.........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........................................................................
Does She Look Familiar?
Well, this is me...and I'm Always Right
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Have to start someplace, right?
This has been a difficult week for my mom (tri-malleolar fracture on Monday) yet an excellent week for her and me together. I do not remember us having an excellent week or even a good week in many, many years. My mom has always been strong and outspoken (a Mean Girl before there were mean girls), but when my dad passed away 19 years ago, the wind came right out of her sails. I think she was able to be bold and blustery because she always had my dad to hide behind at the end of the day.
When he died, she became a shell of her former self: emotionally, socially, and professionally. She left a job that she loved, sold her home which was near lifelong friends and in an area quite familiar to her, and moved 175 miles away to live with my sister, my brother in law (who is a saint, btw), and their young family. She lost contact with her old friends, stopped doing the things that she had loved doing, and began doing more and more to keep my sister's household running and her family on track. A 'more than full time' job under any circumstances.
When my two nieces were getting to the age where they were fairly independent, my mom began making friends and becoming involved in activities that she enjoyed. Right about this time, my sister and her husband announced that they would be adopting a baby from China. I guess they didn't want my mom having empty nest syndrome. Eighteen months later (give or take a few months), my mom found herself taking care of a 6 month old baby girl. Mom would have needed to achieve escape velocity in that 18 month 'paper work' period, but she did not; she had always had trouble with the thought process required to reach a decision. If the solution did not magically appear in front of her eyes, she clearly didn't know what to do. And, because the solution never did appear magically in front of her eyes, she never did know what to do (gives new meaning to the expression 'fly by the seat of your pants')......about anything. As a result, I had never learned how to make a decision. I usually 'found' myself in a situation, wondering how I had arrived there. It was only this past week's events that all the pieces in the puzzle of my life were finally put together.
The baby my sister and her husband brought home from China is now 9.5 years old, and my mom is her primary caregiver for all intent and purpose. Mom voices her unhappiness frequently regarding the fact that she 'doesn't have a life;' I now know that she does not know how to make a decision to change her situation. She has ideas, but she doesn't know how to act upon them. She becomes upset with herself for not acting on them or she becomes upset with herself because perhaps she has more than one option and she has no clue how to decide which is better. She is caught in a cycle of frustration. And has been for a very long time.
I have watched this, and I have come to the realization that the whole time I was growing up (and should have been taught how to make good decisions....or even just make decisions), she didn't teach me because she didn't know how to do this for herself. My mom was great at telling me what to do: Yes...no...this dress... those pants..... that blouse..... this boy...... not that boy..... those shoes..... this college....that major.....NO! NOT THAT BOY! My mom was great at telling me what to do. I was an incredibly compliant, fearful child and teenager. I complied. I did what I was told. Things probably would have turned out better if the person telling me what to do actually knew what she was doing, but, what the heck. I was trusting. Grown-ups were supposed to know what the $#%$ they were doing! I made some stupid decisions which were in hindsight in complete and total rebellion to what my mother wanted me to do. Stupid. Long term consequences. Very long term consequences. Missed Opportunities. Have I mentioned the long term consequences?
I digress.
As my anger at this began to rise to the surface (three years ago), I dealt with it my drastically cutting back on my communication with mom........phone conversations went from two or more times a day to twice a month or even once a month. My family and I visited much less frequently.....perhaps twice a year or less. Have I mentioned that I was angry?
On Monday of this past week, my mom broke her ankle and the fracture required surgery. Surgery was Tuesday afternoon (major snowstorm predicted), and when I woke on Tuesday morning, I knew that it was the right thing to do to be there. Which was weird -- but I knew it in my gut (or in my heart for you warm, fuzzy types). I made preparations to drive to NJ and stay with mom in her hospital room till her discharge which I was told would be Wednesday (the next day).
