Hello.
Well, today we had a field trip that never was.
Our plan was to take Alice to see Sakura House this morning. It has been 3 years since their grand opening and the open house that she and Doug attended. We booked a wheelchair accessible cab and made sure that the nurses were aware of the plans and thought we had it all covered. Alice was up and ready and game for the adventure. We were on time. What could go wrong?
We waited about 20 minutes for the accessible taxi--no worries, it was a nice moment in the day, weather-wise. Alice had her winter coat on, but not buttoned, to keep out the dampness. She commented on the trees in front of Woodstock Hospital, noting that they had grown well since being planted last year (Woodstock Hospital is also a new facility--its grand opening was last November!).
Cab comes and the lovely driver wheels Alice into the back of the van...and stops. Brings her out again and notes that the i.v. pole on the back of the wheelchair is too tall for his mini-van. Okay. Options: Find another wheelchair without the pole or take this one off. A nurse and a security guard come out to assist and inform us that all the hospital wheelchairs have this pole. Okay. The cab driver pulls out a pair of vise-grips (aren't they the handiest things?) and tries to loosen the bolt that seems to be holding the top half of the pole on. No luck. It spins but does not loosen. The security guard notes that the poles used to come off, but they would get misplaced and so they were all permanently affixed to the chairs. Hmmm...We examine the chair from top to bottom trying to imagine where else we could slide/slip/stretch something to make this work. Nope. That wheelchair was extremely well assembled. No obvious chinks in construction.
So, then, my wonderful, strong Joanne offered to lift Alice into the mini-van seat. I wondered if this would tire Alice out too much to really examine Sakura House when we got there, but Alice was game for the lift, so we tried it. Joanne lifted her carefully and gently and got her on her feet, but couldn't hike her up high enough to get onto the van seat. Alice had had enough by this point so we admitted defeat and went back inside. Alice had a nap immediately and rested up for lunch.
As we were helping her into bed, I said to her that I was sorry that our plans didn't work. She asked, "What didn't work?" I reminded her that we had been headed for Sakura House for a tour. She nodded but I'm not really sure that she's holding information like that from minute to minute.
While she was eating lunch. Marie Wood came by. She's a long-time friend of Alice's from Kintore and she looks fantastic! We chatted and caught up. Alice was busy eating--she doesn't seem able to divide her attention now, but she responded to some jibes and teasing. She didn't say much, but those 'looks' can communicate volumes. For the first time ever--Jo was on the receiving end of one of Alice's exasperated looks! And a second time, too. I gotta say, they are not so bad when pointed at someone else!
When Marie said good bye and that she would come by to visit again, Alice said, "at Sakura House." I double checked this after Marie left: "Do you want to go and live at Sakura House?" She nodded and said something like, "soon."
Sakura House is an incredible facility. Here's the link to the website. Or just google Sakura House Woodstock. It's run by the VON, so the photos and info are on their site. http://von.ca/NationalDirectory/branch/pages.aspx?PageId=482&BranchId=35 The hospital has a 'video tour' of Sakura House and we requested that it be offered to Alice tomorrow.
As I said above, however, I'm not sure how much information she's holding onto from day to day. Tomorrow she may have different wishes. But we'll see. She definitely feels safe in the hospital and would not object to spending her last days there. I don't know how long it would take to effect a transfer--not long, I think.
Going to Sakura House means agreeing to let death happen naturally. They don't do CPR when someone's heart stops and 'heroic measures' will not be employed to extend a life that seems to be ending. I'm not sure if Alice has signed those papers, but I know there have been several discussions with her. They would also not be giving her blood transfusions, so she will continue to weaken. Sakura House is about comfort, in as many forms as they can manage.
Don't forget to come and visit, wherever she is. She enjoys seeing you and your stories make her feel like she's part of the world. She is quieter now, and weaker, but still gets dressed everyday. She has some fancy new pillow cases--quite unlike anything else she has owned and I didn't pick them out! (Just want that out there...) You'll have to go and see for yourself what her sister chose for her! Best to call Woodstock Hospital to check and see if she is still there: 421-4211. Don't forget to ask for Alice Weir-Hutchison. I'll let you know if she moves to Sakura House.
I know it can be uncomfortable to see the changes in someone that used to be so busy and energetic. Don't worry. She doesn't expect much from us. You can talk and tell stories or you can just sit quietly with her. She may have her eyes open or not. You could ask her for some chocolates--she hasn't said no to me, yet! She doesn't look like she's paying attention, but she's taking it all in.
She seems contented. It's an odd word to choose for someone so sick, but she does not display any anxiety and very little discomfort. Since being at the farm for Thanksgiving dinner a week ago, she seems calmer. I think that day allowed her something, some freedom to really see herself and her place in the world. She has let go of something. Not hope. I don't want you to think that she is depressed, because I don't think she is. I believe that she still has hope--maybe it's just for different things, now. She is still concerned about us--checking in that Joanne's back is okay before lifting her and when we are returning. She is still looking forward, I think. We should all be so placid while doing so.
Thanks for reading. Keep us in your thoughts.
love, Robin
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