The Waiting

 

"Jill- I need you up here! Casper wants you!"

 

I didn't sleep much last night. Casper had a really bad day yesterday. There was no way to combat her irrational fears and terror, and she threw herself off the bed when I stepped out for a bathroom break. Sleeping to flying in 2.7 seconds. Who does that after not eating for nearly two weeks? Casper, that's who. We had bout after bout of agitation, scary feelings, wanting to die, apologizing and tears, back to afraid, and on and on and on.

 

The night before was so hard I finally called the on call nurse as a friend. Help me accept that this is not what anyone expected. This is not fair to Casper. I made a promise- a calm and peaceful death, no pain, no fear. Marcia told me what I needed most to hear- this is not normal. This is not what anyone expected. But damn it, it's Casper. She is, of course, going to do this her way. The problem is her thoughts are so random and disjointed that she can't tell what she wants. She knows she's afraid, she knows her family. Sometimes, actually, not all the time.

Casper's nurse and I talked She and our doctor talked. A plan was made, but still more talking was needed. I saw our minister, although I was already at peace with the plans. Then another wild night, and it was time to make things happen. But somewhere in that time, something happened.

 

Casper woke me today. "Jill, I need to go." Not to the car, as it has been all week. "It's time for me to go. The angels came. They are waiting for me." We've been talking about her death all week. She and I had said what needed saying. But this- this was different. The nurse at the foot of the bed confirmed it. Casper was beginning to have mottling- the different coloring resulting from loss of circulation as the body starts to slowly shut down. Her feet were cold. She didn't notice it. Casper wanted the kids and family nearby- she needed to say goodbye. She had angels waiting "on the other side" and she needed to be ready when they came back. I made the calls. I found myself without a voice. "Chloe, Mommy needs you home..." "Charity, it's time to come home..." I couldn't say more. They got in their cars. I really don't want to know how they got here so fast. "Katrina, I think you shouldn't be in Orange County today." I really don't want to know how fast the car was going to get home from the 55/91 interchange in rush hour in 27 minutes.

Casper told me last night she was going to die. Today for two blessed hours we had her back. Lucid, talkative, loving. She remembered things from the recent past. She told the kids she was proud of them. Then she faded. The fear returned. The agitation. But we'd had our moment.

 

And so we wait. We talk, We calm her as much as we can. Sometime soon a sub Q pump will arrive, and Casper will be sedated to prevent her from getting so agitated that she hurts herself or swings at me. She will not face the fears that her brain is manufacturing in it's fractured connections. She will sleep. And sometime after that, she will slip away to those angers, and into eternity. I need to believe it really will be the place that surpasses all understanding. I need to believe Linda and her parents and her aunt and my dad will be waiting. And I need to be there to hold her as she reaches them.

Until then we wait. Kids in and out. Staff in and out. Friends in and out. Friends who hold our hands, who can sit with Casper and make it okay. We are surrounded this day. Jokes are made about the poor dog, who is willingly wearing all the crazy outfits I have gotten her; about what happens when I arrive on the other side and I have two protective wives waiting for me. Jokes about hospice. It's the reality that there is nothing we can do about this situation so we might as well normalize it. Casper can't feel alone- no matter where she looks someone is there with her. And sooner or later, it will be that time. The "transition." Where my Casper becomes their Casper, and I will have to simply know that she will be waiting for me, with Linda, on that other side. Right now I am so very glad they were friends. It could get ugly when i get there... Can you imagine?