Uzma died peacefully at home. She didn’t take any painkillers for her last 3 days. Our kids, my parents and I were next to her. In the weeks leading up to her death she was visited by many old friends. Many new friends, whom she had never met, sent her flowers, cards, food. It was a good death. Yes, over the course of the last 5 years the cancer and its treatment took a physical and emotional toll. Yes, she left us a lot earlier than she deserved to go. Yes, the kids are young. Nevertheless, it was a good death. There are few among us who wouldn’t want her end — pain-free, at home, with loved ones near. None of it would have been possible without hospice.
When Uzma was referred to hospice, I knew what hospice meant — that now the focus would be on comfort care. But I didn’t quite understand then the incredible, warm, enveloping embrace it provides to the dying and their family. A referral to hospice is not a death sentence. The death sentence was the diagnosis of the liver mets. As Uzma wrote previously, the prognosis of metastatic breast cancer is 3 years average. Hospice merely ensured a comfortable, dignified dying process.
Every single hospice appointment was at home. The nurses that came 2-3 times a week. The doctor who came every couple of weeks. The physical therapist, the social worker and the chaplain, came home. They met with Uzma in whichever room she was at the time. Though they had their professional tasks to complete, they met with Uzma for only as long as she wanted to.
But for going to the hospital for paracentesis — the procedure of draining the fluid that accumulates in one’s belly when the liver gives out — Uzma didn’t leave home at all while in hospice. Upon the recommendation of hospice, the second time they did the paracentesis, they put in a catheter, a tube, in her belly through which we could drain the fluid at home. The hospice nurses showed me how to drain the fluid once a day, if necessary, to keep Uzma comfortable by keeping her belly from distending.
There were no unnecessary interventions. No lab tests whose results wouldn’t change treatment. No medications that wouldn’t provide comfort. One of the first things we received form hospice was a comfort medication kit to use to alleviate symptoms that can accompany dying. They included drugs to help with agitation, anxiety, pain and respiratory secretions. No running to the pharmacy for medications either; they were all delivered to home. The physical therapist who came home said his goal was to ensure safety and comfort. So he taught me how to help my wife get out in and out of bed, use the bathroom, sit around and move about in a manner that was safe and mechanically efficient, i.e. less tiring for her. As I said, no unnecessary interventions.
Two of the most emotionally important services that hospice provided was a chaplain and a social worker specializing in counseling children about death and dying. The visits with the chaplain were among the longest Uzma had with any of the hospice professionals. The social worker provided some excellent tips about helping kids. Both the chaplain and the social worker provided incredible emotional support to Uzma and us. The social worker, who specializes in counseling kids, is also available to provide bereavement counseling for several months after Uzma’s death.
Then there’s the equipment that hospice provides. We already had a cane, a walker and a wheelchair. But if we didn’t have those, hospice would have provided one or all of those. Eventually, hospice provided a commode so Uzma could go without having to go to the bathroom. But the most important and most used thing that hospice provided was a hospital bed.
Uzma had decided long ago that when the time came for the hospital bed, it would go next to a large window in the living room that faces the front of the house. From our bedroom window one can only see the back of other houses in our neighborhood and they alleys separating them. In the front, there are trees. She could see people as they parked their cars and walked up to the house to visit her. Most importantly, she could see our daughter’s bus stop. She could watch her board and exit her bus from the hospital bed. That’s the main reason she had chosen that location for the hospital bed long before the bed came. The second most important reason was that she did not want to die in a bedroom, where people go to sleep. She wanted to die in a living room, where people live and meet.
Hospice was available 24/7 to consult about any difficulties Uzma was having. Those phone calls were always reassuring. When she died on the coldest night on record in Chicagoland, the hospice nurse came within an hour to examine and pronounce her dead. He also called the funeral home to notify them of the death. He gave us a heads up about our next steps that night with the funeral home.
Hospice didn’t stop suffering. But what it did for us was priceless. Without hospice, Uzma would not have died in a manner of her choosing at home, without pain in her last few days and surrounded by family. She would not have died where she wanted to die — in the living room.