Seven Days of Hospice: A Memoir
By D.M. Wilmes
()
About this ebook
Seven Days of Hospice: Memoir is a compelling true-to-life account about the author's experience during his mother's last seven days of life while in hospice care, and the miraculous ending of her journey This uplifting story will help other families come to terms with the roller coaster of emotions felt during a loved ones final days.
Blessed with a loving marriage and six children, Elaine Wilmes was about to enter the autumn of her life-then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After a year of chemotherapy and Herceptin treatments, the doctors pronounced her cancer-free. But her cancer reappeared with a vengeance, first with the development of bone cancer, and then brain cancer.
When all treatment options had been exhausted, the family called hospice, whose mission is to support terminally ill patients and their families. Through hospice care, the family was able to release Elaine to the great beyond as quietly, painlessly, and lovingly as possible and witness her passing with renewed hope and in a profound and life-changing way.
This heart-rending memoir gives powerfully candid, moment-to-moment descriptions of the end-of-life experience. Narrated by one of Elaine's sons, D. M. Wilmes, this uplifting story will help other families come to terms with the roller coaster of emotions felt during a loved one's final days.
Winner of Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist, Reader Views Literary Award for Best Memoir/Autobiography, Midwest Independent Publishers Association Book Award Finalist, USA Book News Best Book Award Finalist, and the iUniverse Publishers Choice Award.
D.M. Wilmes
D. M. Wilmes is an award winning Missouri author, which includes Foreword Magazines Book of the Year Finalist, Reader Views Literary Award for Best Memoir/Autobiography, Midwest Independent Publishers Association Book Award Finalist, USA Book News Best Book Award Finalist, and iUniverse Publishers Choice Award.
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Seven Days of Hospice - D.M. Wilmes
Seven Days
of
Hospice
Seven Days
of
Hospice
A MEMOIR
D. M. Wilmes
Author of Gone But Not
Forgotten: A Christmas Story
Seven Days of Hospice
A MEMOIR
D.M. Wilmes
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2007 by D. M. Wilmes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher.
Discover other titles by D.M. Wilmes at Smashwords.com:
Gone But Not Forgotten: A Christmas Story
To my mother,
Alice Elaine Wilmes.
We all miss you very much.
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out.
—Vaclav Havel
Introduction
My mother was an energetic woman, with verve beyond her years, who took great care of her health. For her, mammograms and physicals were as obligatory as Sunday Mass. They were faithfully scheduled, and she never missed any of them. Mom also had to have her kidneys checked each year to ensure the damage from childbirth had not worsened over time. The procedure was invasive, and she dreaded the annual visit, but she always received a clean bill of health.
Despite the toll her body and soul had endured delivering and rearing three boys and three girls, she was the most physically and mentally active grandmother anyone could ask for. With frequent doses of reading and aerobics, she exercised her mind and body. Armed with good health, new titanium knees, and laser-corrected eyes, Mom was ready to engage the autumn of her life with the energy of a teenager.
During one of her regularly scheduled routine examinations, the doctor discovered a small lump in her left breast. It was presumed to be another cyst. Mom had had a couple of them removed before, and this one seemed no more or less threatening than the rest. Cysts and other menacing but harmless physical nuisances were no big deal for a mother of six.
Outpatient surgery was scheduled to extract a sample of the foreign matter. As is standard medical practice, the tissue would be sent for analysis to determine whether it was cancer or not. Just the mention of the harmless word cyst, especially from those in the medical community, provides such a false sense of security. Like an umbrella, it’s easy to hide under, protected from the ominous rain of disease affecting others.
How affirming it is to hear from our doctor, It’s probably just a cyst.
It is equally reassuring to hear the same from supportive friends and family. What we often neglect, whether purposeful or not, is the stream of seemingly empty words that follow: It’s probably just a cyst, but we’ll want to do a biopsy just in case.
We were no different. Mom would go for a simple biopsy as she normally did, unaccompanied so as not to unnecessarily disturb any of her children or her husband from their important daily routines, confident that the tedious ordeal would be behind her in a day or so. It was this visit that set off a rollercoaster of emotions, from extreme optimism to extreme hopelessness, our family had never before experienced. The outcome of the biopsy brought the worst possible news. As a result of that test, my mother, Elaine, was diagnosed with breast cancer in the spring of 2003.
A discouraging buzz spread quickly throughout our large family, and it left a perceptible trail of numbness along the way. The eight of us had been gifted with good health all of our lives, so it made the news difficult to digest. Something like this just wasn’t supposed to happen to our family. It wasn’t part of the script. In my version of our parents’ chronicle, and I think for my siblings’ as well, Mom and Dad were supposed to grow old together, just as our grandparents and great grandparents had done. Sure, there would be setbacks along the way, but cancer would not be found in the story line.
Surgery was immediately scheduled to determine the extent of her cancer. My mother’s doctor and surgeons hoped that the cancer would be contained solely within the small lump, which would be completely removed. During the operation, surgeons would also check to see if cancer had already begun its destructive journey to other parts of her body. The lymph nodes, as described by the physicians, would provide clues about the extent to which the cancer had spread. Lymph nodes are the filters that collect and destroy bacteria and viruses and are an important line of defense when the body is fighting an infection, including a tumor. If the lymph nodes were healthy, chances were good that the cancer was self-contained.
It was a Monday morning when my father escorted Mom to the hospital for her surgery. It would be afternoon before we knew anything of certainty, and Mom didn’t want her brood stirring about the waiting room, so all of us kids (the term reflects adolescent youth when in fact, we’re all grown and most of us are married with children) reluctantly went to work. Dad promised he would call as soon as he knew something.
All morning I thought about Mom and the outcome of her surgery. She had lost several family members to cancer, including a brother she was very close to. Cancer and other foreboding diseases loomed over her side of the family and abruptly ended the young lives of those it captured. My dad’s family, on the other hand, did everything that opposed a healthy lifestyle and lived long lives. A hearty dose of whole milk with coffee, eggs, sausage, bacon, lard, and cigarettes apparently discouraged cancer from entering their lives. I had always prayed that I was endowed with his genes.
I had just returned to my office from lunch when Dad called. He was very upset. He fought back as best he could, but a river of emotion was drowning him. In a wavering and dispirited voice, Dad managed to tell me the news.
Cancer was found in Mom’s breast. Most of the lymph nodes under her arms appeared to be cancerous as well, including the important sentinel nodes. The surgeons forged ahead to remove them along with her breast. I left work immediately to be with him. My first thought, stemming from complete naivete, was that this was good news. After all, the doctors found more cancer and removed it. The more they removed, the better, I thought, even if it meant losing a breast.
A good friend and colleague of mine had been diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago. Listening to her, you knew she lived two lives—pre-cancer and post-cancer—and she wasn’t afraid to share even the most intimate details of either. Prior to cancer she was a shy emotional wreck who folded and cried under the slightest banter. It would be safe to say she was a doormat—a victim of her own self-inflicted sensitivity. A young woman in her thirties, she underwent a mastectomy and months of chemotherapy. When all was said and done, she was cancer free.
Looking at her now, you would never know she had undergone anything of a significant medical nature beyond childbirth. Her personality took a complete about-face. Today she is a confident, outspoken, take-charge woman with energy beyond comprehension. She quit her job of over twenty years in quality control and testing to be an instructor to Fortune 500 companies, covering topics in software development and best practices. She travels the country exposing all she meets with not only her knowledge but also her addictive exuberance and zest for life.
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