Suttenten | Yuko Takeda, Dean of the Faculty of Nursing and Medical Care
2021.03.09
The state of having completely lost one's money and possessions (from Kotobank, an online dictionary)
These were the last words my mother left behind.
Three summers ago, she fell into a critical condition due to pneumonia and dehydration. Although she barely survived, her lung function had declined due to an underlying disease, and she required in-home oxygen.
She went through repeated cycles of miraculous recoveries and conditions that made everyone think she wouldn't make it through the summer... or the year... but she did, and after the new year began, she was able to celebrate her 90th birthday. I truly felt and reaffirmed the importance of care.
During this time, she also had a minor fracture from a predictable fall, and her hospitalization for rehabilitation was subject to visitation restrictions due to COVID-19. Our hopes for her rehabilitation were in vain; she fell while hospitalized, and her cognitive abilities declined due to the prolonged stay. Her primary physician must have thought that if she missed this chance, she would never be able to return home. She was discharged last June upon reaching a stable condition, and she began living with my sister. We introduced every possible service—day services, in-home medical care, nursing, rehabilitation, and bathing assistance—and for just over eight months, I would stop by on my way to or from work, sometimes staying overnight.
On nights when she was anxious about being alone, I would sometimes sleep on the sofa bed next to her nursing bed, holding her hand. Based on our experience with COVID-19, we shared a policy of not hospitalizing her no matter what, and we managed to overcome aspiration pneumonia, bladder infections, and several episodes of decreased consciousness. Due to her cognitive decline, she often made nonsensical remarks, but she was never pessimistic. We were sustained by her words, such as "I'm so happy" and "I want to be with you two a little longer," referring to her two daughters.
A week had passed since my mother became unable to swallow even when she ate, choking violently and requiring constant suctioning. She had stopped speaking clearly, but then she suddenly turned to my sister and said, "I'm glad it was here (at your house)" and "It's more than enough." When my sister tried to ask more, she uttered a single phrase: the "suttenten" from the beginning. Even when asked what she meant, she just repeated "suttenten" once more in a calm tone. After that, we could not make out any more meaningful words.
I believe she meant not that she had lost her money or possessions, but that her body, mind, and spirit were all spent. This humorous expression soothed the hearts of the family seeing her off.
After that
she continued to breathe quietly and passed away as we watched over her.
Although this is a diary, it is not a private one, but I found it difficult to write about anything else, so please allow me to have done my grief work here.
I am grateful to all of you who have read along.