I made coffee and gave her the last of the shots we have for nausea. I waited nervously for the hospice nurse to come by or to call. The phone rang, waking my mom, who was napping, and she tossed the phone to me. It was my aunt L. I told L that mama will probably go to the hospice center first of the week (or so my mom has said). L is planning to come back this weekend. I tried not to cry as I talked, and I could hear L getting a bit teary as well.

I really, really wanted a shower. I was feeling panicky, but my mom can't get up to answer the door; she doesn't want to talk on the phone. So I waited. Around 11, I finally called the hospice office, and the woman I talked to promised to page the nurse. I said that we'd been home for a while, but that we hadn't heard from a nurse, and that we'd gotten a letter that her meds were backordered. Yesterday was a holiday, so they'd no doubt been further delayed. "I paged your nurse. I understand that you're upset, and we'll do what we can."

Ok, fine, but I was getting increasingly panicky and anxious. I wanted to be clean and out of my pajamas. I wanted to be away from my mom for just a few minutes so I could fall apart in private.

Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. It was the nurse, and she promised to come by this afternoon after her regular appointments. She knows my mom and my brother, but not me. She seemed warm and sympathetic, and she told me she lost her mother when she was 25. I'm sorry if I have trouble caring about that right now. I know intellectually that my experience is universal, that I am going through what an infinite number of people have been through, but I just don't have the energy to feel empathy right now. I was quiet, because I knew my voice would break. I do not want my mom to see my cry. I want her to continue to allow me to care for her.

The nurse told me to open the emergency box and to give my mom an ABHR suppository for nausea. It's Ativan, Benadryl, Haldol, and Reglan. "It'll probably make her sleep," said the nurse. Er. If it didn't, there would be something very wrong, I think. The nurse promised to try to track down some of the other medication as well, and to call me back.

I got the suppository for my mom, and I offered to help her with it if she needed. I am ashamed to say that I was relieved when she said she didn't. She's still very clear mentally, though it's obvious that she's very tired and very weak. Since the ABHR, though, she hasn't thrown up. She's managed to keep down ice and Diet Sundrop. She's complained of constant thirst, and she sucks on ice all the time. Yesterday, though, she threw up every hour or so. Her lips are blistered from the stomach acid, and when I empty the bucket, I see the blood -- not much, but visible -- from her stomach.

The nurse called back with the news that we wouldn't get the meds until tomorrow, and no pharmacy in town has it in stock. My mom says the ABHR will be enough.

Her skin is beginning to fade, and she complained about the cold. I turned the heat up to 72F (much warmer than she usually keeps the house), and I brought her a sweater. I sat in her room, watching tv, and shaking. I feel more and more certain that the doctor was right. I don't know that she'll live another week. I was feeling utterly alone, even though I know I have ana, I have iGrrrl, I have all of husi. But what I need is my mom -- the one person who always knows what to do. I don't like being the one who's supposed to have the answers, especially when I just don't know what to do to keep my mama more comfortable. The available answers -- to be here, to love, to refill her ice cup and empty her vomit bucket -- it just doesn't seem enough.

Finally, my brother J and his wife came by, and they were able to stay here until I had a shower and an Ativan of my own. I stood under the water, shaking, my heart pounding, sobbing as quietly as I could. It fucking hurts. The Ativan helps to put the wall back together, though. Still cracked, but there at least. I'm less likely to fall apart around my mom. I'm more likely to be able to do what needs doing. Holy fuck, it shouldn't be this hard, though.

And I'm somewhat annoyed with hospice, but it's not entirely their fault. My mom has been incredibly lucid and strong every time she's interacted with them. The first nurse was shocked at the 2-week prognosis, for instance, and the social worker seemed to think everything was under control. It's because my mom -- like a fucking cat -- hides every bit of weakness and fear she can. By the time she tells people that things are bad, they are very bad indeed. I think if she was less mentally competent, the hospice people would've taken her condition more seriously. When she stops being herself, though, it'll be far too late for them to do anything but blink and wonder what just happened.

I'm trying very hard to break that pattern, because it's my inclination to follow her lead, and -- not lie, exactly -- but not say just how dire things are when people ask. My brothers and I are under direct order to tell people from her church that she went to the hospital just because she got dehydrated and needed fluids. Now she's home and just the way she was before. She fakes it well when there are visitors. It's hard to be more open to the hospice people, or even with my brothers and my friends. Today, when the nurse said she was planning to come on Friday, I said, "I think you need to come before then. Things are not good." I felt like a traitor, but my mom just nodded at me, agreeing.

I hope it's clear when she needs to go to the hospice center. I think she's right, that my brothers and I can't really handle keeping her at home when she's no longer able to aim for the bucket or make it to the bathroom. "I know my limits," I told her. "And I won't try to do more than I'm capable of." That was a lie, though. I don't know where my limits are. I hope that I'll be able to do whatever I need to do to help her. I'm afraid I won't, but I keep yelling at myself, telling me to just fucking get it done, whatever it is.

In other news, my brother J (a cop) learned that my biological father filed for a marriage license in 2005. We have to assume he got married, then. I just hope there are no young, barely pubescent girls in his new family.