The More Things Change.............

.........You know the rest.  WINK! WINK!  I don't have to tell you.  Well, okay.  I'll tell you.

After that interminably long Wednesday in the hospital with my mom, we both finally went to sleep.......much easier for Mom than for me, she was getting Dilaudid 1mg IV push every hour for 25 hours now.  Not me.  I was getting phone calls that went like this: 'Daddy is only doing math with us.' OR 'We are only doing Math.  Can't we do something fun?' ME:  'No.  It's Homeschool.  NOT Homefun.  You don't have fun when I'm home.  You are not allowed to have fun when Daddy is the teacher.' OR 'The dog pooped in his crate.  When are you coming home?' ME:  'Tomorrow.  Late.  Just let the pooh sit till I get there, ok?' 

I had spent most of the day talking with Physical Therapists, the Occupational Therapist, the Social Worker, my children (see above) and my mom attempting to get her to see that going to a rehab facility was the next logical step (again, no pun intended) for her.  By dinner time, she was as comfortable as she could be with the thought of going to rehab.  She had been encouraged by the OT, PTs, and Social Worker.  She had been promised everything except rose petals strewn on a red carpet when she arrived at the rehab facility.  And she was more comfortable with the idea of going to rehab than she was with the idea of going home and the very real prospect of being unable to care for herself.

 I had (remember those not very finely honed decision making skills) given up COKE ZERO the weekend before going to NJ.  I was in agony!  I finally fell asleep in the recliner in Mom's room, and I hear her calling my name.  I look at the clock.  It was 3:30am, and I had actually slept for 2 hours. 

MOM:  'Mare?' 

ME:  'Yes, Mom.' 

MOM:  'If I go to rehab, I won't have a private room.  I'll have a roommate.'

ME:  'Yup.'

MOM:  'I'd rather stay here in the hospital in a private room.'

ME:  'Hospitals are for sick people.  Rehab is where you go to learn how to take care of yourself.  It's time to go to rehab.'

MOM:  'I don't want a roommate.'

ME:  'Don't worry about it.  Your roommate doesn't want you either.  I'd guess that no one wants to have an accident that lands them in rehab.  It's going to be a whole big bunch of people who don't want to be there.  And they don't want roommates either.'

MOM:  'I'm not sure about going.'

ME:  (Under my breath) 'Knock me over with a feather.'  (Audibly) 'Mom, it's your decision.  Go to rehab and learn how to take care of yourself.  Or, don't go to rehab and go home and lie in bed and don't learn how to take care of yourself.  It's your decision.  This is my take on it.  If you ever intend to regain your independence, you should go to rehab.  But, it is your decision.'  Few seconds of silence.    'Are you in pain?  Do you need your pain medication?'

MOM:  'I'm in pain.  But I don't want to ask for my pain medication.'

ME:  'Why not?'(Seriously reconsidering the COKE ZERO decision)

MOM:  'I don't want them to think I'm a junkie.'

ME:  'They aren't going to think you are a junkie if you ask for your pain medication.  Now, if I asked for your pain medication, they would think I was a junkie, but they won't think that about you.'

MOM:  'Oh. Okay.  I'll ask.'

ME:  'Good.  You can tell me in the morning what your decision is about rehab.  Good night.'

To be continued........................................................................