Prayer Request

My friend, Etta, is going downhill fast. I don't think she will live beyond another couple weeks at the most. Etta is 95 years old. She had a stroke 8 years ago that left her unable to move her left side. She was able to walk to the bathroom with her walker until earlier this year. She's recently been sitting in a recliner chair during the day and put to bed around 8:00 at night. She stays in bed for 12 hours and is in the chair for 12 hours. Since she hasn't been able to walk, Etta has developed three small bedsores. One of them got terribly infected and she was in the hospital last weekend with a systemic infection. After a couple days of IV antibiotics, she improved. But at her age, she couldn't manage being away from her familiar settings very well, and she got very confused.

I took Etta flowers on Monday. When she saw me, she asked me how Otis (the cat) is. She thanked me for letting him come over to her house and told me that he was in the cupboard at the foot of her bed. I reminded her that she was in the hospital and that cats aren't allowed. Otis in fact was at home in his bed. She said in a loud whisper, "I've got Alzheimer's, I think!"
"No, Etta," I told her. "You got mixed up while you were here in the hospital. You'll get back to normal once you're home again." I had no reason to think she wouldn't. She's been as sharp as a whip, mentally. And funny!

Today I called Jack, her 94 year -old husband. He didn't sound too good. Etta had to have an indwelling urine catheter placed, which she hates. And she's having trouble swallowing her food. She can no longer feed herself and she chokes even on water. I didn't like the sound of that. She will probably inhale some water or food and give herself a nasty aspiration pneumonia. That will be the end of her. Jack sounded tired, but when I told him that I could bring by some soup for her he told me that he already made some. He's quite the cook--makes his own gluten burgers from scratch! But I also know that Etta isn't wild about his cooking or his meal combinations. I thought that maybe I could help by taking over some homemade cream of broccoli soup or something. No, he has everything he needs. But he was so grateful for the offer.

I hung up the phone feeling very sad. Two weeks ago on the day Etta went into the hospital, I dropped by to take her some blueberry scones. She was delighted. But she looked awful. Etta was sitting up in her wheelchair and was pasty-white in her face. "Barbara," she said with sincerity in her voice. "I'm tired. I can't go on like this."
"I know you're tired, Etta. I would be too."
"I just feel so weary. It feels like too much."
"Yes. I think it would..." I waited for several minutes just to give her room to collect her thoughts and to let her know that I was listening.
"I don't know what to do."
"Do you think there is something you should do, Etta?"
She looked at her hands in her lap. "No. I can't think of anything."
I wished I could have done something for her then--anything that could have helped her. Perhaps my listening and being someone she could say that to was enough. "Etta, you've done so well for such a long time. And it has to have been very hard."
"Yes, I did do well for a long time. But now I'm tired."
"I know." I cast about for something to say and stopped myself from saying something trite just to alleviate my dis-ease. "I don't know what to tell you, Etta. But I do know that God knows when it is time. We can be sure that He knows when to take you and we can trust Him to do that at the right time."
"Yes, I know that Barbara, and I'm glad we can trust Him that way."
She caught herself suddenly. "But I don't like being blue. Here--you tell me about you now." I took her cue and regaled her with stories for the next 10 minutes, giving her something to laugh about. She was so happy to see me and thanked me repeatedly for dropping in to see her. "It means so much, Barbara."
It certainly means more to me than she could ever know.

I am soon to lose a dear, sweet friend who has been an inspiration to me. Even with having to sit in a recliner chair for the last 8 years, I've only twice heard her make a negative comment about it. Mostly, she laughs when I see her and say, "Well, I'm still alive!" I always say, "Well, that's more fun, isn't it?" and we both chuckle.

Please say a prayer for Etta. She is such a dear soul and I will be very sorry to see her go. But I also know that it is time and she is ready. It comes to every single one of us. We just each need to be ready and live in such a way that we will be fully alive until we die. Few people live that way. Etta has.