“CHOKED ON CHICKEN” A CAREGIVER STORY
Tales of parental caregiving: Choked on chicken
This week I am thrilled to have the lovely Roxanne Jones from Boomer Haiku. This is one of my favorite posts of hers and I am so happy she agreed to share it here! Check out her blog you will love it!
My 80-year-old mother-in-law came to live with Hubs and me for what turned out to be the last six months of her life in 2004. Pat had lost her husband the year before to complications from Alzheimer’s disease, and was in year eight of her own struggle with metastatic breast cancer. Since Hubs was retired and I worked at home, we figured we could provide the care and support she needed at this stage of life.
When it came to mothers-in-law, I hit the jackpot. Pat was loving, demonstrative, gracious and funny. Unfailingly upbeat, she never asked “Why me?” when her breast cancer recurred after nearly 30 years in remission. Abidingly proper, she referred to her remaining breast as her “muffin”. She accepted me with open arms because I made her son happy.
Having her live with us wasn’t without its challenges, however. Pat loved to talk. Alot. I’m an introvert who recharges my batteries in solitude, so her extrovert chattiness was probably the hardest aspect of living with her. But in the larger scheme of things, it was a minuscule price to pay.
To blow off steam, I’d meet some women friends for drinks about once a week. One of these evenings, I got home just as Hubs was serving the boneless chicken breast he’d cooked on the grill. And I do mean cooked. It was bone dry, and after a few
bites, a piece got stuck in Pat’s esophagus. She could breathe and talk just fine, but it wouldn’t dislodge. As a result, she couldn’t get anything else down, not even water.
I called the hospital emergency department for advice, and the nurse suggested we 9-1-1 to bring Pat in. My mother-in-law knew the drill; she put on her best robe,removed her jewelry, and awaited the paramedics’ arrival. They were buff young hunks in uniform, and they gave Pat the option of riding in the ambulance or in the car with us. She chose to go with them.
At the hospital, Pat was delivered to a private ED room while Hubs and I took care of the paperwork. A young clerk asked us questions and entered our answers into a computerized form. When we told her the reason for the ED visit was that Pat had choked on chicken, she looked puzzled and leaned over to her colleague in the next cubicle, asking, “Is choking on chicken an illness or an accident?”
Hubs and I took turns hanging out with Pat while we waited for the on -call gastroenterologist to examine her. There was a computer monitor in her room that—in violation of HIPAA privacy rules—had been left on, displaying a list of all the patients who’d been admitted to the ER that night, along with the reasons for admittance.
<p?I couldn’t resist reading it. Among the entries were John Doe for myocardial infarction, Jane Doe for drug overdose and Robert Doe for ischemic stroke. Then there was Patricia Jones for choked on chicken. Not sure what the diagnostic code was for that.
The GI specialist managed to remove the offending piece of chicken and discovered Pat had strictures which had narrowed her esophagus. A simple endoscopic procedure to stretch it was scheduled for two weeks hence. Until then, she was restricted to a soft diet, and had to crush her medications and swallow them with applesauce. She was a compliant patient, and Hubs became expert at making smoothies (once she could eat solid food again, he also fine-tuned his chicken-cooking technique).
The next three months passed fairly uneventfully. We’d watch “Wheel of Fortune” before dinner each night, and occasionally we’d all go out to eat. Pat would regale people with the tale of how her son had tried to kill her with overcooked chicken. Hubs took her to doctor appointments. She dispatched me to buy her a special bathing suit to accommodate her prosthetic “muffin” so she could use the pool (we lived in southern California then). She loved to read, so we made weekly trips to the library. And she’d crack us up with her Gracie Allen-like malapropisms. One of my favorites:
While reading a Talulah Bankhead biography and marveling at the actress’s racy life, Pat shared with me how Hubs’ father had wanted to take her to a risque movie back in the 1960s. When I asked the name of the movie, she replied, “I Am Curious George”.
Inevitably, Pat’s health began to worsen, and she needed to up her pain medication to handle the ache in her bones where the cancer had spread. Her appetite waned, she lost more weight and grew weaker. Then one morning, she suddenly began talking nonsense. We drove her to her oncologist’s office; he came out to the car to assess her, and arranged for her to be admitted to the hospital right away.
Tests revealed that she was in kidney failure, likely the result of years of NSAID use, high blood pressure and diabetes. Ironically, the toxins that her kidneys could no longer filter were now masking her bone pain. While dialysis was offered, her doctor was relieved when the family declined, respecting Pat’s written wishes for no extraordinary measures to prolong her life.
Pat remained in the hospital for a couple of days until we could arrange for hospice care. During that time she was her old animated, talkative self—but in a world of her own. She whispered to me that her oncologist (a Christian family man) wanted to sleep with her. Hearing the hospital sounds outside her room, she thought she was hosting a cocktail party and First Lady Barbara Bush was coming—and insisted that Hubs go out in the hall to greet her. And she warned us to keep an eye on one of her friends who was a tippler (said friend had been dead for years).
Hub’s siblings—a sister and brother—arrived and we kept vigil during Pat’s last days. A lifelong Democrat, one of Pat’s final conscious acts was to vote for John Kerry via absentee ballot. The next day she slipped into a coma, peacefully leaving us on a sunny Saturday afternoon. One of the last things I said to her was thank you for raising such a great son.
In the nine years I’d been privileged to know Pat, she was a veritable force of nature,a perfect storm of love and laughter. The house was so quiet after she died. Hubs had lost both his parents in just 17 months. But like I’ve heard it is with childbirth, you forget the pain and remember the joy.
