In an effort to talk about something not at all related to pregnancy . . .
T has a dear, dear, sweet Grandmother named Rose. I took to Rose immediately on being introduced to the family the first Christmas Eve we were together. I was a nervous wreck - meeting this man's family, for the first time, on Christmas Eve no less? While his other family members were (and can still be to this day) somewhat cool, Rose was a warm, smiling presence. She did her best to put me at ease in the situation. She is what I remember most from that first encounter with the in-laws.
Over the years, I came to appreciate and love her more and more. It had been some time since I'd had an "older generation" influence in my life - my grandparents were long gone by the time I'd finished high school. I loved talking to her about her childhood. She grew up on a farm,the daughter of two poor Italian immigrants who worked long and hard to provide for her and her two sisters. I especially loved how she made a big deal over me whenever I cooked for her - often reminding me that I was a much better cook than "that girl" her other grandson married. She was so thrilled that at least one of her grandkids had the good sense to marry another Italian!
Rose turned 90 in January. The day of her big party, in some kind of cosmic karma for us, turned out to be the same day as the embryo transfer for our last ivf cycle with my eggs,which you may remember later failed. T was forced to lie to her about why we missed the party. She had known about our multiple losses, and they upset her greatly. She so wanted her grandson to be happy, and to be a father - to make the life he wanted with his wife. Though she never asked about our attempts to get pregnant, once in a while, when we said our goodbyes after a visit, she would hold me close, and tell me she was praying for us - "you know why . . ." with a smile, and a tear in her eye. We never wanted to tell her about any of our attempts, for fear of upsetting her when they didn't work. She was so upset we weren't able to be there, and liked to remind T of that often - saying how she just couldn't believe he had gotten a stomach virus the very day of her 90th birthday party.
Rose had a "friend" for as long as I knew her - his name was Tony. He was a couple years older than her, and they would go out to dinner on Saturday nights, play gin once a week with friends, and even take a trip to the casinos once in a while. In the spring, he died suddenly in a car accident. Though they hadn't been seeing much of each other lately - he was getting frail at 94, and she couldn't get around as well anymore - she was greatly upset. It was such a shock to her system. She couldn't even bring herself to go to his funeral. Shortly thereafter, her youngest sister died, also suddenly. She just didn't wake up one morning. Again, I saw such sadness in her eyes - she wanted the chance to say goodbye to her sister but didn't get it.
Shortly after that, Rose's health began to fail. She came down with shingles. After years of going without one, she had another mini-stroke. She didn't want to go to a rehab center, and her daughters didn't force the issue, so a couple days later she fell in her house and broke her ankle. She had to have surgery, pins and screws placed in herankle. All this time, she was being admitted and re-admitted to the same, small town, podunk hospital, well known in these parts for providing the poorest of care.
After the surgery, the doctor mentioned to my mother in law that he noted she was bleeding vaginally during the procedure. He called a local ob/gyn, who did an ultrasound and promptly declared that she had uterine cancer. He recommended an immediate hysterectomy. We were all in shock. We begged my mother in law to seek a second opinion, to ask for further testing, a biopsy perhaps, maybe a D&C to be sure. Maybe a consult with an gynecologic oncologist, perhaps, rather than trusting a man who does little more than small-town baby delivering and pap tests. She did nothing of the kind. The quack convinced her that a hysterectomy was best. Only a couple days after major surgery on her foot, Rosewas back under the knife. He took her ovaries, uterus, and cervix. Post-op, he told my mother in law that grandmom was "full of cancer." Then came the results of the testing on the tissue - benign. No cancer. This poor 90 year old woman had been put through major abdominal surgery for no reason at all. We were horrified. My mother in law? She didn't think it was a big deal.
As the summer went by, Rose was moved from home to rehab, to the hospital for pneumonia, back to rehab, back to the hospital for a suspected stroke which was ultimately found to be "over-medication," back to rehab, and finally home again about a month ago. She was not the same person when she came home. She was primarily confined to her bed, had no appetite and was just plain miserable. She acquired a serious bowel infection during one of her hospital stays, and just was never able to fully get it out of her system. Her demeanor was a radical departure from the woman I knew who always wore a skirt, had her hair impeccably dyed and styled, with makeup on, despite her failing eyesight.
Last week, she went back to the crap hospital with a recurrence of the bowel infection. By the next day, it was pneumonia they were treating her for. Last night, T's mother showed up at our door to announce that his grandmom has several severe infections and her white blood cell count is out of control. The doctors have her on several antibiotics, but nothing is working. She is starting to swell, and in a lot of pain, despite the narcotics she is on. They found blood clots in both her legs, and the doctors have essentially given up. She is being moved to hospice care in the hospital. Rose won't be with us much longer.
And I am horribly sad. But I'm also angry. VERY angry. Angry at my mother in law for refusing to listen to reason at every critical juncturein Rose's care - the time they brought her home because they didn't want to 'bother' with rehab. The hysterectomy debacle. The refusal to advocate for her own mothers care repeatedly. The ignorance of the fact that her 90 year old mom was depressed, and could benefit from a psych consult and maybe some anti-depressants. Over and over, I saw in her sheer refusal to deal with the situation because it was just too upsetting to think about. I'm angry that my poor husband, who loves his grandmom dearly, won't get to place his baby in her arms. Won't get to take a picture of him/her with "great granny." And that he is losing the warmest, most loving member of his all too cold family, when the end just didn't have to be like this. I have no doubts that his grandmother is the one from whom he learned how to love and just be such a sensitive, warm, caring person.
My only hope now is that Rose doesn't suffer much longer, and that she will soon be at peace, watching over us from above.
