BROKEN CHAIN

My mother has been in the hospital for the past week.  She is nearly ninety-two. And knowing that she's lived a long time and that death comes to us all (and yadda yadda yadda) doesn't lessen my anxiety. I've been through the vigil twice before... with my brother and my father. After a botched kidney transplant, my brother drowned in his own bodily fluids at Toronto General Hospital during the course of a lovely fall weekend. When he died, his head was the size of a fucking soccer ball.  My father drifted into a diabetic coma (which wasn't that much different from the Alzheimer's Disease that had actually taken his life five years earlier). He died peacefully, and without pain.

So.  She's hanging on. 

I've provided the (amazing, wonderful) staff with a DNR order. I visit.  Feed her.  And wait for the call.

I hate this shit.

And the fact that I somehow felt the need to write this down for public consumption.