Spending the night with mom
tonight. She is throwing up fecal matter now and her stomach is badly bloated, but
has been refusing the meds to help with it.
An old family friend and her respiratory therapist for tonight, Teresa, enters
and is able to talk mom into taking the anti-nausea medication.
After everything
traumatizing that I have seen, smelt, and witnessed with mom, this is evidently where my line is
crossed. The idea of vomiting fecal
matter, the smell of it, the sound of it, all makes me want to vomit right
along with her.
My first witness of this and I gag spontaneously. It's difficult to hide and Mom looks up at me, "I'm sorry Karen. You haven't seen this yet." I reassure her that I'm fine and not to worry about me.
Trying to hide my gag reflexes from mom, I can only stand behind her as she throws-up.
I try to clean her mouth
but she’s so miserable she often fights it.
A little spit can still emit a strong smell, so I switch her buckets frequently to keep a clean rotation.
All the worry I've ever caused my mother and here I am worrying about her like I've never ever worried before.
The doctor explains that she likely has a blockage in whats left of her rectal tract. It could be that it's become twisted, it could be a cancer tumor, but there is no telling without a CT scan and mom's allergic to the die. At this point, the test and the surgery to inspect and/or repair the problem would likely cause an earlier death. I suppose she's living on borrowed time now.
Sleep is sweet.
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