Page 5 of Who We Think We Are
T he following morning, Kate is nursing a hangover and making tea when her cell phone buzzes. The caller ID says Vancouver General Hospital. Kate feels like she’s been punched in her stomach. Oh God. What is it? She answers, “Kate Hathaway speaking.”
A woman says, “Mrs. Hathaway, this is Dr. Liscombe. I am calling from the emergency department at VGH.”
“How can I help you?” Kate’s heart skips a beat.
“Your grandmother, Mrs. Katrina Hathaway, has been brought into the emergency department. Her husband is having difficulty making necessary decisions, and he said you are their backup medical power of attorney. Are you able to come to the hospital?”
“Yes, I’ll come right away.”
“When can we expect you?”
“Twenty minutes, max.”
“Please be quite quick, Mrs. Hathaway.”
“On my way.” She’s wearing sweats but doesn’t care. Kate’s hands are shaking as she grabs her purse and runs out the door.
Kate races to the hospital, runs into the ER, and asks for Dr. Liscombe. The nurse says, “Mrs. Hathaway? Follow me.” They walk through a maze of hallways to a curtained-off cubicle with a sign over it, “Stroke Triage.” Grandad is sitting there alone.
“Katie,” he cries, trying to stand up in his rumpled pajama shirt and corduroys, his sweater inside out. “Thank God you’re here!”
“Don’t get up, Grandad. Where’s Oma and the doctor?” She sits down next to him, taking his cold hand.
“They took her to get an X-ray,” says Grandad.
“She’s having a CT scan, ma’am,” says the nurse. “They’ll bring her back when she’s done. In the meantime, I need to ask you some questions.”
“Here’s my grandmother’s living will. This should answer most of your questions,” Kate says, handing it to the nurse. “What’s your name?”
“Joan. This is helpful, ma’am. Most people don’t think of bringing this to the hospital.”
“I keep a copy of it in my purse.”
“This document says DNR, and no extraordinary measures to prolong life,” says Joan. “I need to run some scenarios by you so we are crystal clear on your grandmother’s preferences.”
Kate answers all the questions. She, Oma, and Grandad have gone over this a dozen times: no extraordinary measures and no life-prolonging treatment or medications in the event of a terminal condition. Grandad and Oma were firm.
“Quality of life over quantity,” they had told Kate. “This is why we want you as our POA. We know you will honor our wishes. We love our son, but if he were our POA, your mother would be calling the shots.”
Kate wants to see Oma for herself. After a while, Joan says, “You’d better prepare yourself. Your grandmother may not recover from this. She may not walk or talk again,” and leaves. That was a shitty thing to say! Kate grasps Grandad’s hand tightly as they wait.
Kate’s eyes keep filling with tears, and her hands are shaking as she struggles to stay present and not get lost in remembering when GG died.
It was two months before Bradley Owens. GG was ninety-nine and died from kidney failure.
She slept most of the time, and one day, she just didn’t wake up.
Kate was heartbroken, even though she was relieved for GG.
Somehow, she survived losing GG, but she can’t imagine losing Oma, too.
After an eternity, a tech pushes Oma into the cubicle on a gurney.
“The doctor will be here shortly,” he says as he leaves.
Kate and Grandad stand up, each holding one of Oma’s hands. Kate speaks quietly to Oma. No response. She looks into Oma’s eyes. No recognition. She doesn’t need the doctor to tell her what she already knows.
Before the doctor arrives, Kate texts Jake: “Please come home. Oma had a stroke. She’s in the ER at VGH. I need you.”
Jake’s reply is immediate: “I’ll be there as fast as I can. I’ll come directly to the hospital. Hang tight. I love you!”
Kate replies: “Thx. I love you, too.”
When Dr. Liscombe updates Grandad and Kate, she says, “Mrs. Hathaway had an intracerebral hemorrhage. An ICH …”
“In plain English, please, Dr. Liscombe,” says Kate.
“Of course. She has had a brain bleed, a hemorrhagic stroke. We are admitting her to the ICU, intensive care unit. We’re going to analyze the CT scan and monitor her.
Sometime during the night, we will take her for an MRI.
