It took over an hour on Sunday evening for the ambulance to reach my mother’s modest WWII-era home in Kahala. My sister, Bonnie, says it was 72 minutes, to be precise.

Earlier that day, it seemed like we were making some progress. My mother’s condition was about the same, but the hospice agency had readily agreed to at least a temporary “respite” placement in a care home while her condition could be evaluated. The level of care she needs is now beyond our abilities and competence, and the hospice agency agreed, scheduling their RN to arrive first thing Monday morning to facilitate the transfer.

But events intervened when my mother, in her drug-muddled state, tried to get out of bed on her own. The good news is that she didn’t fall and hit her head. Instead, she fell and injured her leg or ankle, I’m still not completely sure which. One dislocation, one fracture. Then she lay on the floor for over an hour waiting for the ambulance to arrive. What if it were a stroke, or a heart attack? If this is typical, it’s another city service imploding. Take a look, Mayor Caldwell!

At about 4 a.m. Monday morning, my mom was transferred to an 8-bed care home in Palolo. It’s really quite a nice place. She has a private room and was sleeping peacefully when we visited. I don’t know if she’s going to survive, but while we worry about her condition, we don’t have to worry about her care any more. She’s being well taken care of by people who know what they’re doing. That’s a huge relief.

Islands Hospice gets a rave review for stepping in and making all the arrangements to move my mom to the Palolo home late Sunday night and early Monday. Bonnie is still amazed that the RN on duty not only arranged the transportation and found the empty bed, but showed up at the emergency room, waiting with Bonnie until the transporter arrived, then drove Bonnie home before returning to Palolo to check my mom’s condition and make sure all was well.

We are now in waiting mode. Our mother has been non responsive, and we’re waiting to see whether this changes as the pain meds are ratcheted down.

Hoping for the best, expecting…who knows?

It could be a little quiet here at iLind.net over the next couple of days. “Could” is the operative word, because I still don’t know what we’ll be facing and how I’ll be coping. If this page isn’t updated for several days, please send along good thoughts.

Here’s the story.

Meda and I cut our Maui weekend short and returned to Honolulu yesterday just hours before a planned early birthday party was to begin. The steaks were in the refrigerator, the cake (“Happy Birthday, Meda” in red letters) on the kitchen counter, when we got word my mother’s condition had taken a dramatic turn for the worse.

My mom fell several days ago when she slid off the side of her bed while returning from the bathroom. It left her with a skinned forearm and a sore back. More than sore. Very painful, probably a broken rib, they say.

The upshot is that it’s a race against time to reach a proper balance of pain medications so that the pain is under control but she’s not left “out of this world”.

My sister, Bonnie, has been at ground zero. She has described the situation in heart-rending detail on her Going on Alone blog.

My mom, who has consistently stated to all who would listen, “I am not dying.” announced yesterday, “I am dying. I cannot do anything.” Pointing to her head she added, “There is nothing there.”

No hearing? No memories? Nothing what?

“Call the doctor. Tell him I cannot do anything. Ask him what to do.”
Had already done that. Doing all we can. Now it is a matter of willingness. Willingness to fight. Willingness to die.

Bonnie said almost all there is to say. I defer to her.

We went directly to the house in Kahala from the airport last night.

Soon after our arrival, Bonnie had my mom sitting up in bed, trying to get her to swallow the next pill in the pain-control arsenal. My mother looked up.

“I’m dead,” she declared.

“No,” Bonnie replied. “You can’t be dead. We’re all here with you.”

But dying had clearly been on my mother’s mind before this latest setback. She recently wrote and then rewrote her own obituary, which we found in a stack of papers on a small folding table that sits in front of her regular chair in the living room.

Born Honolulu. Graduate, Kamehameha School for Girls (before co-ed) and UH Manoa. Former instructor in Food Science, UH Manoa. Also former Secretary, Hawaiian Historical Society.

And so on.

With the obit, her personal instructions on what to do when she dies (“don’t make a big fuss”).

I refer to this area, including her regular chair and its surroundings, as her cockpit. She sits down, mentally straps in, and until just a few days ago, would go to work. The day’s incoming mail is stacked in one spot. Bills to be paid are in another. Piles of ongoing genealogical research notes or references are strewn across another small end table on the right side of the chair. Stacks tend to get out of control, spilling in random directions. Newspapers are shoved down on the floor to the left as they are read. Christmas cards still being savored, notes of things to do, bills with “paid” and the date in my mother’s handwriting, the latest I saw dated January 13. A lauhala basket for papers destined for the trash.

She had one previous episode several months ago when a similar issue of pain management brought her down, but she was able to bounce back. This time, we just don’t know if that rebound is going to occur. As Bonnie says, much of this depends on her decision.

A willingness to fight, and live. Or a willingness to die.

Tough choices just four months short of her 99th birthday.