Author Information
Sunset Of The Heart
You ask me why I would write and leave here what I am about to post?
I tell you, I am not quite sure myself.
Somehow, it seemed important to me to see in writing this piece of my Mother's heart that I believe speaks to mine daily.
Maybe, it is to truly understand what her life has now become.
Maybe, it is to help me prepare for what could soon be ahead to face.
In any case, I introduce you to my Mother's heart and the life she now lives.
I introduce you to my heart that so desperatly tries to accept.
My name is Betty, and I am speaking to you through the heart of my daughter.
She knows my heart well.
She knows how I have always viewed life and how I view it today.
Because of what I am now living, and because not all understand what is
involved for so many of us like myself, to continue to live,
these words are put upon this page.
I am soon to be seventy-seven years old.
I live, only because three days a week, I am hooked to a machine,
that does the work that my kidneys no longer will do.
There are so many of us!
Young . . . old . . . and oh so many in between.
All of us with our own stories, our own heartaches,
our own views of what this kind of life now means for us to live.
Week after week we meet at the Dialysis Center.
The same people, the same faces.
We exchange a smile and a hello,
and realize for just a little while
that we are not alone to the meaning of this disease.
We all seem to have the same questions.
~ Why has this happened? ~
~ How much longer can I continue to let a machine hold me between life and death?
The older of us?
We agonize with the question of when is it time to say no more.
Our lives as we knew them are no longer the same, nor will they ever be.
I was always so independent and most people called me
''The cute, feisty little OLE lady''
Well . . . the cute, has now lost all of her hair.
The feisty now seems to be only a distant memory.
For those that do not understand this world of Dialysis, I will tell you a little of what I
understand of what is happening to me. Perhaps one day this disease will touch you.
Perhaps then, you will somehow understand a little more than my daugher did,
upon this disease becoming her's, as well as my own.
My kidney's no longer function on their own.
In a healthy body, they work to cleanse impurities and toxins from poisoning me.
Now . . . A machine does what my body refuses to do.
We, who come to the center, are weighed and taken to our appointed chair.
The chairs are uncomfortable and I resent the three hours
that I must join the rows of chairs, that so many others fill as well.
We are then asked the demoralizing questions such as
~ Are you urinating frequently? ~
~ How come your fluid level is so high today? ~
~ You got to remember to watch how much fluids you take in ~
~ You have gained too much weight! You must not be following your diet correctly ~
I drink because I am thirsty! I eat because I am hungry.
But now . . .
the machine dictates to me what I can eat and how much I can drink.
In my case, through a catheter in my chest, a solution of saline is put into my body to
try to clear any clots that may have formed since my last treatment.
My daughter is asked if the artificial kidney has my name in place
and if the litmus paper that is used to check the sterility of the machine reads clear.
Then it begins....
Tubes are placed to each hook up, and opened one at a time.
The blood from my body begins to be pumped through the machine,
through the artificial kidney, and then back again into me.
Any excess fluid is removed leaving me drained and oh so tired!
For three hours I must remain still, no talking, no moving, no wiggling,
or the machine will tell on me with a series of beeps
that the attendants must deal with, and are annoyed to hear.
''I'm sorry Betty, your are moving too much''
''I'm sorry Betty, but we can't unhook you to go to the bathroom''
I look around me at the thirty plus people that at this moment in time,
are going through the same treatment as myself.
I wonder of each of their stories.
What happened, that for them, now too,
it is a machine that dictates the length of their lives?
It seems that now, somewhere in my treatment,
my body tries to reject the machine that is put in place to continue my life.
My blood pressure goes to nothing and I feel myself floating away.
I am afraid one day that I am going to meet my Lord
from this cold unfeeling room, without my daughter or my family to bid me good-bye.
I am so tired when the treatment is over that I go home to try to sleep.
When I wake most times I am confused as to what day it is.
I fear I am loosing my mind
and the reassurances that my daughter tries to give me are of little consolation.
The access to the machine, for me, will soon be no more.
My veins are too small to accept the access that would be permanent.
When what I have in place now will no longer function
it will be my time to go home.
I am not afraid to die, and I stay here mainly because of my earthly family.
I know that I have three husbands,
a baby I lost in death, and was never allowed to see,
my mother and father,
and a twin brother that are all waiting for me on the other side.
The quality of my life has become almost unbearable at times. I am tired.
I want to go home.
I just now wait for the time I am called
and pray somehow my family will understand why I feel the way I do.
I would have never dreamed that the ending of my life
would depend upon a machine that can no longer function because of a lack
of access for it to become a part of my body.
There are so many of us......
There are so many of us.......
that wonders if the Lord meant for us to continue our lives
after he may have decided it was time for us to leave.
I am not alone in my thinking, nor am I alone in the confussion
of my true feelings of what has now become my life.
There are oh so many reasons to stay here
and yet . . . .
There are oh so many treatments to follow for this to be a reality.
Please pray for me.
Betty
Signatures By PonyGirl