katTRIGGER WARNING: [MA Audiences Recommended Only: Raw descriptions of grandmother experiencing pain; descriptions of grandmother experiencing memory loss, descriptions of administration of medicine through rectum, descriptions of experiencing extreme emotions, i.e. sadness, etc.]
Thoughts determine your reality, really. I heard it’s even proven by science. It makes sense.
Today I visited my grandma. She was having a sort of delirium episode induced by hepatic encephalopathy. My grandma has liver disease, so her liver struggles to filter natural toxins out of her body. Toxins, such as ammonia, accumulate in her blood. Toxins in the bloodstream can travel to the brain and temporarily affect her brain function.
It starts off with slight difficulty concentrating or a short attention span. Then hand tremors or asterixis. Mood or personality changes. Excessive sleepiness or lethargy. Reduced alertness. Sleeping problems. Slurred speech.
Yesterday my grandma had three of those symptoms. A really cold, odd doctor came by; the same one who had seen her and discharged her two days ago. He claimed that my grandmother was here just two days ago which was true, but he said so as if it was such an inconvenience for him that she was back. But then he said something not true-that my grandmother was discharged with a non-dripping paracentesis incision, that it just started dripping once she was sent home. No, because I know from the moment my grandmother’s procedure was completed she called me and said it wouldn’t stop dripping and at that time she was fully alert. I saw it with my own eyes. I was upset that they sent my grandmother home. Not to mention, when I called the doctor’s who attended my grandma and completed the procedure; I couldn’t reach a single one, this doctor included, because their phone numbers on the discharge paperwork were not up to date. But I understand because hospitals are busy places.
While the doctor was there not once did he address me or look at me. He looked at my grandma up and down-no greeting- just rapidly instructed the nurse what to do. Or maybe it’s because I look young and he thought I was just a stupid kid, idk. Finally I said, “My grandmother is experiencing confusion and memory loss.”
He continued talking to the nurse over me, but perhaps he didn’t hear me. Then I raised my voice and firmly repeated myself, “My grandmother is experiencing confusion and memory loss.” Finally he turned to look at me.
“I’ve been talking to her and she’s not usually like this. I think she needs lactulose to keep her ammonia levels in check.”
“Oh I think last time we checked her ammonia levels were normal but go ahead and order the lactulose and give it to her,” he instructed the nurse.
“Good call.,” he said…” It’s good to check that. Good call.”
No kidding, Sherlock.
I was upset because my grandma was admitted Friday afternoon and when I came in Saturday at noon I asked the nurses if they’d given her any medicine they said no. What kind of hospital takes that long to give a cirrotic patient with recurrent ascites their medication?
I was upset, but it’s not that I’m just being Karen or that I’m insensitive. I know that hospitals are incredibly packed and stressful places. During all my hospital visits with my grandma through the years, I’ve realized it’s not easy being a doctor or a nurse. So I am very patient when I go to hospitals because I know they’re so busy and under a lot of pressure.
When I came in today my grandmother was worse. I found her moaning in pain and breathing heavily.
“Ayyyyy, Ayyyy, Ayyyy,” she groaned and moaned over and over again for three hours, and I can’t imagine how much longer she must’ve been moaning before I arrived and even now.
She shook her head and burrowed her eyebrows and repeatedly raised her arms above her shoulders on the bed, or went to wipe her face with one of her hands-out of frustration at her pain.
I called her but she hardly responded, I don’t even think she knew it was me.
At first I didn’t really know what to do to relieve her pain. Still I called her, “Abuela” and offered her food and tried to keep her attention but she just kept moaning and groaning in pain. When I asked if she was in pain she simply nodded. So I stood there for a while, calling the nurse two times because she wouldn’t come over. I wanted to know if my grandma was alright, if she had a paracentesis yet (though my grandma looked so distended it didn’t look like it), or if this was pain induced by her pancreatitis. Finally she came and explained to me my grandma would be ok, that this isn’t life threatening. She emphasized her doctor is aware and let me know that they would insert a tube into her rectum to distribute the lactulose since oral doses weren’t inducing bowel movements which help get rid of the ammonia. She asked if more family would come and see my grandma, but I told her no it’s just me. She smiled politely.
