There are some important omissions here, that might cast some light on her situation.
I assume her family can be subdivided into the caregivers who live with her, and those who do not live with her. It is important to know which group supports either alternative.
Caregivers can become exhausted, and/or unhappy with the behavior of the person being cared for. They may be unable or unwilling to provide more care at home.
Either group may have “false empathy”, projecting disability and discomfort on another person as they imagine it to be, not how it actually is. A good way around this, used by hospitals, is to frequently poll discomfort and pain of the patient, using a “one to ten” scale chart.
http://i.imgur.com/lN9bN5c.jpg
In either case, it is important that she get her paperwork in order, or it could turn into a family brawl. That is, her will, any family trust, her living will and resuscitate (or not) order, her (unsigned) power of attorney, (and with some research) her preferred hospital (differences between hospitals are becoming greater and can mean the difference between life and death.)
It is also important to know at what point, if any, she is willing to go to a nursing home or hospice.
The Last Leaf by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. (written 1831, when Holmes was 22. He was father to the famous Supreme Court Justice.
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o’er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
“They are gone!”
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said—
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago—
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
