INTERSECTIONS

PART 3

No, I Didn’t Have Favorites, but . . .

 🚘

            Some patients stay in my heart because of the grace, acceptance, and kindness in their last days. They weathered pain and indignities with bravery. I admired them, and knew I could never muster such courage. Then there’s the other little corner of my heart where I keep the feisty ones, the ones who did not “go gentle into that good night.” They went out into the night and tore up the lawn and shot out the street lights. They beat the gentle right outa that good night until they had no more beat left in them.

            One such person was Ida. Ida was in her last summer, and she was mad at her cancer and the world in general. She lived alone, but had adult children nearby. Ida was very thin, getting weaker every day, and her dose of pain meds was rising. When she backed her big car down the driveway, you wanted to yell, “Get the kids and dogs in the house.”

            One of Ida’s children approached the hospice team and asked us to make her stop driving. People are just tickled pink when you ask them to give up driving. We suggested some things her kids might try before we got involved.

            First, Ida’s children simply expressed concern and asked her to call them whenever she wanted to go out. She smiled and nodded and had absolutely no intention of doing that. Next, they drew straws, and the loser had to take away her keys. She ran him off the porch and out of the neighborhood, then called the dealer and had a new set made. This is when I started to fall in love with Ida.

            A few weeks passed. Ida was now on a significant dose of morphine, and her mobility was very limited. She needed time to plan before she hit the brakes. With the safety of the entire east side of town at risk, another of her children surreptitiously removed the spark plugs from Ida’s car. That afternoon, she had it towed in and repaired. I don’t think that offspring was invited to the next Sunday dinner. The ornery little cheerleader inside me was doing handsprings for Ida. On the other hand, since her house was not that far from the hospice office, I pretty much stayed off the street when possible. 

Though they’d rather have poked a short-tempered tiger, Ida’s family decided to sell her car. I felt so sad for her. Giving up the freedom of driving is terribly hard. Of course, it was the right thing to do; she was a danger to herself. She was a threat to anyone on the sidewalk and maybe in the front rooms of their houses. The deed was done. Her car was sold.

These things never feel good. She felt ganged up on by her entire family and the hospice team. Luckily, Ida had a cure for our sadness. She went out and bought a new car.