This week’s blog started writing itself on Monday while I sat in a Methodist church listening to a eulogy. It was delivered by the daughter of Althea Preiss. You might know her as Daphne, as for the past 28 months, I often wrote about her using a pseudonym. Not only did we love and adore “Daphne” and loved looking after her, but we enjoyed being part of the inexplicable wonder of her journey here. The best part, is that her daughter Michelle, became one of my most treasured friends, and I am really battling to find the right words to describe what a privilege this whole experience was.
So, I’m going to piggy-back on Michelle’s eulogy … and then add my own bits. Try and keep up please, this is higher grade reading.
“On the 12th of April 2022, I checked Mom into the Milpark Hospital as her health had been declining rapidly, and she had begun to fall more often. After a week of tests, Mom’s specialist physician took me aside and said that he was sorry, but that mom had cancer in her abdomen, and it was – to quote him – extensive.
Once discharged from the hospital, I took Mom back to my home so that we could discuss her diagnosis and the way forward. And as Mom always said, get our souls back into our bodies.
Mark (this is the brother who lives in Holland) arrived soon afterwards. A bit later that day, Mom took one final traumatic fall, permanently losing her ability to stand or walk. Mark checked Mom into the Sandton Mediclinic where the medical team could not get mom’s pain under control. It was brutal and harrowing for Mark and me to witness. We became hyper vigilant to her every move, her every grimace, her every breath. Three highly specialised doctors, and a senior hospice sister subsequently told us that Mom had between five days to a week to live.
There is something very primal in you that irrevocably shatters when you are told that your mom is dying.
Mark and I decided that we did not want Mom to die in a hospital and so took her to the Sunninghill Recovery Lodge. The owner, and now one of my closest friends, Ann-Magret, opened the door of the ambulance and held out her arms to me. It is going to be ok, I thought. Little did I know that it would be – for a time – more than okay.
Mom was entrusted into the arms of an exceptional, exceptional team at the Lodge, under the guidance of the compassionate, emotionally intelligent, loving, and often very funny Ann-Magret.
Mom was placed in a beautiful, bright, airy, and sunshine filled room. From her bed she could see the green grass, the flowers and the trees, a sparkling pool, and the unique much-loved blue of the African sky. As this is Jozi, so she could of course also hear the screeching of the hadedas, and the occasional hoot of a taxi.
Mark and I sat at mom’s bedside as we prepared ourselves as best we could for her passing. Ann Marget organised for her Minister to attend to mom, and she was given holy communion. As the days turned into a week, and then two, Mark contacted the palliative care doctor who said it would be “short weeks”. I still said to Mark, what is a short week?
Around about this time, my wonderful wise friend and housekeeper Elizabeth, who is here today, said to me “Michelle, only God will decide when your mom will pass away”. And so, in His great wisdom, God considered moms’ spark, determination, resilience, fighting spirit, positive mindset and grit and graced us with 27 more months with mom. This chapter in moms life’s journey has been a rollercoaster, with times of absolute devastation and despair but also laughter, happy birthdays complete with singing, cake and balloons, copious cups of tea, Christmas lunch with Terry, Abby, Becky and Tracy Lithgow, daily visits by Sally her Yorkie, watching the Boks win and the King’s inauguration, far too many you tube videos of the violinist Andre Rieu, moms craving for lambshank and lamb chops, then baked potatoes and most recently ice cream, as well as reconnecting with old friends and family, and the forging of new friendships.
The extra 27 months baffled the medical team and can only be attributed to the exceptional care that mom received at the Lodge. Mom’s main carer was Nthabiseng who was remarkable at managing not only moms care, but who mom was and how mom engaged with the world. Nthabi you are an exceptional, extraordinary person, friend, and carer. Please stand so that we can thank you and honour you for your expert care, and for your dedication and love for mom.
This is where I want to butt in, and remind you as you read this, that Althea was exceptionally ill but one hundred percent lucid. Due to her type of cancer, she was mostly bedbound, and in fact, the last time she left her bed was 25 December 2022. She did not get out of bed for 23 whole months! During those 23 months, she was only comfortable in one position. When you study pressure care, they teach you that bedsores start forming within 20 minutes of people being sedentary. Althea, throughout her 27 months here, did not have one single sore. This incredible team, with Nthabiseng as the one that tended to her most days, made sure of this.
Nthabiseng, then rose and the church filled with applause as they honoured this incredible woman whose love for her patients knows absolutely no bounds.
“Please may the following people also stand so that we can honour and thank you too
- Olida – you are one in a million.
Often, I would arrive in moms’ room and Olida and mom would be hand in hand, discussing matters of great or small importance but always with love and a certain intimacy that only true friendships hold. “
- Nobuhle
- Bongiwe
- Obakeng
- Talent
- Thelma,
- Sarah,
- Leonard, and last but certainly not least
- George
I would also like to pay tribute to the carers and team not here today:
- Kundai
- Chef Dylan
- Eddie
- Esther
- Xoliswa
- Patience
- Prince
- Godfrey
- Remember
- Prayer
As well as Storm.
Words can’t convey the immense gratitude and love that I have for each of you. You not only cared for mom, but you cocooned me in love and care when I needed it the most.”
Michelle then continued with the eulogy telling tales of her amazing mom, who had a successful business, loved her grandkids, adored her husband and had many friends. She also thanked the incredible palliative care team lead by the incredible Dr Ed Schutze, who never ceases to amaze us with his ability to share his humour, humility and exceptional wisdom with us so freely. Dr Kylin, who works in Ed’s team, was Althea’s favourite gentle doctor and Althea simply adored her.
Michelle also thanked Alan, our wonderful hairstylist, who comes with specialised equipment to wash and dry hair of bedbound patients. He became a close friend and as Althea got sicker and sicker, he would often pop into my office and with tears in his eyes say“ You told me not to get attached, but I did, now what?”
Finally, I wish to express my gratitude to two very special beings. One is Sally, my mom’s yorkie. The power of animals to heal reflected in Sally every day, not only lifting my moms’ spirits but patients and visitors alike. Sally offered unconditional love and companionship to my mom no matter how she felt or where she was in her journey.
Of course, again, my immense gratitude to Ann Margret, Nthabi, Olida, and her team of carers who will now join me here to sing their farewell to mom.
And now, I cannot type without crying. When my dear dad died two years ago on September 13 2022, most of my team went to the funeral (everyone except those who were working.) At the funeral the team sang a song in honour of my dad. Althea heard about this, and the very next day told Nthabi that she would like to hear what was sung. The entire team gathered in front of her bedroom and sang to the song to her. On other occasions, Althea would have strange requests of songs to be sung to her and the team would willingly oblige. So, at her funeral it was a profound moment when her most cherished carer, Nthabi, went to the stage and led the song. It was beautiful, in a way that only African voices are. You feel it in your bones, your soul, your very marrow. After the song, Nthabi said into the microphone, “I will miss you Mommy”.
And she will. And we will. We will, so very, very much.