I must admit that this is not a column that I thought I would ever be writing. And it certainly is a stretch to say that this has much to do with city business. I’m writing on a laptop as I sit with my mother-in-law at Stevens Hospital three days before Christmas. At the moment, she doesn’t know I’m here. This has been her home for most of December.
Just to give you an idea of what she’s gone through in the last 20-some days: she’s had pneumonia, a plugged vein in her leg cleaned, a liver biopsy, blood clots in her legs, and breathing difficulty. She’s been in the emergency room three times, in intensive care on two occasions, and on the fourth, fifth and eight floors of the hospital. Edmonds firefighters and medics know her on a first-name basis. Many staff members at Stevens remark that they remember her from “last week.”
This has been very difficult for her as well as for the family. As I have spent time with her at the hospital, I have become very aware of how difficult the job of the hospital staff truly is. The more I saw, the more I wanted to write about the experience of her hospitalization.
After a lengthy stay, she was released from the hospital in mid December to convalesce in our home. Barely two days later, we called 911 to have her examined and possibly taken back to Stevens. Edmonds firefighters responded to the call and, after a brief evaluation, called for the medics. After administering some drugs and doing additional evaluations, they transported her to the emergency room.
After some anxious moments, she was moved to the intensive care unit on the third floor. For two days she was poked, probed, and asked endless question after question by well-meaning physicians. A delicate balance needed to be struck between pain relief and allowing her to be alert enough to help with the diagnosis. As the days passed, I was amazed at the professionalism and dedication of the hospital staff.
On the third day, we were informed that things were not going as well as we had hoped. By this time, the family had learned much about the operations of a hospital. We became so weary of the intercom that would “buzz” us in to ICU that we started our own covert operation to steal the code for the keypad that allowed us entry. We had eaten there, slept there, cried there, made innumerable phone calls from there, and met many very nice people who were visiting loved ones as well. It certainly wasn’t a place you go to meet new friends, but there was a certain comfort level in sharing your story with sympathetic strangers.
As I was saying, our mom, mother-in-law, and grandmother wasn’t getting any better. A bevy of doctors was trying to find solutions and witnessing our frustration at their lack of success. Sometimes they bore the brunt of our frustration as well as that of the patient. On more than one occasion she begged for “no more questions.” Yet, through it all, they were patient with us, and two doctors in particular spent lengthy periods of time sitting with us to lay out our not-so-pleasant options.
Eventually the families of the four siblings numbered 19 in total. Most of us were there non-stop, day and night, as we awaited our Christmas miracle. Few of us had done any Christmas shopping. We fought back tears as we tried to write Christmas cards. Most of the time we didn’t know what day it was or even the time. The Christmas lights that we could see from her room were a vague reminder of what was happening in the outside world; but for us, it was just another mind-numbing day at the hospital.
We were prepared. We knew what was coming. Once it became clear that the end was near, we all gathered in her room (we were well over the ICU limit for visitors). She always wanted her family around her and this was the best Christmas present we could give her. Her lungs would not allow her to breathe enough air to sustain her heart. It was only a matter of time. We waited and we talked to her. We prayed for her. We sang to her. And we waited. We hugged each other and cried. The nurse treated us like her own family. I could see how tough this was for her, too.
As her breathing slowed, we watched the monitors. Jagged electronic lines slowly flattened out before our eyes. And then she was gone. She was finally at peace. Her gain, our loss. We lingered for awhile and continued to console one another. We planned to meet again as a family in 24 hours on Christmas Day.
As we were leaving, our nurse came to us, struggling to keep her composure, and told us how great it was to see us surrounding our loved one as she passed. She said that so many patients die alone. I thought to myself how sad that would be.
Now, as I sit here alone on Christmas Day typing my thoughts before the family comes together again, I am struck by the compassion, dedication, and professionalism that we witnessed over the past month and, in particular, the last five days of my mother-in-law’s life. The firefighters, medics, volunteers, nurses, staff and doctors at Stevens Hospital were a comfort to us, as well as our loved one. There really aren’t words that can express our thanks. But I can tell you that we all have a new-found respect for each and every one of you that we came into contact with. We appreciate your skill and dedication. Thank you all so much and may God bless you.
Edmonds Mayor Gary Haakenson writes a monthly Forum column for The Enterprise.
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