Mazha is American Royalty

Dear Lois,


Not a lot happened today. Dr. Ferguson came in again to check on her. This is a once-a-day occurrence. Here it is just symptom management, so there isn’t a need for more than the nurses that are right outside the door. Because of the pain Mazha was in throughout the night, Ferguson wanted to put her on a pain-patch, something that releases the medication on a timer so she can be ahead of the pain, instead of playing catch-up and having to wait the 20-30 minutes for it to kick in.

Fazha has barely left her side. I made him go home last night to get a good nights rest. He’s constantly rubbing her legs, brushing her hair, massaging her hands, and every once-in-awhile pressing against one of her tubes… in which she mouths the word ‘asshole’ to get him to move. She says that he’s spoiling her. Earlier today, one of the nurses even commented on how good he’s treating her, I jest with a “Oh, it wasn’t always this way. Trust me!” Mazha chuckled… then choked. It’s a dry choke. No noise escapes her. Her eyes just tighten up and her lips tremble. You can just see the suffering running through her.

Around noon, there was a knock at the door. They were delivering a FedEx package from my cousin Debra. Her church group and her put a wonderful care-package together; lotions, wooly socks, inspirational quotes & books, along with numerous cards and words of encouragement. Also inside were two sachets of herbs, one lavender and the other eucalyptus. I laid the lavender one on her pillow and she was able to squeak out a smile. The scent filled the room and made it a more calming resting place.

Since my time here, I’ve been trying to joke around with Mazha. She’ll try to tell me where it hurts and I will say, “Yes, I know that Barack Obama is the best president we’ve ever had.” A grunt would follow. One of the nurses would come in and say to her, "Wow… you have lovely brown eyes" (and they’re looking better… on the first day they were bloodshot and glassed over). I followed up with, “Do you know you have American Royalty here? She’s Hillary Rodham-Clintons second cousin. You better be good to her or I’ll have this place shut down.” Mazha tries to flip me off, to no avail. When the doctor came in yesterday and Mazha asked how long she had, I told her that if she’d vote Democrat in 2012, the staff would do everything in their power to keep her alive. She shook her head no and mouthed, “Take me now.”

After Ferguson put her on the patch, she pretty much slept throughout the day. The Chaplain came in once when Auntie Paulette and the nurses where in (Mazha was having issues breathing and started to have a panic attack). He stayed for a couple minutes and said they he was here when we needed him. I don’t trust him though. Kensington was sleeping, in a pink outfit covered with a pink blanket, and he asked if I had a girl or a boy?!?! “A little girl”. “Oh, that’s nice. I raised three of them.” I guess he’s colorblind. That's always a good thing for a man of faith :)

We also had a visit from the pet therapy dogs. They were cute, but Mazha was out cold. We’ve learned to treasure our time when she’s not in pain.

Kensington and I made a fort out of you and one of the reclining chairs. She’s starting to take up more space in here than Mazha is. Toys spread out everywhere. Straws placed all around the floor (don't ask... she loves straws). Her little feeding chair that she now crawls to and puts the tray on it to let us know she’s hungry or wants a snack. For about thirty minutes, Kensi and Fazha had a tea party on you. With her Fisher-Price Laugh & Learn Say Please Tea Set, she’d pour the tea, stir the cup haphazardly, and pretend to drink it. She’d then try to stir Fazha’s tea as well. It was a great moment… I wish I would have caught it on film but the nurses have me petrified to leave any personal items out. On the first night, I left my wallet on the sink and was scorned by one of the nurses. “I’m not saying anyone here would take it, but I wouldn’t chance it. Lock all of your personal items up.” So my camera and wallet is at the bottom of a duffel bag that is hidden behind the cot. If they can get through the fort, over the table and chair and behind the cot without someone catching them, then the items are all theirs!

Mazha’s feeding tube keeps getting clogged. Whether it’s the food, the crushed pills, or the liquid medicine that is gelling with everything, the nurses kept coming in to try to clear it.

I ended up going home about 7:30-8pm. My throat is starting to kill me. Hope I didn’t catch something.

Lois, I found out a couple things about you today… you were a seamstress for 15 years. I wonder if you made this quilt. I assumed you did, and knowing that you had a passion for sewing, it makes sense. The amount of detail that when in to creating my comfort is superb. I took you home last night, once again. You’re a little tattered around a couple of the edges… I’m sure it’s because this masterpiece has wrapped you in love in your own time of need. You lived to be 77… had four daughters, eight grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren. Oh, the things you can find out with today’s technology. Having such a large family, I can see why you’ve brought me my own sense of reassurance. I’m sure you had to be a strong matriarch with so many children grappling for your attention.

Well, Lois, tonight is another night. Thank you in advance for your touch. It’s like being held by a foster-grammy.