This is what happened: I spent three days with a 77 year old woman who was sad, crying, lonely, indecisive (some things never change), confused (and not all of it from the pain meds she was on), and the anger in me didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered on Wednesday afternoon when I sat on the side of her bed (and I wasn't anywhere near the 'bad' ankle so that wasn't why she was crying), and she cried that she didn't know what to do because she did not want to go back to my sister's house and work herself to death anymore running the household and not having a life for herself. She was even lucid enough in her desperation to mention that she could not physically do what she had been doing there (btw, she did everything), and she didn't know what to do about this. The only thing that mattered to me then was to comfort her and share with her what I had taught myself about decision making and the thought process that goes into it.....all those things that I had been angry with her for not teaching me. Through my tears, I said to her, 'Crap, Mom! I hate when people cry, and I have to deal with it. I wish you wouldn't cry.' We both laughed. And, probably for the first time in my life (I kid you not), we talked. I explained to her what to do so she could begin to identify the issues that she needed to address. And, she spent the afternoon doing that. And, I am convinced that the multi-milligrams of pain meds pushed in her IV only made things more clear for her. 'wink-wink'
I am so thankful and so glad that I was there for her. It was exhausting, but I am glad I was there. I cannot imagine how her panic and fear would have been even more awful had she been there alone in pain with all those emotions coming at her. I was so sad for her........so very sad. Relieved, though, that she was gaining some control.
I feel sad that I spent so much time the past three years being so angry with her. I do know, though, that my feelings are my feelings, though and the situation is what it is. Like having a fractured ankle: it is what it is. I am relieved that I never lashed out at her (well, I did once when the next door neighbors chopped down our privacy hedge appropos of nothing but that had nothing to do with the big issue) or told her what had made me SO angry.
I am so glad that she and I are on better footing now (no pun intended). I am so thankful that I was able to spend three days with her in the hospital........helping her brush her teeth, learning how to use the trapeze thing over her bed, using the walker, getting her coffee from the cafeteria, and having her fill me in on what the hell is going on with All My Children (what the hell is going on with AMC?). So much good happened.
I am mad at myself right now because although she and I spoke on the phone this morning, I lost track of the time tonight and forgot to call before she went to bed. I don't know where she was when I called at 8pm (hmmmmmmmm? Mom, where 'were' you?), but I will speak with her in the morning. I am glad that I gave her phone number to my aunt who is 85 years old......the two of them speak on the phone 3 or 4 times a day.
The point of all this? Maybe there isn't one. Or maybe it is this: On Wednesday night at about 11pm, when I wanted to pick up the phone and call my mom and tell her about the unbelievable day I had, I couldn't call her. I wanted to tell her how sad I had been, how good it was that she had made an important decision for herself (the decision to go to rehab); I knew that it was odd that I wanted to call my mom and tell her about what had happened between us. In the past, when I would call to talk to her, it was always about someone else or something else......never about her and me.
It doesn't make any sense, and it is almost impossible to explain except to say that I will hate it when I cannot talk to her any longer.
When he died, she became a shell of her former self: emotionally, socially, and professionally. She left a job that she loved, sold her home which was near lifelong friends and in an area quite familiar to her, and moved 175 miles away to live with my sister, my brother in law (who is a saint, btw), and their young family. She lost contact with her old friends, stopped doing the things that she had loved doing, and began doing more and more to keep my sister's household running and her family on track. A 'more than full time' job under any circumstances.
When my two nieces were getting to the age where they were fairly independent, my mom began making friends and becoming involved in activities that she enjoyed. Right about this time, my sister and her husband announced that they would be adopting a baby from China. I guess they didn't want my mom having empty nest syndrome. Eighteen months later (give or take a few months), my mom found herself taking care of a 6 month old baby girl. Mom would have needed to achieve escape velocity in that 18 month 'paper work' period, but she did not; she had always had trouble with the thought process required to reach a decision. If the solution did not magically appear in front of her eyes, she clearly didn't know what to do. And, because the solution never did appear magically in front of her eyes, she never did know what to do (gives new meaning to the expression 'fly by the seat of your pants')......about anything. As a result, I had never learned how to make a decision. I usually 'found' myself in a situation, wondering how I had arrived there. It was only this past week's events that all the pieces in the puzzle of my life were finally put together.
The baby my sister and her husband brought home from China is now 9.5 years old, and my mom is her primary caregiver for all intent and purpose. Mom voices her unhappiness frequently regarding the fact that she 'doesn't have a life;' I now know that she does not know how to make a decision to change her situation. She has ideas, but she doesn't know how to act upon them. She becomes upset with herself for not acting on them or she becomes upset with herself because perhaps she has more than one option and she has no clue how to decide which is better. She is caught in a cycle of frustration. And has been for a very long time.