So I went to sit down and still I didn’t know what to do but the nurse mentioned that just sitting next to her and talking to her might help because there may be some things my grandmother still understands- we just don’t know what. So I talked to her. I silently prayed over her, so as to not disturb my grandmother’s roommate. But at one point I closed my eyes and put my hand over her forehead. I called out to God, the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Son in a whisper and I prayed asking the Trinity to send their angels and heal her and all the people at this hospital, to give wisdom to the doctors and nurses, and give everyone strength and cast away all evil. As I did so, my grandma seemed to squirm more and go deeper into delirium but there were moments that she sounded calmer. I stopped praying and she kept moaning, but I trusted that God would finish his work even if it took some time-surely he would get my grandma the medicine she needed and work on the nurses to do as much as he could through them to take care of my gma. I knew that.
Even though my grandma was so out of it I know her reasonable self would want me to be here. She’d be so scared. She was so scared.
Around 5 pm the nurse came to put the tube in and insert the medicine. She brought another nurse along with her.
“Would you like to be here for the procedure or would you prefer to wait outside?”
“She’s fine…it’s fine” said the other nurse looking at her.
“Yeah, I’m fine staying,” because not much phases me anymore. I’ve seen my grandma nude, I’ve wiped her, I’ve helped her change, I’ve seen her throw up, I’ve seen her weep, I’ve smelled her bad breath, I’ve smelled her feces, I’ve seen the liquid in her abdomen in a bag, I’ve cleaned her incisions, I’ve moisturized her flaky feet, filed down her fungus toe nails. I’ve heard people horribly throw up from neighboring hospital rooms. I’ve seen blood, sweat, and tears.
Somehow I manage to stay calm through it all, like a survival instinct that knows that it is what it is and I just have to move on, but it’s when I get home that I cry-not because it’s disgusting or I’m horrified, but because I can only imagine the pain. It’s when I’m alone that I allow myself to imagine the pain of each individual and the pain of the world. I can feel it so deeply sometimes I sob until I can’t breathe.
Then I stop because I run out of tears, or I don’t have time to cry, and best of all- because I realize there’s always a silver lining.
This world is full of silver linings. Pain and joy. Suffering and peace. Lies and truth. Fear and love. Death and life. There’s always a silver lining.
Because as much as I’ve seen my grandma nude, I’ve seen her clothed. I’ve seen her clothed in beauty and splendor. I’ve seen her able to hold down food. I’ve seen her laugh in a hospital bed and make the nurses around her laugh too. I’ve helped her brush her teeth and wiped her face. I’ve also seen her stripped clean of the uncleanliness of sin through the word of God. I’ve seen her relieved after a paracentesis; the weight of water no longer bringing her down; and without a care in the world. I’ve seen her memory come back the next day; the angelic smile on her face at the sight of me. I’ve seen her with new shoes and a fresh manicure. I’ve seen her spirit readied with the shoes of the gospel. I’ve seen nurses sing a gospel as they walked by and many kind people say “God bless you.” I’ve heard nurses call my grandmother and myself, “mama” and “sweetie.” I’ve seen kindness, love, and truth become flesh and be brought to life.
So they pushed her on her side in the bed so they could insert the tube and she wailed, “Perate!” with an angry look on her face. She flailed her arms and I grabbed them to keep her from impeding the nurses. Then she grabbed onto me and pushed my arm away with all her strength. I felt hurt for a second and scared by the look in her face, but I knew it wasn’t personal so I pushed all feelings away and instead guided her arms to grab the railing. She held on tightly, and occasionally let go in attempts to stop what was happening but it was for her own good. The nurses spoke to her lovingly. I pushed her hair back and caressed her forehead for a few minutes as they inserted the medication.
