Margi

The elevator doors opened and there she stood. Please you have to come and look at her, her hands are turning blue. Is that normal? Can you come see her right now? The urgency shown in her face, and her closely cropped red hair lay messed in an odd pattern. I exited the elevator taking her by the hand and chatted with her as we walked toward the room. Her mother Margi is one of my favorite patients.

Margi was lying in bed showing the “O” sign. I had to stare closely to see if her emaciated body was still breathing. At least it wasn’t the “Q” sign. I stared a little longer. Yes, I could see her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythmic fashion. I called her name several times and she did not respond. As I called I scanned her arms and hands and noticed her wrinkled time born skin had piled into mounds on her wasted arms. Bluish-purple patches had spontaneously sprouted dotting the barren landscape of her aged frame.

I knelt next to the bed and picked up her hand. Though blue from the wrist down it was warm and I could feel a radial pulse. I gave her hand a little squeeze and felt her fingers tighten around my palm in return. Her mouth slowly closed as her blue eyes opened and struggled to focus on who was next to the bed. It took about thirty seconds for her to focus on me and then a broad smile came to her face. Shortly the smile closed as her head rolled to the side and she once again fell fast asleep.

I walked her daughter out to the hallway to talk. Is that normal she asked?

Your mom is in her mid nineties and her body is shutting down. It’s normal for someone who is dying to start to have their feet and hands turn blue as their body shuts down.

So death is close then?

I can’t say for sure but yes, I would say your mom does not have much longer.

She told me before you got here that she was having a lot of pain. Can we give her something to make her pain go away?

She has pain medicine ordered but the nurses are just not giving it often enough so I’ll order it to be given around the clock. We talked for about twenty minutes on the subject of death and dying. I explained that each person goes through the dying experience differently. I explained to her that my primary goal was to make sure that she was not in pain during her final hours on this earth. I then held her in my arms as she cried on my shoulder. When she was ready she headed to the elevator and left the building.

I went back into see Margi and say goodbye. I sat next to the bed and watched her sleep for a short time. I woke her up and we had a chat about nothing in particular. I held her hand as we chatted and she stroked my arm with her other hand. When it was time for me to go she pulled me close and hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

The next morning I was headed out of the building after a short visit with Margi. The morphine I had ordered was working well for her and she was finally comfortable. I ran into her daughter and she asked me about her mom. We got into a discussion about what this faze of the dying process might bring. She told me that her mom had been talking to her husband who died forty years ago. She said Margi had been speaking to a lot of relatives who had died in years prior.

I told her that this is perfectly normal and that who am I to say who she can talk to and who she can’t. I told her how do I know those people aren’t really there? I went back into Margi’s room and her daughter woke her up. Margi smiled that broad smile of hers and waved at me. I waved back then stepped forward and held her hand. We talked briefly and I said my goodbyes and left.

I received a call this afternoon that Margi had gone home. God speed dear lady.

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