Annie Bragg

It has been a year since that dreadful day, but the pain and emptiness hasn’t lessened. May 9th, 2017 and the devastation it brought still echoes through my mind and perhaps even my soul. On the day that Annie Bragg died, a part of me died as well and without her, life has less color. My grandmother was one those people that lit up a room, she was like a fireplace in that she was a warm and cheerful person. As a child, my greatest joy was staying at “Grammie’s” for the weekend where I would get the love and attention I didn’t get at home. Her house was a safe place of comfort and sanctuary away from my abusive father and eventually, it would be her that raised me to adulthood. Even with all of my issues emotional, behavioral and mental, she still loved me with all of her heart.

Everything I saw as flawed about myself she saw as beautiful and worthy of love. She didn’t let me throw any of my drawings out even the ones I made a mistake on. Even when I was at school if she went to the store she always brought me back something. I didn’t even need to ask. She always put me first and she always believed in me. “We were poor, but we had love”, a line of lyrics from one of her favorite songs by Loretta Lynn was an apt description of the bond between us. With the little money she had, she clothed me, nurtured me and gave me everything I ever needed. Her selflessness didn’t end or begin with me, if anyone needed help, she was glad to oblige.

Every day after school and every time I visited as a child, she had a radio playing old fashion country songs by Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and Hank Williams. Music was one of her favorite things, that and monkeys. She had a healthy collection of stuffed monkeys. But as loving and sweet as she was, she had a temper when angered and was a very very stubborn woman. Grandma hated going to the doctors, but her diabetes, high blood pressure, and glaucoma necessitated monthly visits. The real trouble began after she was admitted to the hospital with her first UTI which showed little to no symptoms. (Sepsis and Urinary Tract Infections) The infection had spread to her bloodstream which manifested itself with rigors, a fever, and vomiting. Her doctor administered antibiotics for a week until she was able to go home. After a visit to her physician, she prescribed cranberry pills for UTI prevention.

A couple of years later, she suffered a stroke which affected her left side and both of her legs. Sadly, she could no longer live at home and had to live in a nearby nursing home. My mom and I visited her every day and slowly we watched her become dull and unhappy. She was no longer the cheerful woman I had grown up with and she hardly ever smiled. It’s painful both emotionally and to the soul to watch something beautiful wilted and rot from the inside out like she did. Her decline was slow and cruel, reminding me much of the luna moth who can’t eat. Their beauty is short-lived, within a week their wings are dull and battered. Grandma’s appetite diminished over time, her stomach always felt full. It was just like her tray and for Grandma that was unusual. When she was well she could eat like you wouldn’t believe. I remember being mad that she ate all the coleslaw without me.

Her arms and legs shrunk until they were thinner than mine and my bones are tiny. She talked about how she wanted to go home each day we visited. She often got angry with us when we told her we couldn’t. Her dementia didn’t let her understand. No one knows how much I wanted to comfort her, to help her. Nothing I could say or do worked. I watched her will to live bleed from her for the next year until that fateful day. My aunt called to tell us that Grandma was rushed to a hosptial in the nearby town but at the time we without a way to get there. The doctor at first thought she had another stroke, but later determined that she had a UTI similar in severity to her first. He prescribed her antibiotics and fed them through an IV in her arm. Grandma languished in that hospital bed for 20 days and then sent her back. All of the progress she had made toward walking and moving herself around again was lost.

During her last week of life, she had lost the use of her legs and couldn’t sit up on her own. Seeing her so terrified broke my heart, the best I could do was lay down beside her and hold her hand, the same hand that held mine as a child when we crossed the street. The last day I saw her aware, they moved her into with the Hoyer lift and she no longer ate or drank. One of the saddest things I’ve ever heard he say was “I never thought I’d be like this.” The way she said it was so hollow and despondent. I broke down crying in front of her. Even with her own great pain, she took the time to try and comfort me. I shouldn’t have been the one comforted. Days prior, the nursing home doctor diagnosed her with tachycardia.

The next day, I woke up to the news that Grandma had been rushed to a different hospital. My aunt had visited with her and they were having a conversation over coffee. Grandma liked hers black and without sugar. All of a sudden, Grandma started vomiting and the nurse turned my aunt around suddenly. It was blood. We weren’t allowed to visit the day she was admitted as things were being set up and careful diagnosises were being made. I waited for more news and it came. The doctor gave my aunt the news that no one wants to hear. Grandma had sepsis and was in its final stages. The stage where organs fail and breathing becomes a great burden. They put her into a medically induced coma and intubated her so that she wouldn’t choke on her own blood.

Even though I didn’t get a chance to talk to her one last time, I was glad she was in a coma. Glad because she wouldn’t be terrified and aware of the tube down her throat or that death was near. The comfort care nurse gave her one to two days maximum. We got a ride there for the last two days of her life. I sat by her side and held her hand, dotting it with kisses. I sang a few songs softly into her ear and rested my head on her chest. A couple relatives I had’t seen in a long time were there visiting. I didn’t care. I wanted the nightmare to end. Sobs wracked my body and I cried so much my eyes were swollen and red. I visited again on her last day. It was no easier, my cousin tried to comfort me. It didn’t work. Before I left, I told her I loved her and that it was okay to go then I kissed her forehead one last time. At 3:31 P.M my aunt called and tearfully told us that she had passed, no death rattle, just peace.

Honestly, I blame the first hospital she was admitted to. If the doctor had put more care and effort into her diagnosis and treatment, she would have been with us a little longer. Instead, they basically slapped a band-aid on it and went on their merry way. With the knowledge I have now, it is obvious to me in hindsight, that she had sepsis when was admitted to the other hospital. It took a second hospital to diagnose her with sepsis, but by then it was far too late. Why do good people like her have to suffer? She didn’t deserve to die the way she did, no one does. Because of sepsis, I’m without the person I love most. She won’t be here to read my first book or to see me graduate college. One positive thing to take away from this tragedy is, that in Heaven she’s been made new. She can walk and eat what she wants without worry. In Heaven there is no pain, no fear, and no worry. Grandma is watching me through the Heaven’s biggest brightest window. I bet she’s great friends with Jesus.

I’ll see you again some day, Grandma. I love you. Screw sepsis.

Source: Sonya Church, Grand Daughter