I have watched this, and I have come to the realization that the whole time I was growing up (and should have been taught how to make good decisions....or even just make decisions), she didn't teach me because she didn't know how to do this for herself. My mom was great at telling me what to do: Yes...no...this dress... those pants..... that blouse..... this boy...... not that boy..... those shoes..... this college....that major.....NO! NOT THAT BOY! My mom was great at telling me what to do. I was an incredibly compliant, fearful child and teenager. I complied. I did what I was told. Things probably would have turned out better if the person telling me what to do actually knew what she was doing, but, what the heck. I was trusting. Grown-ups were supposed to know what the $#%$ they were doing! I made some stupid decisions which were in hindsight in complete and total rebellion to what my mother wanted me to do. Stupid. Long term consequences. Very long term consequences. Missed Opportunities. Have I mentioned the long term consequences?
I digress.
As my anger at this began to rise to the surface (three years ago), I dealt with it my drastically cutting back on my communication with mom........phone conversations went from two or more times a day to twice a month or even once a month. My family and I visited much less frequently.....perhaps twice a year or less. Have I mentioned that I was angry?
On Monday of this past week, my mom broke her ankle and the fracture required surgery. Surgery was Tuesday afternoon (major snowstorm predicted), and when I woke on Tuesday morning, I knew that it was the right thing to do to be there. Which was weird -- but I knew it in my gut (or in my heart for you warm, fuzzy types). I made preparations to drive to NJ and stay with mom in her hospital room till her discharge which I was told would be Wednesday (the next day).
This is what happened: I spent three days with a 77 year old woman who was sad, crying, lonely, indecisive (some things never change), confused (and not all of it from the pain meds she was on), and the anger in me didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered on Wednesday afternoon when I sat on the side of her bed (and I wasn't anywhere near the 'bad' ankle so that wasn't why she was crying), and she cried that she didn't know what to do because she did not want to go back to my sister's house and work herself to death anymore running the household and not having a life for herself. She was even lucid enough in her desperation to mention that she could not physically do what she had been doing there (btw, she did everything), and she didn't know what to do about this. The only thing that mattered to me then was to comfort her and share with her what I had taught myself about decision making and the thought process that goes into it.....all those things that I had been angry with her for not teaching me. Through my tears, I said to her, 'Crap, Mom! I hate when people cry, and I have to deal with it. I wish you wouldn't cry.' We both laughed. And, probably for the first time in my life (I kid you not), we talked. I explained to her what to do so she could begin to identify the issues that she needed to address. And, she spent the afternoon doing that. And, I am convinced that the multi-milligrams of pain meds pushed in her IV only made things more clear for her. 'wink-wink'
I am so thankful and so glad that I was there for her. It was exhausting, but I am glad I was there. I cannot imagine how her panic and fear would have been even more awful had she been there alone in pain with all those emotions coming at her. I was so sad for her........so very sad. Relieved, though, that she was gaining some control.
I feel sad that I spent so much time the past three years being so angry with her. I do know, though, that my feelings are my feelings, though and the situation is what it is. Like having a fractured ankle: it is what it is. I am relieved that I never lashed out at her (well, I did once when the next door neighbors chopped down our privacy hedge appropos of nothing but that had nothing to do with the big issue) or told her what had made me SO angry.
I am so glad that she and I are on better footing now (no pun intended). I am so thankful that I was able to spend three days with her in the hospital........helping her brush her teeth, learning how to use the trapeze thing over her bed, using the walker, getting her coffee from the cafeteria, and having her fill me in on what the hell is going on with All My Children (what the hell is going on with AMC?). So much good happened.
I am mad at myself right now because although she and I spoke on the phone this morning, I lost track of the time tonight and forgot to call before she went to bed. I don't know where she was when I called at 8pm (hmmmmmmmm? Mom, where 'were' you?), but I will speak with her in the morning. I am glad that I gave her phone number to my aunt who is 85 years old......the two of them speak on the phone 3 or 4 times a day.
The point of all this? Maybe there isn't one. Or maybe it is this: On Wednesday night at about 11pm, when I wanted to pick up the phone and call my mom and tell her about the unbelievable day I had, I couldn't call her. I wanted to tell her how sad I had been, how good it was that she had made an important decision for herself (the decision to go to rehab); I knew that it was odd that I wanted to call my mom and tell her about what had happened between us. In the past, when I would call to talk to her, it was always about someone else or something else......never about her and me.
It doesn't make any sense, and it is almost impossible to explain except to say that I will hate it when I cannot talk to her any longer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)