One month on..........Part 2
We sat around with nan for a long time. Doctors came, doctors went, no one really 'did' anything. Nothing could be done. We were asked if we had considered donating nan's organs. As a family, we had discussed this many times, nan included. We are all of the opinion that our organs would be useless to us once we had died, and if in anyway they could help another person, then they should be used. It wasn't a choice really, it was something that had to be done. We advised someone, I don't remember who, that we were going to donate nan's organs, if they could be used. We were told that the counsellors from the transplant team would be along to talk to us, go over anything with us, outline the format of what would happen. All the 'formalities'. There's a few jobs I wouldn't like, I'm finding out a few of them all in the one night. My uncle is a trauma counsellor and has to help people in making decisions relating to organ donation. I'm glad it's his job and not mine. Doctors and nurses have my full admiration. Going to work, doing everything you possibly could, but at the end of the day going back home again with someone dying, is not my idea of job satisfaction. I know it's not like that every day and I know they do get job satisfaction from making someone in pain more comfortable, seeing people who are seriously unwell slowly become well again. Thank you for doing the job you do. How do you thank people who have done their best, knowing they couldn't do anything to change the situation? Another question unanswered.
The organ team had to travel up from Melbourne. I guess the logistics of all that happening takes some coordination and effort. While all that happens, we sit and wait. We could have gone home, but the three of us decided that we would stay with nan till the end. Maybe the end had already happened? I've never liked coffee, why would I have agreed to drink a coffee at 1am? I can almost taste it now. If anything, it perpetuated my hate of it. It's funny how people, who are mostly well educated, advise that you should try and get some rest. They know it's not even remotely possible, but they suggest it anyhow. It reminds me of another incident, one that still needs about 400 blogs to get it out of my head...another time. All of a sudden things become a little more 'hectic'. They probably aren't hectic at all, but from everything just being so quiet, so unrushed to suddenly have people moving in a much more controlled manner. There is now purpose, there is now an urgency that hasn't been there for a few hours. It signals the organ retrieval teams arrival. I've spoken to my friend a few times now. They were curious as to what was going on, how we were coping. I was able to ask questions that I probably wouldn't have asked a stranger. While you're at your lowest, the last thing you need is to feel like an idiot. That's an unfair assumption, but while you're low you think the weirdest things. Well I do anyhow. My mind was set a little more at ease. Again, even after knowing the answer, I still needed to hear it, nan would be in no pain. I asked one question, that I thought about for a while after. It was answered diplomatically, in a beautiful manner. It was also answered to spare me knowing the truth. It's ok though, it was what was needed at the time. They take nan. My dad is distraught, my mum tries to console him, but she too is grieving. I just stand there looking at the space the bed was. I want a hug, I want a nan hug. I want to be 5 again. I want to be in the comforting arms of my nan. I want her to brush the hair off my face and tell me everything is ok. Again, I hate tears. I feel weak when I cry. We go out of the room and we wait. We told the counsellors that we wanted to see nan after everything was complete. We are told we can. So we wait.
We wait, we wait and wait some more. We're offered more of that stuff that comes in a cup, that some people enjoy. I asked if there was any milo. The nurse who offered, look at me as if I'd asked her to fly to the moon on a solar powered egg beater. 'We have coffee or tea, the kitchen would be closed at this time of the morning'. Thank you for your offer, but I will pass, I think I will just get a soft drink from the vendor. Walking to the machine I then realise lunch was a long long time ago. I vaguely remember being offered a sandwich. I think mum offered it. Wonder where she got them from? I bought a can of coke and a mars bar. I felt like I was in some trashy american medical soapy. It's a strange feeling being in a place of activity, when you can't actually 'do' anything. I like watching people, but now I feel like I'm intruding. There aren't many other 'normal' people around. There are nurses, there is the ocassional doctor, but mostly it's just us waiting. I start to feel like we're a bit in the way. Start to feel like we're probably being spoken about. 'Why don't they just go home?' 'There's nothing they can do waiting' I never heard those words verbalised, no one even came close to suggesting them and they are probably totally inaccurate assumptions. Heh, it's 4am, what else is there to do? Why don't counsellors ever look tired? Why do they always try to find encouraging things to say? The counsellor tells us everything is over and nan will be back in a room shortly. I try not to think of the nan that comes back in the room will be a different nan to the one that left. Some of her will be missing. It's hard not to think like that though.
She comes back. It's so quiet. There are no machines any more, nothing making her look like she is breathing. It's so quiet, it's painful. I want to scream, to make noise. I don't. A nurse comes in and says we can take as long as we like with nan. It crosses my mind we will have to leave her soon. I wonder what's going on in my mum and dad's heads. It's so quiet, we are hardly speaking. Mum motions to me that we should leave dad alone for a while. I don't want to leave him. He is sad, I want to comfort him. I want to be his little girl and I realise right now he is nan's little boy. He needs time alone with his mum. My mum is hurting too. The man she loves is hurting and she can't console him.
