Chapter 45
Death by Morphine
Mariam was a Holocaust survivor.
When Mariam was ten, she and her sister were two of many German Jewish children who were saved by the Kindertransport (1938-1939). They were placed on a train and shipped off to Britain, where they never saw their parents again.
Dear DD was the caregiver for this lovely lady for a time. Mariam was a mathematician who knew about numbers but didn't know how much money she had and didn't care. It just came to her. She apparently had enough, as she was in a retirement home and had BOUGHT her apartment. On top of that, they charged her $5,000 to stay there and be given care. Plus, she had private caregivers.
DD was her caregiver on the night shift. In the evenings, they would go to the roof and watch the sunset, where Mariam would tell stupid jokes, and they would both laugh.
When Mariam was 16, the school hired her as their Mathematics teacher. From there, she moved to another teaching position and never wondered from where her next job would come. She had mathematical proof in her name that she and DD found reference to on the Internet.
She had a fascinating experience with non-repeating patterns. A company wanted a design on their toilet paper, and they decided that Mariam's technique with non-repeating patterns could prevent the pages from sticking together.
The toilet paper company eventually went out of business, but Mariam kept a few rolls of the paper. Friends would want some for a keepsake, and she would give them a piece. Sadly, she said, she left the toilet paper rolls behind when she moved from Britain to the U.S.
Mariam had Multiple sclerosis, a condition she had for years with little effect on her except she was unsteady on her feet, thus the caregivers in case she fell. It was not a terminal illness.
However, hospice killed her.
We view hospice helpers as angels. Many are, some are not. A nurse in charge thought she was in pain and decided she needed morphine; thus, she suggested Hospice care.
Mariam had stated she would rather have pain than be drugged. A doctor on the premises declared her terminal. Her medical advocate held out for a time but eventually bowed to their sage advice and gave permission to place her in hospice. The nurse reassured DD, the caregiver, that they would never give Mariam more morphine than she needed. Her only family was two nieces who lived in Britain. They loved her, but they were reassured by Mariam's living facility that she was being tenderly cared for.
However, the following day, after being placed in hospice, her bed was gone, replaced with a hospital bed.
"Where's my bed?" Mariam asked.
Mariam didn't know what hospice was. DD tried to explain. "I'm not ready to die," she said, "I don't want hospice."
DD complained to the staff that Mariam was being over-medicated.
Within days, mouth swabs they use on a dying patient because they can't swallow appeared on her bureau.
Morphine suppresses breathing and can cause anxiety. Thus, patients are given a "cocktail" that contains not only morphine but an anti-anxiety drug that is so powerful it is used in mental institutions to calm out-of-control patients.
DD was home on her day off when Mariam died. But she got the call and has never taken a permanent client since.
After moving to the United States, Mariam visited Britain. Although the orphanage was gone, a tree she remembered from childhood was still there. She photographed it, and it was a cherished picture on her wall.
It was a dreary picture of a lone tree on the horizon of a mound, not something someone would feel worth keeping, but it was a treasure to Mariam.
We don't know what happened to it.
Mariam is loved and remembered by our family--although--I never met her, and now I hope by you. Gone but not forgotten.
If you are a writer you might enjoy my other blog, The Best Damn Writer's Blog on the Block.
https://www.bestdamnwritersblog.com/