In the morning, we can give you more specific information. Do you have any questions?”
“Do you, Grandad?”
“Will she be OK? Will she live?” asks Grandad, his voice shaking.
Dr. Liscombe’s voice softens. “It is too soon to tell, Mr. Hathaway. But your wife is in the best place possible, and we will take very good care of her.”
“Once you know more, I’ll have many questions. For now, I just have one. May we stay overnight with my grandmother?”
“Only one person is allowed,” says Dr. Liscombe, taking in Grandad’s condition, then looking at Kate. “But in your situation, I’ll allow two. I’ll make sure the staff know.”
“Thank you.” Thank God for good doctors.
Kate texts Jake: “They’re admitting Oma to ICU we need her here .
She even tries prayer, but all she can get out is Oh God. Please help!
Early the next morning, Dr. Liscombe comes to Oma’s room to give Kate and Grandad an update.
“I wish I had better news. Mrs. Hathaway’s stroke was widespread.
The bleeding is significant. I’m sorry, Mr. Hathaway, but your wife will not regain consciousness.
Her condition is considered terminal. Given her directive not to use extraordinary measures, with your permission, we will take her off the life-prolonging apparatus and medications. Do you give that permission?”
Grandad takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders back, and nods.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I need a verbal response.”
“Yes,” whispers Grandad, his eyes red and full of tears. “It’s what she wants. How long will she live?”
“It’s hard to give an exact answer. But it will be days, not weeks. We’ll move your wife to a private room, where she’ll receive hospice-level care. That way, you can stay overnight on a cot, and family and friends can visit her. Do you have any questions?”
Kate asks some more questions, but the bottom line is clear. Oma will die within a few days. She feels a piece of her heart break off, knowing it will never reattach.
When the nurses stop the machines and disconnect the cables, cords, and tubes from Oma, nothing dramatic happens. Yet, it is significant and definitive. Oma’s wishes have been honored. Her body will dictate what happens from here.
With tears running down their faces, Kate and Grandad accompany Oma as her bed is wheeled to a private room. This is where she’ll die , Kate thinks. Released from the spiderweb, the back of her bed tilted up a bit, hands by her side, Oma looks like she is sleeping peacefully.
Jake arrives as soon as Oma is in her private room. He’s been waiting in the lobby. Between him and Suze, they let the whole family know about Oma’s condition. Jake and Kate hug, and she says, “Thanks for dropping everything and coming.”
Jake gives her an extra squeeze, “I always will. What else do you need?”
Kate wipes away tears she didn’t know she was crying and straightens her back. “Between you and Suze, can you have everyone schedule their visits with you? We don’t need everyone here at one time. And take Grandad to his place so he can sleep. He’s been up all night.”
“I don’t want to sleep. I want to be here with my wife.”
“OK, Grandad. At least have a shower and change your clothes. Bring back Oma’s pretty housecoats and some of her orchids.
She’d love to have them here. Please tell people not to bring flowers; she’s allergic to most of them.
Have the visits start after you and Grandad get back.
I want to make Oma presentable; she’d want that.
“One more thing: Grandad and I want to make sure Oma is never alone. So, can you and Suze please set up a twenty-four-hour vigil? Six- to eight-hour shifts. I’ll sleep here on a cot.
For the rest, you, Suze and Anne, and Grandad.
Dad is fine, but not Mother. She can visit, but she’ll wreak havoc if she stays for a full shift.
She’ll kick up a fuss but go ahead and make me the bad guy.
I don’t care. Are you OK with all that?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Anything. What about Paige and Kelli?”
“I don’t think they should come. It seems like a lifetime, but they saw her five days ago. Oma wouldn’t even know they’re here. We’ll plan a celebration of life when everyone can attend.”
Kate wets and blow-dries Oma’s hair, and when Jake and Grandad return, a nurse helps Kate dress Oma in a turquoise velvet robe that matches her eyes, even though they’re closed. Kate chokes back a sob. I’ll never look into those eyes again .
Oma is ready for visitors. Suze is the first to arrive, immediately followed by Kate’s dad and mother, Doug and Luella. Doug kisses his mother on both cheeks.
