The Way It Should Be Done
by Lee Whitehead
Published with permission of the author
I was very impressed by the way in which the South Okanagan General Hospital and the Hospice services combined to make my wife’s recent palliative care bearable, comfortable, dignified, and gracious.
My wife, Pegeen, died on September 17, 2013 surrounded by family, in her own bedroom – with its magnificent view northward up the Okanagan valley – exactly as she wanted. She had had ovarian cancer for two-and-a-half years, had nearly died in hospital because of a blood infection consequent to the first session of her third course of chemotherapy, and was released from hospital only on the condition that she receive palliative care at home. She had given chemo every possible chance and, with reluctance, accepted the inevitable.
I must admit that on the first day at home alone with her I felt entirely overwhelmed. I wanted to be with her every minute, but there were so many things to do that it wasn’t possible; I became panicky and even discussed with Pegeen whether we had done the right thing in requesting palliative home care. She was reluctant to agree but could see that I was beginning to fall apart.
And then, a volunteer from the Hospice Society, Liliana, arrived and spent an hour-and-a-half with Pegeen, which gave me time to calm down a little and collect my thoughts in another room.
The next morning Lynn, the palliative care nurse, came. I was still quite distraught, but she calmed me down and explained how the Home Care workers would help. Pegeen would have visits mornings and evenings by care workers to help her prepare for the day; I would receive respite (three hours to shop, get mail, whatever) twice a week. I could arrange for Liliana to spell me off if I needed more time than this for other matters such as haircuts, banking, shopping, etc.
By the time our family arrived from the coast, we had a routine and I found that, with the help I was getting, I did in fact have the strength to deal with what I had to. Our son and daughter-in-law were able to stay for a couple of weeks, and came up each weekend thereafter. Our daughter remained “for the duration” and helped immensely, but we still could not have done without the support of the care workers, the palliative care nurse, and the hospice volunteer.
On the fourth weekend of palliative home care, our three granddaughters also arrived from the coast to spend three days; they brought with them our first great-grandchild, a beautiful, somewhat noisy little girl, who had been born the day I brought Pegeen home from the hospital. She was three-and-a-half weeks old. Pegeen was able to hold her. She was able also to have close and intimate discussions with each of the granddaughters and to pass on to them items they treasured. One granddaughter is a professional musician and led the four (including their mother) in a lovely lullaby and a song of rousing feminine determination. Another granddaughter, a student at Emily Carr in Vancouver, after receiving Pegeen’s gift of a book of drawings she had done many years earlier while undergoing Jungian therapy, drawings of dreams, many of which involved eggs, went back to her motel that night and drew an amazing pencil-drawing of a bird’s nest, with two eggs, on a tree limb. We immediately framed it and it is now on the wall of the bedroom.
On the Sunday evening, when Pegeen and I were once again alone, she said, “Lee, it just doesn’t get any better than this. I can go now.” And she did, two days later. My last memory of her before I arrived home from a trip to the store to find our daughter and her husband beside Pegeen’s bed, where she died five minutes later, was this: before going to the store, I wheeled her down our long hall to the washroom in a wheelchair provided by the Hospice Society. She lifted her feet and cried “Wheeeeee!”
It was heart-breakingly sad; it was astonishingly beautiful.
Published with permission of the author
I was very impressed by the way in which the South Okanagan General Hospital and the Hospice services combined to make my wife’s recent palliative care bearable, comfortable, dignified, and gracious.
My wife, Pegeen, died on September 17, 2013 surrounded by family, in her own bedroom – with its magnificent view northward up the Okanagan valley – exactly as she wanted. She had had ovarian cancer for two-and-a-half years, had nearly died in hospital because of a blood infection consequent to the first session of her third course of chemotherapy, and was released from hospital only on the condition that she receive palliative care at home. She had given chemo every possible chance and, with reluctance, accepted the inevitable.
I must admit that on the first day at home alone with her I felt entirely overwhelmed. I wanted to be with her every minute, but there were so many things to do that it wasn’t possible; I became panicky and even discussed with Pegeen whether we had done the right thing in requesting palliative home care. She was reluctant to agree but could see that I was beginning to fall apart.
And then, a volunteer from the Hospice Society, Liliana, arrived and spent an hour-and-a-half with Pegeen, which gave me time to calm down a little and collect my thoughts in another room.
The next morning Lynn, the palliative care nurse, came. I was still quite distraught, but she calmed me down and explained how the Home Care workers would help. Pegeen would have visits mornings and evenings by care workers to help her prepare for the day; I would receive respite (three hours to shop, get mail, whatever) twice a week. I could arrange for Liliana to spell me off if I needed more time than this for other matters such as haircuts, banking, shopping, etc.
By the time our family arrived from the coast, we had a routine and I found that, with the help I was getting, I did in fact have the strength to deal with what I had to. Our son and daughter-in-law were able to stay for a couple of weeks, and came up each weekend thereafter. Our daughter remained “for the duration” and helped immensely, but we still could not have done without the support of the care workers, the palliative care nurse, and the hospice volunteer.
On the fourth weekend of palliative home care, our three granddaughters also arrived from the coast to spend three days; they brought with them our first great-grandchild, a beautiful, somewhat noisy little girl, who had been born the day I brought Pegeen home from the hospital. She was three-and-a-half weeks old. Pegeen was able to hold her. She was able also to have close and intimate discussions with each of the granddaughters and to pass on to them items they treasured. One granddaughter is a professional musician and led the four (including their mother) in a lovely lullaby and a song of rousing feminine determination. Another granddaughter, a student at Emily Carr in Vancouver, after receiving Pegeen’s gift of a book of drawings she had done many years earlier while undergoing Jungian therapy, drawings of dreams, many of which involved eggs, went back to her motel that night and drew an amazing pencil-drawing of a bird’s nest, with two eggs, on a tree limb. We immediately framed it and it is now on the wall of the bedroom.
On the Sunday evening, when Pegeen and I were once again alone, she said, “Lee, it just doesn’t get any better than this. I can go now.” And she did, two days later. My last memory of her before I arrived home from a trip to the store to find our daughter and her husband beside Pegeen’s bed, where she died five minutes later, was this: before going to the store, I wheeled her down our long hall to the washroom in a wheelchair provided by the Hospice Society. She lifted her feet and cried “Wheeeeee!”
It was heart-breakingly sad; it was astonishingly beautiful.