fabrisse | Entries tagged with mom

Mom died around 11 a.m.

The nurse suggested not watching her being taken to the hearse, so I'm here typing this out. She made it to 90 years and 6 months, so she had a long life and an interesting one. Interesting both in the sense of "living in interesting times" and in the "life is what you make it" interpretation.

Thank you all for your support. I have calls to her surviving friends and family to make. Sis is splitting up the list. I'll probably call some of you that I know in real life tomorrow.

It means they think Mom's in her final days. I gave her morphine for the first time to help her breathe.

I'm alone all day with my mother. The hospice service has been fantastic. They've made certain that I could go to my doctor's appointment [Yea! Antidepressants!] and someone, whether nurse, CNA, chaplain, or social worker is scheduled to come by every day except Sunday. It helps.

Sis will take the night shift tomorrow night, maybe Saturday night, too. I'm looking forward to my own room for the night(s).

I had two long pieces that I meant to write this week. The first, on Monday, would have been about the evacuation from Vietnam which happened on February 12 and the second would have been yesterday talking about Mom and Dad's first date. But I haven't the bandwidth at the moment.

We found out yesterday that dementia!Aunt doesn't remember having been in Savannah for a week. She didn't remember it the day after they returned home.

I love you all and appreciate your notes and messages. Huge hugs.

My uncle called me a good hostess. My dementia!aunt physically threatened me. They've just left for the airport. I'm relieved. I'm a little conflicted.

A volunteer who works with the hospice will come sit with Mom tomorrow while I have my doctor's appointment. With luck, by COB tomorrow, I'll have my new reading glasses, my antidepressants, and about 4 hours where I'm not making certain Mom is okay.

Mom should be home in about half an hour. The Hospice care people have been better about communicating than the hospital has been. Neither has been perfect and I've lost my temper at least twice today with people running in the streets. Apparently the local plantation gave permission for a marathon or 1/2 marathon. I'm furious.

UPDATE: Mom's home. We have the oxygen compressor set right. I gave her a mouth swab with Dr. Pepper on it. It's the one thing she's been begging for.

We're going to have new houseguests on Thursday for two days. and possibly a cousin visiting come next Sunday. None of them have dementia, so that's good.

First of all, I've talked with friends today. I'm fine.

Secondly, I answered all the questions for hospice care, signed the paperwork, and cried a little.

Thirdly, I was left alone for two hours with a sundowning Alzheimer's patient.

Fourthly, Sis informed me that she had to get work done this weekend and everything to do with getting Mom home from the hospital including organizing neighbors to help us move some furniture, arranging delivery of the medical products we'll need, and beginning to care for Mom would be on me because she just won't have time.

I repeat: AAARRRGGGH!!!!

I'm waiting for the gardeners to leave so that I can put the dogs out on the porch, thus minimizing the amount of poop needing to be picked up when we get home this evening.

I'll know more about Mom then.

ADA became law in 1990. It's not perfect. But the law itself, granting the right to accommodation for disability has been around for over 30 years at this point.

This house is a decade old. When Mom, Dad, and Sis arrived the front steps had no railings. With two people over 85, a sister who might visit on a cane, and Sis being over 50 putting up railings seemed the right way to go.

A gurney can, just about make it up those brick steps with the railings up, but the EMTs would not be in optimal positions. Still, the steps are narrow enough that I'm not certain it would have worked with the railings down.

A downside to open plan houses is that they have to have halls that are wide enough for a gurney or a wheelchair, but no one is required to measure the space around the kitchen island, for instance. So, Mom had to be rolled onto a sling, which would probably have been the first step anyway, but then carried by the EMTs and her daughters through the entire first floor, through the front door, and down the front steps to the waiting gurney.

How the builder got away with putting in a front door that couldn't accommodate a gurney, I don't know. I know that the contractor was building for his own use which may be a loophole in the law. All I know is that it added some precious time to getting her onto the gurney when time is the one thing no one has with a stroke.

Sis calls her best friend on Sunday morning. As she was taking the dogs out, she heard a groan from Mom's room. Mom was having a full blown stroke.

I called 911. Sis tried to get her in a comfortable position and locked the dogs on the porch.

We both cleaned her up. I had to lift her onto the bed a bit better. I left a key with the neighbors so that they can feed the dogs if we're not back in time for doggy dinner. Sis and I both had to help the EMTs get her on the gurney by carrying her through the house on a special sling. (My rant about ADA compliance will come when I am not typing one fingered.)

If anyone has sent me an email in the last week, I'm sorry. I substituted daily last week and my exhaustion level was through the roof. I'll check here, and I will let everyone know when I'm back online at home.

UPDATE:

The X-RAY showed a big clot in Mom's brain. The only hospital in town that can do the procedure is another one, not affiliated with her preferred hospital. We are waiting for the ambulance to take her there. We'll follow.

SECOND UPDATE:

Mom can't have the procedure she was brought here for. The area of damage is too big. She's coherent. She can grasp with her right hand, but her left side is immobile. As difficult as Mom can be, her iron will may help immensely with rehabilitation, if we can keep her optimistic about it

Sis is with Mom right now. I've come home for the fortnightly family Zoom call. Mom's there at least one more day, which means Sis will be teaching tomorrow and I'll be the one in the hospital with her.

