My dear friend Hannah died on Friday, March 1st. She had been fighting breast cancer since 1999. She had a 5 year remission at one point, but it came back. And then it was one recurrence after another.
I would go with her to her chemo treatments. The drugs that targeted the cancer really took a toll on her. She was on a 3 week interval for one of her infusions, and out of the 21 days, she only felt "good" for 2 of them. When that treatment cycle ended, the cancer came roaring back. They put her on a different drug that was adminstered weekly. But she still felt miserable.
After 14 years of battling her disease, she decided to end treatment. She said she was "sick and tired of being sick and tired".
After a brief hospital stay for a kidney issue, she went home to be on Hospice.
Hannah seemed weak, but still herself, while she was in the hospital for those 5 days. I had gone to visit her again on Monday the 25th but arrived to an empty room. The nurse said she had just been discharged to go home. I texted her to make sure she went straight home and was up for company. My last text from her read: You can come. Sorry we missed you. I will be good for not much else than sleeping. Look forward to seeing you. Hugs! H.
But when I got there, she was already not her usual self. She was exhausted like nothing I had seen before. The next day, Tuesday, she was very combative with her husband. She did not want to take her medications or have anyone be near her. I had never seen that behavior from her. Hannah kept taking off her oxygen cannula, and the nurse said to honor her wishes, if she didn't want to use it, don't force her to. Her sister called me that night and said she would be there on Friday. I told her that I think she should come sooner rather than later. Hannah's sister and daughter drove from California the next day. I'm so glad they came.
Thursday, Hannah started receiving the liquid morphine. For some strange reason, it "brought her back" to us, even if it was just for little spurts of lucidity. She looked at my royal blue shirt and said, "Pretty!" as she was rubbing the sleeve with her fingers....then she asked me "where?" I got it. "At Goodwill, our favorite clothing store, of course!" I said with a smile.
We tried to play music for her, but she always got very agitated and would utter, "No! No! No!". One would think that music would be soothing....but Hannah did not want it at all.
She asked her daughter, "I'm dying, aren't I?" At first, her daughter told her 'yes', as we were told to only deal in the truth with the patient. Hannah didn't like that answer at all! "Oh yeah? Who says I'm dying? Who says???" Her daughter quickly turned it around to "Mom, what I mean is that we're ALL dying....everyone is going to die someday!". That calmed Hannah down a bit. But from there on out, she didn't want to take the liquid morphine....until her daughter convinced her that it was vitamins full of antioxidants that were gonna make her better. She hated lying to her, but it was the only way to keep her comfortable as the disease raged uncontrolled throughout her body.
Later that night, she wanted to know what was going on. "Why is everyone in my room?!? Something is going on!" Her sister told her that we were just having a little family reunion, that's all.
Friday, March 1st. Her breathing was quite deliberate now. She didn't seem to be so restless as she had been before. She was no longer plumping pillows or changing postions on the bed...it was all she could do to just breathe.
We spent Friday afternoon all around her in her bedroom. We took turns getting into bed and lying next to her. Stroking her head and her "crew cut" hairdo...it had grown out a little since she shaved it a few months prior. (For some reason the chemo hadn't caused it to fall out.) We hugged her, talked to her, and stroked her back and rubbed her arms. We'd reach down and hold her hand. Although she appeared to be asleep, certain words/names seemed to evoke something inside of her that would cause her breathing to change. Especially names. She was so concerned about her husband and how he would deal with her death. Every time I said his name, her chest would rise and her breathing would quicken. I reassured her that we were all going to look after him and that she need not worry. Then she would relax and the breathing would slow down again.
The Hospice nurse arrived at 3:45pm. She took Hannah's vitals. She suggested that we change her clothes, as she had been wearing the same nightgown for 4 days. (Hannah would not let us change her clothes earlier in the week....but now she was too weak to argue with the nurse.) We found a pretty purple tie-dyed sundress to put her in.....purple was her favorite color. Her sister and daughter assisted the nurse.
We all came back into the room. It was about 4:10pm or so. She looked so pretty. We all seemed to realize that we were in the presence of her last moments on earth. She looked around the room and then would close her eyes. This went on for a few minutes. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, but she had a slightly frightened look on her face. She looked right at me. I told her, "Hannah, we are all here because we love you. You have been a faithful wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, grandmother and friend. We don't want you to be in any more pain. Don't stay here for us---we want you to be out of your misery. We will all take care of Tim, so don't worry. You can go now. We love you so much!"
And with that, she left us. It was 4:18pm.
I'm glad that she is no longer suffering. But the world seems a little darker since her departure. Goodbye Hannah, the 'big sister' I only had for a short while. I still can't believe that you are gone, and I miss you, my friend.
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