How long, O Lord?

This is my current cry to God.

Mum has been in hospital for a week now, and it is obvious now that she will certainly not be coming home. Both her physical and mental states have deteriorated significantly since her admission, and she hasn't eaten anything since Friday (not that she was eating any real food before that, but at least she was having some nutritional supplement drinks, which she is now refusing).

A catheter was inserted two days ago, as she hadn't passed any urine for a day and a half, and today the doctor said that a syringe driver would be implemented tonight for the administration of the bulk of her medications, as she has been having more and more trouble swallowing pills over the past few days, and her constipation seems to be having a deleterious effect on the absorption of her oral pain medications (resulting in more breakthrough pain episodes for her over the past couple of days).

Yesterday Mum lamented to the doctor that she is totally fed up and just wants to die. The doctor very beautifully and gently reassured her that they are doing nothing to prolong her life, just trying to keep her comfortable. She seemed satisfied with that.

For some time now I have been praying for Mum to die, and have asked my praying friends to do likewise. My biggest prayer for Mum throughout her whole illness has been that she wouldn't suffer too much with it all. Well, it's certainly gotten to the point (and has been there for a while now) where her suffering level has become unacceptably high.

It's been interesting observing the dynamic in Mum's four-bed hospital ward. Mum seems to be the most advanced in her illness, in that the other ladies are all eating quite well, and have been reasonably mobile and able to move around, even if with a bit of assistance. Mum is not able to do any of that. She remains in bed, only moved as nurses are able to reposition her, and the only thing she is currently consuming is sips of water, and sucking on ice chips. Yet, she is also much quieter than the others. When the lady opposite Mum is in pain, the whole room knows about it, as she moans and groans very loudly until she gets relief. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but just so foreign to the way Mum is managing her own pain and misery).

When Mum is in pain, she doesn't say anything, and in fact, usually doesn't even ask for pain relief unless someone (myself, a nurse or a doctor) specifically asks her if she's in pain. One of the nurses said to me the other day, "your mum is pretty quiet isn't she? She doesn't complain, and rarely makes demands of staff." 

And that's the kind of person Mum has always been. A quiet achiever, who never makes a fuss. Some things that are part of a person's core character never change, even when everything else is stripped away.

This evening after I left Mum, I spent a few minutes sitting in the hospital chapel. They have a prayer book there, where people are invited to write prayer requests. I wrote in the book: 

Lord, please take her, she's ready to go.

That is my prayer from now until God sees fit to call her home.