The nurse tried to tell me, essentially, that it was our fault that we hadn't spoken to Mom's doctors. They'd apparently come by around 8:30 this morning. I pointed out that we'd been there for seven hours yesterday, constantly told the hospitalist and the doctors would be coming by and they never did. We were told that someone would call us with an update after the doctors had seen her and no one did. I could have stayed another half hour with them, but my temper was getting the better of me.

A close friend of my sister's suggested we talk to the social worker to see what Mom is eligible for in the way of personal attention from Medicare. I just need someone to check on her while I'm teaching next week. Seriously, someone coming by for an hour is it. If we can get a student to do it, that's fine.

The biggest problem may be dietary adjustments. I can cook to any diet. No question. Getting Mom to actually eat a low sodium, low cholesterol diet is another matter. She makes faces when I suggest green vegetables. She won't eat any kind of bread without butter, ditto potatoes. Like me, she abhors margarine. Unlike me, she doesn't think that olive oil tastes great and works as well.

I like to cook. I don't mind adapting recipes. But being told things don't taste right because there's not enough salt -- which has already happened -- in not conducive to my blood pressure staying steady.

I may need a rah-rah week next week. The goal is to meditate for at least 10 minutes and take one twenty minute walk a day, with or without dogs. My sanity and good health have to stay intact.

Urgent care sent us to the ER because Mom's in Afib. We haven't been seen other than to have another EKG done in the triage area. Can this day be over?

UPDATE: It's about 1 a.m. Sis and I were allowed to leave around 11. We stopped and got fast food and brought it home, made sure the dogs went out, etc.

Mom was waiting on a CAT scan with contrast. She hasn't been admitted to the hospital, but is in a single room in the ER. The chances seem good that she'll have an angioplasty before they let her come home.

Giving her oxygen improved some things.

That's about as much as I can handle right now. I'm going to go crash in my bed with a dog (I hope).

Current Mood: tired

Mom spent all weekend at the hospital in a bed in the emergency room. Blood oxygen issues were just one of the fun problems along with shingles, possible kidney or urinary tract infection, and fluctuating blood pressure.

The ER told us to expect her home yesterday and she felt abandoned because we didn't go into see her. Sis and I are both furious because it was nearly impossible to get updates -- and promises to call us weren't honored at all -- which meant we didn't go in because we kept expecting the call to say "come pick her up."

It didn't help that they didn't tell us that she'd been put on oxygen, not yesterday but SATURDAY. Again, they said they didn't have time to give us information, but would call us back, but never did.

The weekend was frustrating.

To call me a glorified babysitter today would be a total misuse of the word "glorified." *sigh

I chose this school after realizing how close it was to where I live, but it's poorly marked on a side road which made it difficult to find. I'm glad I left so early.

Still, it's money coming in.

Mom had a couple of absence episodes yesterday, but refused to let me take her to the emergency room. After I got home from the school, I got a call from Sis. She had another incident today, and Sis managed to get her agree to go the emergency room. I'm taking care of the dogs. Sis will keep me apprised.

ETA: Mom has shingles. She also has a major UTI and a possible kidney infection for which they're giving her IV antibiotics. No one can figure out her wildly fluctuating blood pressure. On the plus side, her CAT scan doesn't show a new stroke. She's in the hospital at least overnight while they run more tests.

The doctor originally wanted to send Mom home yesterday.

She spiked a fever in the night and her blood pressure readings became so erratic, that I am currently sitting with her in the ICU. Had it happened at home, I’m not certain Sis or I would have noticed because there’s nothing to monitor her there.

Mom's in the hospital. She thought she had food poisoning -- and may yet be right about that -- but there was all sorts of effluvia at various points today. I tried to call her doctor's office to see if they had an appointment they could give her, but the nurse said she needed to go to the emergency room.

The thing is, I'd answered the phone. The nurse said, "she needs to go to the emergency room." Imagine our surprise when another voice chimed in with, "I will not. I don't need to." The nurse then tentatively asked, "Is that Fabi's mom?"

Mom was mortified for about five seconds because she assumed it was Sis on the line. Anyway, the nurse convinced her to go. I got her there. 7 hours later they admitted her.

She has a massive infection which they think is a UTI. The chances are reasonable that the infection caused her various issues, but it could be that there was food poisoning as a proximate cause.

Sis was very relieved that I was available. This is why I gave up my job. The irony is, I had a job interview scheduled for this afternoon, but the interviewer had to reschedule at the last minute which left me free to get Mom to the hospital.

Mom spent her second night in the hospital. She's going to need two back braces, one for day and one for night. The one they fitted her with yesterday caused her more pain than not having it -- her physical therapist said it was hitting in all the wrong places -- and Sis and Dad can't find a doctor to tell them what's going on. The nurses were friendly, but vague on things like how long she might need to stay there.