“She needs to get this ammonia out. This will work. It has to,” one of the nurses affirmed.
Finally it was over. “She’s been through a lot,” the Spanish speaking nurse with a heavy accent noted. She’s the one who called my grandma “mama.” During the procedure she asked me why my grandma had cirrhosis, “It’s from fatty liver,” I said.
“Oh,but it’s not from drinking right? She never drank?”
“Yeah, no she never drank.” Though my uncle, her son, did and died in January due to cirrhosis. I think my grandma’s husband, my grandpa who I never met, probably died because of cirrhosis too. This is what I’d call a generational sin, not a curse.
For the rest of the afternoon I just sat there and told my grandma how she was gonna be ok.
“The doctor said you’re gonna get better, so you’ll be better tomorrow ok?” , affirming it to her as much as to myself, hoping she was conscious for a second and her body could manifest what I was saying.
I caressed her face and forehead hoping the touch might comfort her. I see my face in hers. My cheekbones, her big teeth, my nose, her eyes, her forehead. I see so much of myself in her. I wonder if my skin will sag in all the same ways when I’m older. Her skin is soft even as it’s wrinkly. I try to imagine my grandma as a baby. It’s hard but it almost isn’t because sometimes her demeanor is quite like a child.
“Whatever you did for the least of these you did for me,” the words come to mind like a faint whisper. Jesus reminds me everything I do he sees and appreciates, for we are all one body.
I prayed over her in Spanish and everyone in the hospital one more time before I left. I kept saying “soon you’ll get better,” until I left.
Were we always meant to die? Why must death be so sad and painful? Why do we have to die and go through extreme suffering? Of course it’s not God’s fault that some people don’t take care of themselves and end up dying due to terrible diseases, after all people have freewill. But why make a world with a possibility for such extreme suffering? Was it always this way? I don’t think so.
It’s not God’s fault that my grandma is this sick. This I know. My grandma didn’t really take care of her health and made bad choices sometimes. That is true.
Jesus died on a cross and he never forsook God.
The other night I was sitting there attempting to write my anticipatory grief into a poem when the words came to me like light shining through dark clouds. I could see Jesus through the words, even as I was writing these words with my own hands. It’s when your thoughts are so blue but suddenly you start seeing a rainbow that you know it’s not you but God.
I heard Jesus clearly say, “Last days aren’t actually the end, but new beginnings.”
So even though I know my grandmother will pass away someday soon, I have hope that it will not be her end, but a new beginning.
——————-
Thoughts on my car ride to the hospital
As I grow older, I grow ever more knowledgeable of these Pasadena streets.
These streets we frequented so I still remember watching from the backseat of my car as a child.
Streets I had forgotten. Streets I so long for and cherish.
They ooze of spanish, humbleness, and home.
Southmore Avenue, Pasadena Blvd, Strawberry Rd.
The cine latino. Strawberry park. Mi tienda.
Every weekend, it’s where I find familiar comfort.
My child and adult self reunited.
——–
Today as I drove to the hospital to visit my grandmother with cirrhosis, I was listening to this health segment I usually listen to and this doctor talked about liver disease, specifically the same illness my grandmother has. The doctor layed out all the symptoms in detail in such a calm voice, all the causes, and complications of cirrhosis.
I was so thankful to God for teaching me about cirrhosis so clearly and helping me to feel he is with me. He is always helping us even when we fail to take care of ourselves. He helps us till our last breath. I must be the one to break these generational cycles of sin. I must be the one to change my family’s story to one with a happy ending.
——–
The other day I walked into my grandmother’s hospital room and there was a man standing there in the corner in place of the camera machine thing that had previously been there to monitor my grandmother during the last couple of days. I wondered what this guy was doing there. Maybe he was the nurse? But why is he just standing there? He immediately kindly introduced himself as I walked in and explained his name was Andrew and that he was here to monitor my grandma because the observation camera was down. The camera was this huge long standing machine with a speaker with one of those cameras up top like the ones they place in public schools. My grandmother’s illness sometimes causes her to have high ammonia levels so when that happens she temporarily loses her memory and experiences confusion.
