Comfort Care

October 21, 2018

Here's the thing:  There's a big difference between accepting something in theory and wrapping your head around something that's become a reality.

You've done all the reading, so you "know" what to expect, what's coming, what's inevitable short of an absolutely miraculous intervention from God. And you think you are prepared, because you know what you've learned. But guess what, boys and girls? You are not prepared. Not at all. And there's no way you possibly can be.

You know that "comfort care" (sounds so much better than "hospice," doesn't it?) is getting closer. You know that, in your head. But when it's actually spoken out loud by the medical team, when your heart races, and your breathing becomes frantic and shallow, and your skin prickles all over, and your stomach sinks, and your throat closes, and you break out in a cold sweat, and your eyes fill with tears, and your body somehow feels disconnected from your mind -- your mind that can't think -- that's when you realize that you can never, ever be prepared.

You wonder if there's anything you could have done differently, if there's anything you overlooked or thought wasn't important, if there's anything -- anything -- that could have made a difference. But there isn't. There really isn't. You did the very best you could do, but it just wasn't enough. It could never have been enough, because there's nothing -- nothing in this world, at this time -- that could have changed this outcome.

It isn't over. Not yet. But it sure feels like defeat. I'm told I should not look at it that way, that I should think of it as just another phase, a progression in this illness. But everything in me resists this way of thinking. Acceptance has not yet made its deposit in my heart.

Even so, I must now make a decision about which hospice provider to enlist. And then the "hospice team" will do an evaluation. If they determine it isn't time yet, I suppose it won't be long before that time comes. I've read it's best to bring hospice into the picture as soon as your loved one "qualifies." That makes it sound a lot like having gone through the preliminaries and now being privileged to run the "big" race. And I guess it is exactly like that, in a way.

Hebrews 12:1