This is definitely a "thank heaven for Medicare situation." It's also a "thank heaven for VA." As the spouse of a military man who qualifies, she apparently gets a little bit of assistance from them, too.

Since they're planning a major move -- to Savannah, GA for Sis' new job -- I may be needed. If it's after July 1, I may get paid family/medical leave through the District. It's still a little confusing as to whether that's just when the PFML department at my agency starts collecting the tax from employers or whether payments will also start on that date.

Driving across country, in the summer, with two dogs is not my ideal summer vacation, but they could also need me to look after Mom while the move is going on (possibly sitting on her to make certain she doesn't try to help by lifting a sofa on her own). Los Angeles or Savannah in the summer is my idea of hell, but family has to come first.

First bit: Please go read

ladyofastolat's post titled Of the Rings of PowerPoint and the Third Age. Everyone has been to the type of meeting she describes at the beginning.

Second bit and/or bob: As always, I like to commemorate an anniversary on this day. This is the date my father got back from his last tour in Vietnam. He swears he'll get over the jet lag soon. I'm lucky that he's still with us, but after 40 years, I still remember greeting him at the airport with "We just heard that Da Nang fell." His answer was, "Then that's the end." By the end of April, he was right.

Article which prompted everything below is here.

I'll start by saying that I don't have children. However, like most of us, I was a child at one point, and I remember growing up.

When I was 5 I went to kindergarten. The school, Ashlawn, was three or eight blocks away depending upon the route. My mother walked the three block version, which included a short trip through some public greenery on the edge of the playground, for about a week before school was due to begin. The night before the first day of school, she asked me if I wanted her to come with me. I replied that I was a big girl, and I walked to school by myself.

Part of me regrets not having her walk me to school the first day, mostly because she never offered again. But I also remember how proud of myself I was for being "a big girl."

Mom made certain I knew all the smart things: never get in a car with an adult you don't know, never tell anyone where you live (other than a policeman if you're lost), come straight home. I took these to heart. In late October or early November, it began to rain while I was at school. I had my rain coat, boots, and umbrella, so I was prepared, but no one realized how windy it was going to be or how much the temperature would drop. I began to walk home. My umbrella blew inside out as soon as I got out of the trees and the wind felt like it was going right through me. At the first of two street crossings, a woman stopped and asked if I wanted a lift home. She knew my name, but I didn't recognize her -- not for sure -- so I told her that I didn't take rides from strangers. I completed my route home.

The woman, whose name I don't think I ever knew, had called Mom as soon as she got home. Praised her for training me so well, and warned her that I was still over a block away and very cold and wet. Mom says she debated whether to come get me. She didn't. Instead, when I got home, grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup were waiting to warm me from the inside out. Mom was never big on praise, but that day I got a lot of it -- especially for turning down the ride.

We moved to London just before first grade. Because the bus stop was on a busy street near a three lane roundabout, Dad walked me to the bus stop every morning and Mom picked me up from it every afternoon. But there were still things I did on my own, ranging from walking two blocks to the pillar box to post letters to deciding what books I wanted to read. (I attribute being able to read at a 10th grade level at age 7 to the fact that neither parent tried to censor my reading.) Third grade, I was in small town America and walked my little sister to kindergarten every morning. We walked to the bus stop in 4th and 1st grades. We walked to and from school -- a mile each way -- from my 5th - 8th grades. We also had a paper route, went to summer camp for 10 weeks every year, and were allowed to go to the movies by ourselves. With my paper route money, I bought theater tickets. I saw the Mormon Tabernacle Choir standing room only when I was 12. I went to see plays, too.

At 15 I went to boarding school. I found out much later that my parents had signed the permission slip for me to smoke. They figured I might try it some time and didn't want me to get in trouble for it. Beyond that, I was shocked when I wasn't allowed to attend an evening movie or go to a restaurant on my own in downtown Richmond. I found a friend who was willing to see the Olivier Wuthering Heights with me, fortunately, and I had to fight to be allowed to attend the Nutcracker on my own at the Richmond Mosque (theater name, not religious establishment).

In Belgium, at 17, I discovered the Musee du Cinema. I saw Il Trovatore standing room only. Hell, I went to Paris for the day by myself (six hours each way by train which left me about seven hours to explore the city). Not one thing I did there was something I'd done before. But I was trusted to figure out public transportation on my own, trusted to call if I had a problem (pre-cellphone: I think we used tin cans and string back in the Dark ages), and trusted to stick to the schedule I'd discussed.

One of my fellow alumni came up to me at the reunion I attended and said, "I didn't appreciate you enough. You were the only one of us to go out and have adventures." He also thanked me for introducing him to Gilbert & Sullivan which became a lifelong love of his.

The thing that I want to emphasize most out of all this: the crime rate was much, much higher back then. Washington DC was the murder capital of the country when I was going to the theater on my own at age 12. If it was an evening performance, my parents would pick me up afterward, but if it was a matinee, I was trusted to find my way home. I was trusted to buy ingredients for the dinner I was cooking from the time I was 10, even though it involved crossing a major street with no cross walk. That's what I remember most, being trusted. And that's what I worry the kids today aren't getting.