As Hubs’ sister said, “Our parents not only teach us how to live, but also how to die.” Pat did both with courage, grace and good humor, surrounded by people who loved her, and making us smile. When it comes to the latter, she still does. When our parents die God looks down at us and says, “Next”.
Make your time count.Do you have a favorite, funny memory of your parents? Please share!
Roxanne Jones writes Boomer Haiku (www.boomerhaiku.com), a blog that takes a mostly lighthearted, often-irreverent look at life as a baby boomer as we move through midlife and beyond. She earns her living as a freelance copywriter specializing in health and medicine.
I am so sorry for the loss of such a lovely woman. I am so happy your shared her story here and yours as well. I love reading about those who hold their elders in such high regard, the way things should be, the way I see my parents and in-laws. Lovely, lovely post.
Thank you so much, Cathy. Pat was truly special.
I love this story. It reminds me so much of my father-in-law and how lucky I feel to have in her our lives. I am so sorry for your loss, but so happy you have wonderful memories.
I can’t think of Pat without a smile. We should all leave such a legacy, huh? Thanks for your comment, Kathy.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful memory. My grandfather told his priest the day before he died that “I don’t think I’m coming back from this one Father.” Grandpa was 99 years old. He was afraid to die. “I think it’s going to be boring, floating around on a cloud all day.” He was ready to give an informed opinion or debate politics until the day he died.
Your Grandpa sounds like quite a character, too. Thanks for sharing, Adela.
You were very lucky to have had that time with her. She sounds like an amazing woman. I am so sorry for your loss.
Liv recently posted…The Clinic Called…
Thank you, Liv.
What an inspiring story! Although I was reading it with a shadow of sadness, you made it possible Roxanne to take it the lighter way. What a great tribute to an amazingly strong woman! xx Abby
Abby@midlifecrisisnut.com recently posted…25 Humorous Notes To Self to Kick Start a New Year
Thanks for your comment, Abby. Pat was an inspiration.
What a lovely remembrance! Made me tear up and smile at the same time!
Haralee recently posted…How Nail Polish and Earrings Helped Me Through Menopause
Aw, Haralee, thank you. It warms my heart to know my post had that effect.
I am so sorry for lose but you have been lucky to have an opportunity to help your elder. It gives a wonderful lesson to the people to their elders. this post reminds me of my father-in law who got such a health problems and passed away after a long sickness.
It is an interesting article.
Thank you for your comment, Amin. I’m sorry for your loss as well.
What a delightful and touching story. Stories like this are the best of what family means. She sounds like she was absolutely charming and you and your husband surely “done right by her!” P.S. I almost wrote my own story called “Choked on Saliva” at I Am Curious George!
Lee Gaitan recently posted…No Tickets to Paradise
Lee, your comment made me snort! Thanks for your sweet–and funny–comment.
I love this story, Roxanne. What wonderful memories you have of your mother-in-law. I’m sure you will treasure them always.
Thank you, Helene. I do…and I will!
She sounded like a wonderful woman. So sorry for your loss. What a funny story about that chicken OMG.
Thank you for commenting, Carolann. Pat was a truly special woman, and I can’t cook chicken without thinking of that night!
Thank you for sharing, Roxanne. Your mother-in-law sounds a lot like my grandmom, who always had something funny to say, even until a few minutes before she passed.
Thanks for your comment, Corinne. I’m glad you have those kinds of memories, too!
Truly a beautiful person. And my life is a little better for having you share her with me!
dltolley recently posted…Brain Pain
Aw, thanks. Your comment is heartwarming on a bitter cold afternoon here in Maine!
A lovely story not only about ending life with dignity, but about living and loving fully.
Having just lost my dad a month ago, this post made me laugh a little, and smile a little, and cry a little.
Karen @BakingInATornado recently posted…Be My Guest: Anne Bardsley
I’m sorry for your loss, Karen. Emotions are so raw this soon after losing someone we love. Thank you for taking the time (and emotional energy) to read my post about Pat, and to comment.
nice piece – thanks for sharing it. It brought a smile to my face 🙂
Susan
Susan Macaulay (@AmazingSusan) recently posted…7 poems to share because they’re there
Thank you, Susan. I appreciate you taking time to share that thought.
Roxanne, your story went straight to my heart. I’m very sorry for your loss. Your mother-in-law reminds me so much of both my parents with her no-nonsense approach to life and I commend you and your husband for following suite. In the last year of my dad’s life he was more ornery than usual and always seemed to be testing me. At one visit, i walked in and he was laying in bed with his eyes closed and his arms folded over his chest. “What does this look like to you?” he asked solemnly. I thought for a moment and said, “Well, it looks like you’re practicing for the grand finale.” “You are right,” he told me and seemed satisfied that we were both on the same page. And then we went into the kitchen and shared a hoagie. Those memories bring me great comfort. Thanks for the reminder.
What a lovely story! This is so touching.
Hi Roxanne! I remember reading this on your page and loved it then. It’s is one of those that is fun and touching to read. As you say, our parents teach us ways to both live and die. Thanks for a good way to do it! ~Kathy
Kathy @ SMART Living 365.com recently posted…Quiz: Things We Didnât Know When We Were Young
This is a beautiful story and I’m so glad you shared it with us! I also had the pleasure of a wonderful mother in law, and was able to help take care of her the last few years of her life. It’s such a privilege to be able to share that time with our parents.
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