Making Rounds with Oscar: The Extraordinary Gift of an Ordinary Cat - By David Dosa Page 0,41

I had to ask my doctor to send a physical therapist to help us. When the therapist arrived, she took one look around and asked why we didn’t have hospice involved. I was stunned. I remember calling up my sister that night and asking her why the therapist would ask us about hospice. It seems silly now, but honestly, none of us even considered that Mom was dying. The next day, I contacted our doctor and asked him about it. He told me he hadn’t even thought about hospice.”

The months of frustration had taken their toll. “I wish doctors would let people know that hospices are there for other things besides dying from cancer,” Gabriella said. “People hear the word hospice and go, ‘Oh, they’re terminal. They’re dying of cancer.’ But my mother isn’t dying of cancer. She has dementia.”

I felt sorry for the Matos family. It seemed particularly tragic that the family would have to learn about hospice through a random comment like that. But many doctors don’t consider hospice until the very end because they don’t understand the concept themselves. They don’t realize that hospice care isn’t limited to hanging a morphine drip at the end of life. It can be an indispensable resource, a well of support throughout. Hospice workers provide more than information on the physical act of dying; they offer practical and emotional guidance. Hospice can often provide the necessary custodial care and nursing support needed to keep patients at home as their diseases get worse, services that can actually sometimes extend a life.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through all of this,” I said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to help your mother pass peacefully.”

“We wanted to keep our mother at home, Doctor, honestly.” Gabriela spoke for the three of them.

I nodded. I understood their situation better than they might have imagined. Hearing their description of their mother’s unkempt home, I thought of my own mother-in-law and the last visit my wife and I had paid her. My wife and I appeared to be headed down an identical path to that of the family in front of me and their experiences left me with a sense of dread for what the days ahead might hold for the two of us.

“The good news is that your mother’s here right now and you’re with her,” I said to the Matos sisters. “That’s what counts.”

BACK IN MRS. MATOS’S ROOM a hospice nurse had arrived to evaluate her. She was not the only visitor, though. The darkness of the window reflected the unmistakable silhouette of a cat perched above the bed. Oscar had arrived. He ignored us, focusing on his patient instead. Then he settled in, turning himself around—once, twice, three times—before sitting down with his head on his paws. By the looks of it, he appeared to be staying.

Freddy noticed.

“Look, Mama, there’s a cat.”

I looked at the boy. For the first time his face was animated, excitement in his eyes.

“That’s Oscar,” I said.

“Does he live here?” the child asked, walking over to get a closer look.

“Yes, Oscar lives with all the other people on the floor.”

“What does he do?”

“Well, mostly cat things, but I guess he also takes care of everyone.”

“Will he take care of my grandma while she’s here?”

“Yes, Freddy, he will. Would you like that?”

Freddy thought for a moment before responding with a solemn yes.

I wondered if a five-year-old could truly comprehend what was going on. Could he grasp the finality of his grandmother’s situation? Probably not. My own son was just now starting to grapple with the idea of death. I recalled a recent conversation with Ethan while I was tucking him into bed. “Dad,” he asked, “when I die, will I go to college?”

Still, Freddy seemed relieved by the thought of a cat helping his grandmother. He offered his hand to the cat. Oscar sniffed at it and for a second I cringed, but Oscar didn’t seem bothered. He allowed the boy to pet him, and even seemed to enjoy it.

I guess I’ll never really understand cats.

The hospice nurse finished her assessment of Mrs. Matos and introduced herself to the daughters. I used this as my opportunity to leave, offering my good-byes. I knew I wouldn’t see them again.

As I left the room to take care of my own paperwork I heard a voice behind me.

“Doctor!”

I turned to see Caterina. “Thank you for your time, Doctor, but I have one last question. We have a fourth sister, Maria, who lives in California. She’s