I sat there talking with my grandmother for a bit, though she was still confused, but doing a lot better than previous days when she had been completely out of it.
I sympathized with the guy because he’d been standing there for almost an hour it seemed. I turned to him and asked how long he’d been there and I think he said since ten in the morning, it was already past noon. Then I asked how much longer he’d be here and he explained it might be a while before they get the cameras back on so he wasn’t sure. His optimism, however, was radiant. He swore it was ok; that he didn’t mind being here and keeping my grandma company. Something about his words made me wonder why he was so cheery.
A nurse came to replace his spot for a bit while he took a lunch break but then he was back with a chair.
Once he sat down, I don’t remember how we got about talking. All I remember is my grandma asked him for water so he went to get a bag of it with ice and poured it down her cup, then he kindly handed me a ginger ale.
“Oh…thank you!”
“I didn’t know what kind of drink you would like.”
I expressed my thankfulness because actually I was really thirsty and ginger ale is one of my favorite drinks. I explained that to him.
‘It’s like some higher power is watching over you and your grandma,” and I agreed.
At some point during our conversation he said, “I’m kind of spiritual. Maybe that’s why I was supposed to come here, to help you and your grandma.”
“Really? I’m spiritual too.”
“Yeah? I kind of felt it.”
“Woah really?…me too. I was like, ‘he’s too nice’.”
He laughed, “Yeah, this is all God.” and motioned at himself. I knew it because all good things surely come from the source who is God.
Spirituality can mean a lot of things though so I wondered what he meant by that and he began talking about how grateful he was for his job and for everything he was experiencing in his life now, that he felt God was blessing him and that he felt convicted that he was here for a reason, to shine God’s light. After all we are all brother and sisters under God, he said. As he spoke I just kept saying, “Amen,” because I resonated with everything he was saying. I too believe we are all beings created and sent to spread love.
The more we talked the more we both opened up about our ethnicities, our families, our faith, how we came to faith, the churches we attend. We got to talking about nursing because recently I’ve been considering it as a potential career, but he talked me out of it lol! He even told me about this really cool tech college program that he’s currrently enrolled in. We also talked about boba and Chinatown, one of my two favorite topics!
I felt God surrounding us. I felt safe enough to be vulnerable and shared with him about my grandma and her illness. In return, he shared tips with me about how I can take care of my grandma. He said something to me that really stuck with me, “After all of this is done, God’s really gonna bless you.”
The sad yet relieving truth is there will be an end to my grandma’s life and my grandma’s pain. It’s sad because I wish my grandma didn’t have to die or go through such suffering. It’s relieving because one day my grandma won’t have to continue to go through this pain. Her body will find rest, and her spirit will find her eternal home in the realms of Jesus. All the difficulties we go through now will not be in vain.
I was able to see once again through that day that God is helping us as much as possible all the time.
I was so thankful to have met this nurse. He was so kind and I felt like he was like an older brother. I thank God for using him to cheer me up and I pray he blesses him abundantly. It’s rare to find people who shine God’s patience, kindness, and love as radiantly as he did.
Somehow everytime I’m at the hospital God always sends kind people. I always meet someone interesting or I’m cared for or comforted in some way. It’s all these stories I cherish deep in my heart and therefore know that there is no such thing as ‘coincidence’ in life, but only displays of God’s wide and deep love.
My life sometimes feels like a movie and maybe it is, but if it is-it’s something better than that. What’s better than a movie, you might ask?
Living it. Living in the movie. The princess fairytale becoming your reality.
Feeling Heaven is already within your heart, and in your arms-rather than far from arms reach. To see God face to face as you realize about life through his Word and the things you experience. There’s nothing better than being God’s chosen one. I will follow him-the protagonist- to the end of my days.