Luella turns to Kate and asks, “Why were you called instead of your father to help Grandad? You are interfering and taking his rightful place as Oma’s only son!”
Jake and Suze stand behind Kate, each putting a hand on one of her shoulders. They don’t say anything; Kate doesn’t want them to. She can take care of herself, but she appreciates that they have her back.
As a nurse walks in to take Oma’s vitals, Luella tells her, “I want to speak with the doctor about how things are being done around here!”
Kate says to the nurse, whose eyes are open as wide as they can get, “Disregard that demand, Amanda. That’s your name, right? I’m sorry my mother yelled at you. Go ahead and do your job. Mother, leave the nurses alone.”
When Amanda leaves, Luella starts up again. “And leaving me out of the twenty-four-hour vigil? Who gives you the right to make that decision?”
Grandad pulls himself up using the guardrails on Oma’s bed.
“I do, Luella. I give her that right. Kate is doing what Oma and I have asked her to do. Oma needs people around her who are calm and quiet and can tend to her. Now, if you don’t stop yelling, calm down, and be civil, I will have to ask you to leave. ”
Luella won’t overtly defy Grandad, so she finally sits down and shuts up. Suze leans over and whispers to Kate, “That’s what I’m saying. Chaos and destruction.”
Soon after that explosion, Luella and Doug leave, and the family settles into a rhythm over the next few days.
They take turns sitting with Oma as family and friends drop by.
Jake gives Grandad rides home and back to the hospital, brings Kate food and changes of clothes, and takes his turns in the vigil.
Jake is a good person to stand by me in a crisis.
Kate seldom leaves and stays overnight on a cot beside Oma’s bed.
The first night, she can hear all of the noises beyond the doors of Oma’s room, but inside the room, the silence is deafening.
As she tries to sleep, Kate’s thoughts hop like rabbits through her mind.
I have the unique distinction of being the only person in the world whose mother can’t stand me.
Are my mother and Bradley Owens right about me?
Am I a horrible person? Am I evil? Am I using Suze, pretending that everything is normal?
Once she knows Oma was a Nazi, will she hate me too?
What do I do? Eventually, Kate says, “Stop! This is not helping.”
So, Kate talks to Oma instead. She reminisces, tells Oma how much she loves her, tells her she doesn’t know how she’ll live without her, and tells her about the suicide note, although that seems like nothing now.
She wants to beg Oma not to leave, but she knows it’s too late for that.
In the moments when Kate can finally let go and accept, there is a peace and quiet inside her like nothing she has ever felt before.
Late in the morning on September 13, nearly a week after Oma was admitted, Suze brings her mother, Arela, and Bubbie (grandmother), Rachel, to say goodbye to Oma. They bring kugel, a sweet noodle casserole, and silk flowers, obeying Kate’s directive. Kate hugs them.
“Here, Tante Arela, Bubbie, sit close to Oma,” she says as she pulls up a few more chairs.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” says Arela. “Katrina, we brought your favorite: kugel with cinnamon and apples. Rosh Hashanah starts tonight.”
Bubbie adds, “We said the Mi Shebeirach prayer for you to get well during the Shacharit service at the synagogue this morning.” Bubbie looks at Grandad and asks, “How are you doing, Les?”
As the elders talk, Suze and Kate cut up pieces of kugel for everyone. Suze puts her hand on Kate’s and whispers, “How you doing, Cuz?”
“Gutted, but hanging on,” says Kate. The intimacy and familiarity of Suze’s gesture stabs her in the heart. “Thanks for everything, Suze. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Suze and Kate serve the kugel.
That night, Kate can’t sleep. She asks Oma the questions she desperately wants the answers to.
“Why, Oma? Why did you join the Hitler Youth? What did you feel so strongly about? What did that madman say to get you hooked? Couldn’t you see who he was?
Why did you quit and join the resistance?
Why did you blurt it out at the end? Did you want the secret out?
Did you want forgiveness? Understanding? Acceptance?”
Of course, instead of answers, what Kate gets is silence. I’m going to have to get answers another way. At that moment, she decides for sure that she’s going to Holland to talk to Oma’s brothers.