Marilyn's and my sister Sue is ten years older than me (which makes her 73 this past January). That seems very young to be potentially dying.
But she is decidedly worse today. We spoke to her twice and could barely recognize her voice. Plus she's in such a state of confusion that she makes almost no sense.
She's in heart failure from her a-fib. She has terminal Pulmonary Hypertension (our friend Wayne died from this years ago). She's not getting enough oxygen to the brain (which accounts for her confusion).
Nobody wants her to suffer. But I must honestly admit that I'm not yet ready to say goodbye to my older sister (and dear friend). I'm praying hard for her to get better! I guess I'm hoping for a miracle, and I'm thinking St. Jude is just the one to pull that off. And I guess she's so bad that it's going to take a miracle...
She's in organ failure: kidneys, heart and lungs. She's full of fluid and drowning, for all intents and purposes. Yet still I hope and I pray. It seems far too soon to lose her. And so the day was sad in many ways. We're talking and I'm crying and we're preparing ourselves for the worst.
But in the midst of this, there are still happy, happy moments. And moments of joy. And that is absolutely what Sue would want -- be both believe that.
We feel very close to her, even though we're not there at the hospital. There's no point in being there. We're not sure she would even know us. And she complains about too many people and not being able to rest.
They want to do a very serious procedure on her that's very dangerous. It could kill her, but her condition is killing her, so there's not much choice. We don't know WHEN they're thinking of doing it. We don't know much of anything!
I called the nurse's station and asked for somebody to call me. Nobody did. I suppose it might be because it's the weekend. I just don't know.
I'm strongly wishing she was in a different hospital. But I'm not sure that's the answer, either.
Praying seems to be the only thing we can do.
I went into her room at the beach. It's so lovely and so peaceful. I opened the closet and looked at the three sweatshirts she has inside. And her bar of Dove soap in my bathroom inside her nearly empty drawer.
It's all in God's hands now.
It was a beautiful, sunny day today, if a bit chilly. We saw the ocean and took a short walk. Marilyn and I both got over 5,000 steps today.
Sue loves this beach house. She was here the first time we ever saw and totally involved in the purchase. Her gift to Marilyn as a housewarming hangs over Marilyn's bed. Her own decorations are on the wall in her room, painted green -- her favorite color.
Sleep well, sister Sue. Marilyn and I hope you're not in pain or suffering. (She doesn't seem to be, by the way. She kept saying she was 'better' to me.)
No day is totally bad. I'm grateful to be alive to see the beauty of today. And to suffer the pain, as well.
THANK YOU for your kindnesses and your concern. Friends have been rallying around the two of us -- and sending many messages to Sue. On Facebook, Instagram, here at LJ, in text messages and emails and via phone calls -- everyone has been so very kind and supportive. We love you all!
Good night, everyone. More tomorrow.