would wish that I had been awake and known the exact moment she was gone, but my immediate reaction was gratefulness. I didn't want to see her last breath. I still wanted desperately to save her. I envisioned forcing myself to only hold her and not do CPR. I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't want to let her go.
Every second of those last months, I wanted it to be different than it was. Every day after TPN stopped, I wanted to restart. Somehow, the last minutes being out of my hands helped me.
I finally sat up, and stopped her IV. It made me happy to finally stop that pump. I wanted it off of her. I just wanted her finally free from all of it.
I got up to tell Jeff. I walked into our bedroom and saw him lying there, hating that I had to wake him and tell him that his daughter was in Heaven.
"She's gone"
Immediately, he sat up and knew, but had to ask again. "What?"
"She's gone". Then I told him when and how, as we held each other.
We went to Abby together and stayed with her for a while.
I called hospice around 3:30. The nurse came over, and listened to her for a full minute. I knew she was gone, but still held my breath until the minute was up.
We washed her little body. I bought her special pajamas to wear. I still wanted her comfortable, and to look like herself. She wore them a few times before that because I wanted to remember her alive in them. We cut the central line off, and took out the g-tube. I wanted her back to herself badly.
I knew I wanted to care for her after her death, so we had planned and prepared for it. We knew what we could and couldn't do for her. I didn't want her embalmed, mostly because I felt she had been through enough. I wanted everything to be as natural as possible at that point.
We wrapped her in a blanket in her bed, the hospice nurse left, and we spent a few more minutes alone with her, for the last time.
No comments:
Post a Comment