Requiescat in pace, mother.

I was already irritated.  It was a long day at work and my wife just happened to have classes on Friday nights so it meant that I was going to have to run home, pick her up, and sit in traffic while trying to get her into downtown while everyone else was trying to escape.  You would think that situation would make it easy to do so, but it wasn't.  It's never easy to get into downtown.  To top things off, I had missed lunch and so while sitting at a standstill I asked my wife to run out and grab some.  I circled around while she got dinner but couldn't find her after.  She sent me a message shortly after saying that she was already in class since she didn't know where I was.  Also, she had my lunch.

Resigned to my hunger pangs, I decided to kill some time by visiting my mother in the hospital.  She had gone there a few days before because she was coughing up some blood and she wanted to get some tests done.  My father stayed with her that first night, but went to work the next few days.  He'd stop by on the way home to check on her before coming home himself.  None of us boys had gone to see her.  When I arrived, she told me that my younger brother called but she waved him off because he was sick and she didn't want to make her condition any worse.  My older brother had plans to stop by the next day due to being really busy preparing for out of town in-laws.

I had no idea how sick she was.  None of us did really, save for my dad, her and her doctor.  She told me previously that she had a rare form of tuberculosis that wasn't contagious, and only affected her.  That day she was even more grim when she confessed that the doctors told her she would have to lose a portion of her lung.  She was on new medication to slow the disease but the meds could make her go blind.  Clearly, she was scared about the whole thing.

Since it was Friday, the necessary preparatory procedures would have to wait until Monday.  Also, the doctors wanted her on-hand to monitor how she reacted to the meds but she looked forward to going home Saturday to await the surgery.  She had spent quite a few nights in the hospital in the last few years.  I was eager to see her home too.

I tried to make small talk.  She asked me about work and a recent certification test that I failed.  We talked about a long conversation she had with my wife, where they had reached an understanding of some sort.  We talked of a novela that had just completed it's run and her boredom with the repetitiveness of the story lines.

I kept an eye on the clock.  I was bored.  Irritated over the days events.  Hungry.  I was going to pick up my wife at 9, but I was looking at leaving already around 8.  Making excuses about how I had to go pick up my wife, I started saying my goodbyes, but truthfully, I was just bored.  A nurse comes in and says she'll be taking over for the night shift.  Just as I go to hug my mom goodbye, she has another coughing attack.  Blood comes up.  Thick blood, the consistency of gelatin.  She doesn't stop coughing.

The nurse is still straightening up and tries to help my mother.  She starts wheezing that she can't breathe.  The nurse tries to get my mother to calm down but my mom begins to panic.  She paces all over the room trying to get air.  The nurse plugs in a mask to pure oxygen to give to my mom.  She's cries, "Can't breathe.  Help." repeatedly in between coughing fits.

At this point it becomes clear that something is wrong so the nurse calls a code of some sort and more staff show up.  I tried to stay out of their way and put an arm on my mom's shoulder to try to let her know I'm still there.  I see her turn start to turn blue.  I see the light fade from her eyes as she slowly loses consciousness.

Once she goes out, the staff starts doing all sorts of things, including sticking a tube in her throat and it fills with blood.  The staff asks me to step outside.  I don't know what happens next.  I walked out into the hall and started calling everyone to let them know something had happened.  It wasn't like the House episodes.  She wasn't resuscitated quickly.  The doctors worked on her for over an hour.   She was still under when my brothers started showing up.

When she was finally stable enough to be moved, she was taken to the ICU.  The surgical team was recalled to perform emergency surgery.  What they had feared would happen, happened.  The tuberculosis had worn away a hole in her left lung.  When that damage reached a major artery in the lung, it had burst and filled up her lungs; she drowned in her own blood.

In a calm moment, I stated to my brother that regardless of what happens at that point, our mother is gone.  She had been far too long without oxygen.  The surgery was a success but she never regained consciousness after the attack.  We gave her an extra day to see if there was any change.  My dad was hopeful.  He said stranger things have happened.  His hope was in vain. 

By now, the entire family had gathered to keep a vigil over the husk that used to be my mother.  I would go visit her but knew no one was home.  I saw the last of her the night before.  Ultimately, the decision was made to unplug her from the machines that kept her body alive.  If she kept going, it was a hopeful sign, but still her mind wasn't there anymore.  She had a lot of fight left and took nearly two days before her body finally gave out. 

My dad has always been the model of composure.  No matter what happens, he takes everything in stride.  He was laying down for the night when I delivered the news to him that my mother stopped breathing.  The crackle in his voice when he asked through the darkness, "She did?" still cuts to the bone.

She lays now in the plot she bought years ago.  There's room for all of us there.  It's kind of strange standing at her grave, knowing that my mother's corpse is decaying under my feet.  She's entombed in a cement vault to keep her casket from rising in heavy storms.  She's not feeding the grass in some sort of "comforting" circle of life.  She's removed.  Safe.  But alone.

The tragedy of it all is that she didn't have to die.  She had a choice.  She could have had the surgery earlier, months earlier.  However, I imagine the decreased lung capacity would have impacted her quality of life.  She wouldn't be able to take care of her mother or us.  Instead, she opted to go with the less effective drug therapy in an attempt to fight off the disease.  She chose to keep being the cornerstone of the family instead of being a burden.  When we asked my dad why he didn't tell her to get the surgery, he said it was her decision.

In the end, a mother buried her daughter.  She's buried three.  The rest of us can fend for ourselves; we're old enough to do that.  Home feels different now.  I'm trying to tell myself that no matter what I couldn't save her and that by being with her to the end was a good thing.  In the back of my mind, I feel like shit for being bored, for taking her for granted.  My wife and I were about to move out because we're messy people and perceive my mother's policies of keeping the house clean as draconian.  I can't rectify my actions and tell myself I was a good son simply because I wasn't the "bad son."  I've lost my chance to be better to her.  I miss her immensely.