Woke up to the voice of the nurse: "Are you feeling shortness of breath, auntie? Count to ten slowly and breathe normally..."
Mum had her mouth open. She was gasping for air. Her mouth has been open more or less since last night
when they began administering morphine at regular intervals. The night nurse even asked me whether she should give her the dose at midnight, which I agreed to so that mum would sleep right through the night. Mum was not awake to make that decision. I made it for her, hoping it is the best decision for her.
This morning, mum was in a calm state. She looks restful, and dozes off very quickly. When the carer fed her, she did not throw up. She did not urinate for over ten hours. When I asked her whether she's in pain, she shook her head. She can hear us, but she can not seem to muster any energy to speak.
"It's soon..." the carer said to me, "One of these days..." The carer has been with a number of cancer patients, her own father included, and she told me last night mum is the most peaceful patient she's ever had. The nurse said an open jaw means mum's very relaxed, very relaxed. The nurse reassured me that things are going to be alright. Mum's lips are dry and chapped from breathing through her mouth too much.
I sat by mum's side most of the morning. We didn't speak much, we haven really spoken in a few days now. Now, when I ask something, mum responds with a nod or a shake of get head. Sometimes she would scrunch up her face in disagreement or to express that she really doesn't want something.
I looked at the calendar. It's Wednesday 27 June. Could this be the day...?
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