Aunt Dot passed away today. She was 84.

I received a call from one of my aunts this morning, telling me that Aunt Dot wasn’t able to tolerate being off the respirator this morning, and so the decision had been made to remove it entirely and let her pass. They were waiting to notify all of the family and give people the chance to come to the hospital before pulling the tube.

I joined much of the family at her bedside in the hospital, all of us saying our goodbyes and sharing a few funny stories. My aunts told me they found a bunch of garden hoses in Aunt Dot’s apartment, and we laughed that we were probably all getting garden hoses for Christmas. Her guest bedroom contained bags of junk that she had purchased when the downtown Lazarus department store closed years ago. Those trinkets were still being used to provide gifts, and the beginnings of the Christmas gift bags were sitting in the room, too, with names already on the bags.

The time came, and the tube was removed around 2pm. Some of the family thought this would be a longer process, and they had gone downstairs to get coffee. The nurse poked her head out of the room and told me, “She’s not making much effort to breathe. You’d better get everyone up here quickly, because this won’t take long.” Frantic cell phone calls were made, but only one aunt, a friend, and myself were present when the monitor displaying all of her vital signs showed nothing but zeros. The others rushed in, and the nurse followed behind them. After over a minute of no life signs on the monitor, it was turned off and the nurse left us. All was still, and she was gone.

I had never seen death before. I watched her skin take on a pale blue tint. After a few minutes, it sounded like she took a big gasp. Involuntary reflexes, we were told. Another followed about 30 seconds later, and the family began discussing funeral plans. One of my aunts smiled and said, “She’s probably up at the pearly gates right now, banging on the door and demanding to know when she gets her lunch.”

After several minutes, and a particularly loud gasping sound, I looked back at Aunt Dot. Those involuntary reflexes sure were coming regularly, I thought, and she didn’t look so blue. I placed my fingers on her wrist, and I thought I felt a pulse. The doctor then came in to officially pronounce her dead, but after listening for heart sounds, she said, “She has a heartbeat. Turn the monitor back on.” Even the nurse was surprised.

Somehow Aunt Dot was back from the dead. Normal heart rhythm, normal respirations – our eyes went wide and laughter erupted in the room. One of my second cousins, wiping away tears and with a big smile, said “Of course! She wasn’t leaving without tricking us all one more time! She knew we’d scramble up here, spilling our coffee and looking like fools.”

Everyone in the room smiled and felt so much more relaxed. The heavy weight of her death was removed, and now we again waited for her to leave us. Somehow, it was OK now. It’s like she knew we were there, and she got her last say, without saying a word.

I had to leave to feed Mira, so I wasn’t there when she died at 4:20. For real this time. She never regained consciousness, and she was made as comfortable as possible for an easy passing. This was really the best possible outcome. She didn’t have to go to a nursing home (which she would have hated), and she didn’t have to languish in pain while the lung cancer slowly devoured her. If there is any such thing as a good death, hers would probably qualify.

I didn’t get along with her. She enjoyed teasing me as a child, and I resented it. She did the same thing to Cordy, and I still resented it. But as an adult, I at least understood part of her gruff exterior. She had two children of her own – one was stillborn, and one died shortly after birth due to massive congenital deformities. She will soon be buried next to those children she never got to raise. She loved children, but she had trouble showing love. Even though she made me so angry at times, I will miss her.

And even though she’s gone now, I think we’ll still be passing out her incomplete gift bags to everyone this Christmas. I wonder if I’ll get a garden hose?

1982 – Aunt Dot giving me some weirdly painted ceramic piggy bank

Ah yes, my great aunt, Dot. You’ve read stories about her, rolled your eyes with me when discussing her gifts, and fumed in unison over her taunting Cordy. But today, this post isn’t about her antics, it’s about her.

On Monday or Tuesday, we’re not sure which, Aunt Dot fell in her apartment. She lives by herself, and although she has one of those Life Alert “help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” necklaces, she wasn’t wearing it. She wasn’t discovered until mid-day on Wednesday, and she couldn’t remember how long she had been on the floor. An evening in the emergency room resulted in the relief of finding no broken bones, but they did find she had a bladder infection and pneumonia, and her recently developed diabetes was out of control. She was admitted to the hospital.

Thursday and Friday involved a lot of tests. Her right carotid artery (the one that supplies blood to your head) is totally blocked, but we knew this. Her left carotid artery (that’s been doing the work for both of them) was discovered to be partially blocked. We thought that was probably the worst of the news, and she would likely need to move to assisted living from now on to ensure someone was nearby in case she fell again.

But it got worse.

Turns out the dark shadows the lung x-rays picked up were pneumonia, at least on the right side. The left side, though, was a tumor, encompassing all of the upper part of her left lung. They needed to do a biopsy to determine if it was malignant or not.

Today they did the procedure, but it didn’t go well. While lightly sedated, Aunt Dot stopped breathing. The medical team quickly got a tube down her throat and hooked her up to a respirator. She was then moved to ICU.

The doctor told us he’s 99% sure it’s malignant, and this lung cancer is starting to grow into her bronchioles. It can’t be treated, because the treatment alone would kill her. If she didn’t have all of these other problems, he’d give her 6 months to a year to live. But with all of her other health problems, including emphysema, she has at best 3-6 months, but could die any day. How this giant tumor had been missed by her primary doctor at her regular doctor’s visits is baffling to me.

I saw Aunt Dot briefly today after the biopsy procedure. She was semi-conscious and fighting the tube in her throat, so they had to fully sedate her again. It was hard to see her like this. Yes, she’s been a pain to me my entire life, but she’s still family. She’s my grandmother’s sister. That tough old woman, who was very intimidating to me as a child, looked so tiny and frail in that hospital bed. I stood by her side, watching her squirm and twist in a half-daze, and I didn’t know what to say. I finally reached out, touched her hand and said, “It’s OK, Aunt Dot. We’re here, and you’ll be fine.” Somewhere through the haze, I think she heard me, because for a moment she calmed down. The part about being fine wasn’t true, but it was all I could think of in that moment.

In the morning, the medical team will try to remove the tube. If she can breathe on her own, she’ll be moved out of ICU and eventually to a nursing home. If she can’t, they’ll give her 24 hours more and try again. She has a DNR order, so if a second try wouldn’t work, we would let her pass without any further intervention.

While I don’t want the last days of her life to be drawn out and painful, I do hope she will regain consciousness and will be given the time to put everything in order before she dies. I wouldn’t mind having a little more time to talk to her, too. One of my aunts told me today that Aunt Dot was so happy that I visited her on Thursday, bringing Mira with me. The entire reason I visited her today was to bring Mira to her to lift her spirits again, but I arrived right when she had stopped breathing. I hope she can see Mira at least one more time.

And I can’t believe I’m writing this, but I’m finding myself a little sad that Christmas just won’t be the same this year without another damn nutcracker and a bag of stale cashews.