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Effective communication with patients with chronic conditions
Effective communication with patients with chronic conditions
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When we made it back into her room, Mama was wide awake. She said,
“I am sorry I had to tell ya’ll, now you walking in her looking at me like I am dying or something! Cut that shit out and treat me like I am alive! That is why I did not want to say anything at all!”
After Mama said that I was truly confused. I didn’t even want to look at her all! I felt like I was letting her down by looking sad. How could we not look sad? She is our mother and we just got the news that she has stomach cancer! How were we supposed to look at her?
I looked over at Tonya and her eyes were glued to the ceiling, I looked over at Yvonne and her eyes were glued to the hospital room door. I didn’t know what the hell to do so I stared at the TV. Mama busted out laughing at us! We were completely distraught and Mama was laughing at us.
“Girls stop it! Just stop it! It is ok to look at me. I know ya’ll just got this news and I know there are massive amounts of emotions running through your hearts right now. Come here all of you and give me a hug. I love you all so much.”
We gathered round Mama and we all hugged her and we cried. We dared not ask how much longer she would be with us, we were hoping for a sudden cure.
There were no more questions. Everything was out in the open now. My children had been calling my cell phone for hours. I knew they wanted to know why Gram was in the hospital. I decided that I would not tell them until I saw them all face to face.
Eventually, I called the house and I told everyone to stay home and wait for me because I wanted to tell them all at the same time. I wanted them to know what was going on.
We stayed at the hospital with Mama all night long and it was around about six in the morning when I decided to go home. ...
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...n a hospital. Gram doesn’t do hospitals or doctors for that matter.”
More tears came and flooded my words again. Sheldon brought me some tissue. Eric came to hold my hand. I was finally able to blurt it out.
“Your grandmother has stomach cancer!”
I dropped my head on the kitchen table and cried another river. Speaking those words took a massive amount of energy out of me, but I finally got them out of my system.
Everyone gathered around me. They were all crying. Through tears Morgan said,
“Gram is going to be alright. She has always made everything alright for everybody else. She’s going to pull through this.”
Eric, Paul and Sheldon were silent, but tears streamed down their faces. I stood up and we all hugged each other for a bit.
In between tears Sheldon asked when they would be able to see Gram. I sat back down at the table and I took a sip of my tea.
Sal explains, “When my mother was there, I was like a mirror. If she was happy, I was happy. If she was sad, I was sad. For the first few days after she left, I felt numb, non-feeling. I didn’t know how to feel”(Creech 37).
It took her a long time to catch her breath,but she finally managed to spit out the words,
The expression on my mom’s face showed fear. I knew something was wrong by the way she looked so worried and confused.
I wanted to cry again but not out of shame this time. My eyes had tears brimming, and I could barely tell him “Thank you.” I knew then that I had passed the hardest test I had ever taken.
Dorrie and I went home with Aunt Sandy. My stomach was hurting and making tiger noises, but everybody was crying so I was afraid to say I was hungry.
I, of course, knew my mother as a mother. As I have reached adulthood and become a mother myself, I have also known her as a friend. My mom shared much of herself with me, and I saw sides of my mother as she struggled with her cancer that I had never seen before, especially her strong belief in positive thinking and the importance of quality of life. I was privileged to know so many facets of my mother, but certainly I did not know all. There were parts of her life that I didn’t see, relationships that I didn’t know about. Last night, at the wake, so many stories were told to me about my mom’s strength, courage, humor, kindness, her quietness, her loyalty as a friend. It was so special to hear of these things that my mom said and did, to know some of these other parts of her life. I hope that her friends and family will continue to share these stories with me and with each other so we can continue to know and remember my mom.
I do not think I have ever cried so hard, but my heart was ripped from my chest. I did not feel anything but
The group in the back cheered behind her, encouraging her. She gripped my hand and I felt sorrow for what I have done. So. Much.
4:30 a.m. My aunts and uncles started to arrive at my house. The phone rang and it was my uncle calling to tell us that he wasn’t going to be able to go and to not wait on him. So we started to load up the trucks with food and supplies. It was now 5:00 a.m.
Maybe that’s why I did not cry. I wanted to be the one thing she could count upon as stable. I wanted her withered body under that sheet to know that I was her one success. I wanted to thank her and say yes, yes grandmother, yes; I am strong enough. I will survive.
Chris and I sat in painful silence as we waited patiently for someone to come answer our many questions. Finally, Mike, my oldest brother, and his home teacher strolled down the hallway. I assumed that Mike had taken him back to see Stephanie and Marisel.
My mom woke me the following morning. She had decided to bring me breakfast in bed...
"You stupid bitch. You 're so fucking stupid. You deserve to be alone. You 're dumb. You 're ugly and horrible. You 're an awful monster and no one will ever love you. You 're just stupid and worthless. Why do you bother living? No one wants you. No one will ever want you. You 're a burden and you drag everyone down. You make everyone miserable. You 're fat and disgusting."
It was June 6, 2011. I remember taking my mother to the County Hospital’s emergency room. She seemed extremely exhausted; her eyes were half-closed and yellow, and she placed her elbow on the armchair, resting her head on her palm. I remember it was crowded and the wait was long, so she wanted to leave. I was the only one there with her, but I did not allow her to convince me to take her home. I told her in Spanish, “Mom, let’s wait so that we can get this over with and know what’s going on with you. You’ll see everything is okay, and we’ll go home later on.” I wish then and now that would have been the case. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with colon cancer that had spread to many parts of her body including her lungs and kidneys. The doctor said to me not considering that I was a minor and my mother’s daughter, “Her disease is very advanced and we don’t think she will live longer than a year.” With this devastating news, I did not know what to do. I thought to myself that perhaps I should cry, or try to forget and take care of her as best I could and make her laugh to ease her pain.