An Update and a Reflection

Well, Grandma is doing better than she was Tuesday night. On Wednesday, she started feeling much better, and everyone was fairly optimistic. On Thursday morning, however, she suffered through a really rough spell. She started coughing, and that threw her heart a little out of whack. It started going way too fast, and her blood pressure dropped to almost nothing. She was also jaundiced. They gave her some blood, and that stabilized her. I got to see her a couple of times yesterday, and she did have much more color than on Tuesday, and she could talk, and her mind was fine. There was a period in the late afternoon when she started seeing scriptures appear in the specks in the ceiling tiles, and she was trying to get people to help her read them. Other than that, however, she was very lucid, and so we weren't very sure what to think. Today, she is doing basically the same as yesterday. She's a little better than she was earlier in the week, but there's a very long way to go.


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There were two moments from our hospital experiences Tuesday night that really struck me, though I’m going to write about one of them now.

The doctor had just informed Grandma and the family that she was in “very critical” condition, and he had then sent in a nurse to find out some important information from Grandma and the family. Mom and Aunt June had consulted Grandma’s living will to answer the questions. Were they to pursue an aggressive treatment of the pneumonia (which was the only chance for longer term survival but that may kill her immediately)? Yes. Were they to use life support? No. If her heart stopped, should they use the paddles to bring her back? No. The nurse left.

My Aunt June who was there is one of the most steady people I know. There are very few people whom I admire more. She’s Grandma’s oldest child and is only seventeen years younger than Grandma. They’ve been through a lot of life together.

Aunt June walked up to Grandma and put her hand on her cheek and, in the exact same tone of voice she always uses, said, “Mama, you heard what they said, you’re in critical condition, and things are not looking very good. They’re going to pursue an aggressive treatment on this pneumonia to give you a chance. Is that alright with you?”

Grandma: “Ok.”

June: “That’s good Mama. We love you, and we want you to get better so that we can spend more time with you. Now Mama, they’re not going to use life support or paddles on you. Is that what you want?”

Grandma: “Yes.”

June: “Mama, they’re about start this treatment tonight, and if it gets too hard for you, I want you to tell us, and we will make sure it stops. And we’re going to be truthful with you about everything that’s going on.”

Grandma: “Ok.”

June: “I love you Mama.”

That was it. I watched in awe of the conversation. Several things struck me as I stood listening. For one, I’m not sure that I’ll ever be a person who is able to be as straightforward and honest as my aunt is, but I would like to be so. That conversation couldn’t have taken place as it did had there not been a lifetime of truthful speech between the two women.

The second thing was my grandmother’s demeanor. She was calm and, like my aunt, was matter-of-fact. She was very ready and able to deal with this situation, which happened to be the possibility of her own death. I wouldn’t say that she was stoical; she wasn’t suppressing her fear of what may be coming. Rather, despite the pain she was experiencing, she was peaceful; there wasn’t any fear to suppress.

I think that moment’s going to stand for a long time as a testament to the power of faithfulness, in all of its forms.