A few of you know through past PM messages about my mother, Linda, and her being repeatedly misdiagnosed for over a year and a half before it was determined she suffered from CIDP; a rare and not completely understood disease related to ALS that slowly robs the individual of the use of their arms and legs.
It was this year and a half of her real ailment not being treated that left her with little chance of regaining her mobility, and out of the three main treatments that held the most "promise" for an at least partial recovery, the 1st almost killed her and the 2nd had very little discernible effect.
She had a doctor's appointment this afternoon to have a stent inserted in to her shoulder so she could begin the third and last treatment known to have some positive effect, plasmapheresis. She was supposed to go last Wednesday, but a blizzard forced her to reschedule. She was depressed over the delay and had told me she felt like she had been cursed due to a never-ending string of setbacks and disappointments that cumulatively had taken their toll on her psyche.
I had been outside shoveling snow off of her wheelchair ramp while my youngest sister was inside washing my mom's hair when I had walked inside to hear my sister's panicked voice saying over and over again "Mom? Talk to me mom. Mom?"
Right before I had came inside, she suddenly complained that she wasn't feeling well before loosing consciousness. I immediately called 911, but by the time I was able to finally hang up and rush to my mom's side, she had stopped breathing and I couldn't detect a pulse. Her eyes were open with no hint of awareness.
It was that sight, along with her frail, withered and naked body laid out on the kitchen floor by the paramedics that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I was allowed to see her 50 minutes later after the doctors finally gave up trying to resuscitate her. There was no peaceful expression on her face; her mouth left agape in an unnatural position. That is the last image I have of my mom.
I am emotionally numb as I compose this. I have spent the past few hours fluctuating between unconsolable grieving and bitter anger, and it's this anger that is the reason for my need to post this here and now in the Testimonials section of the Forum.
I don't believe in "God", but in some perverse way I wish he/she/it did exist so that I would have something or someone to blame for the sadistic torture inflicted upon my mother... the only member of our family to believe in a Christian God... that made these last, two years of her life a living hell trapped in the prison of her own failing body. I want and need to hate something or someone while at the same time knowing that there is no one to blame. This is life. This is just the way it is. And that just makes me all the more angry.
It has been mutually decided by my father, my two other sisters and myself that we will have a private ceremony at the Funeral Home. I fear that my anger will beyond a doubt find an outlet aimed at anyone offering spiritual platitudes at my mother's wake. Any offer... no matter how well intentioned by an individual to "pray for her"... will be met with "what fucking good did your prayers do while she was alive?"
I am fully aware how this makes me sound, but I'm past the point of caring anymore. I've lost the capacity to tolerate this theistic bullshit. And for those of you who cling to the belief that my mother's dying and manner of death was all part of your God's "divine plan", fuck you. That's my testimonial.