Maybe 10 minutes pass, maybe it was an hour, time got lost. Dad comes out and asks us to come back in. Mum and I go back in, we say our goodbyes to nan. We thank the nurses for the care they've shown. It's time to go. We're going home and leaving someone behind. Shouldn't she be coming with us? I don't want her to be alone.
The organ team had to travel up from Melbourne. I guess the logistics of all that happening takes some coordination and effort. While all that happens, we sit and wait. We could have gone home, but the three of us decided that we would stay with nan till the end. Maybe the end had already happened? I've never liked coffee, why would I have agreed to drink a coffee at 1am? I can almost taste it now. If anything, it perpetuated my hate of it. It's funny how people, who are mostly well educated, advise that you should try and get some rest. They know it's not even remotely possible, but they suggest it anyhow. It reminds me of another incident, one that still needs about 400 blogs to get it out of my head...another time. All of a sudden things become a little more 'hectic'. They probably aren't hectic at all, but from everything just being so quiet, so unrushed to suddenly have people moving in a much more controlled manner. There is now purpose, there is now an urgency that hasn't been there for a few hours. It signals the organ retrieval teams arrival. I've spoken to my friend a few times now. They were curious as to what was going on, how we were coping. I was able to ask questions that I probably wouldn't have asked a stranger. While you're at your lowest, the last thing you need is to feel like an idiot. That's an unfair assumption, but while you're low you think the weirdest things. Well I do anyhow. My mind was set a little more at ease. Again, even after knowing the answer, I still needed to hear it, nan would be in no pain. I asked one question, that I thought about for a while after. It was answered diplomatically, in a beautiful manner. It was also answered to spare me knowing the truth. It's ok though, it was what was needed at the time. They take nan. My dad is distraught, my mum tries to console him, but she too is grieving. I just stand there looking at the space the bed was. I want a hug, I want a nan hug. I want to be 5 again. I want to be in the comforting arms of my nan. I want her to brush the hair off my face and tell me everything is ok. Again, I hate tears. I feel weak when I cry. We go out of the room and we wait. We told the counsellors that we wanted to see nan after everything was complete. We are told we can. So we wait.
We wait, we wait and wait some more. We're offered more of that stuff that comes in a cup, that some people enjoy. I asked if there was any milo. The nurse who offered, look at me as if I'd asked her to fly to the moon on a solar powered egg beater. 'We have coffee or tea, the kitchen would be closed at this time of the morning'. Thank you for your offer, but I will pass, I think I will just get a soft drink from the vendor. Walking to the machine I then realise lunch was a long long time ago. I vaguely remember being offered a sandwich. I think mum offered it. Wonder where she got them from? I bought a can of coke and a mars bar. I felt like I was in some trashy american medical soapy. It's a strange feeling being in a place of activity, when you can't actually 'do' anything. I like watching people, but now I feel like I'm intruding. There aren't many other 'normal' people around. There are nurses, there is the ocassional doctor, but mostly it's just us waiting. I start to feel like we're a bit in the way. Start to feel like we're probably being spoken about. 'Why don't they just go home?' 'There's nothing they can do waiting' I never heard those words verbalised, no one even came close to suggesting them and they are probably totally inaccurate assumptions. Heh, it's 4am, what else is there to do? Why don't counsellors ever look tired? Why do they always try to find encouraging things to say? The counsellor tells us everything is over and nan will be back in a room shortly. I try not to think of the nan that comes back in the room will be a different nan to the one that left. Some of her will be missing. It's hard not to think like that though.
She comes back. It's so quiet. There are no machines any more, nothing making her look like she is breathing. It's so quiet, it's painful. I want to scream, to make noise. I don't. A nurse comes in and says we can take as long as we like with nan. It crosses my mind we will have to leave her soon. I wonder what's going on in my mum and dad's heads. It's so quiet, we are hardly speaking. Mum motions to me that we should leave dad alone for a while. I don't want to leave him. He is sad, I want to comfort him. I want to be his little girl and I realise right now he is nan's little boy. He needs time alone with his mum. My mum is hurting too. The man she loves is hurting and she can't console him.
Maybe 10 minutes pass, maybe it was an hour, time got lost. Dad comes out and asks us to come back in. Mum and I go back in, we say our goodbyes to nan. We thank the nurses for the care they've shown. It's time to go. We're going home and leaving someone behind. Shouldn't she be coming with us? I don't want her to be alone.
She doesn't look angry anymore.
I love you nan.
posted by NansBigLittleGirl @ 9:17 pm
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