The Fall

I rushed to the care center following the call from Kelly, the resident nurse. She said she feared something was broken--maybe the hip. I found Mom on the floor, with Dakota, a young male CNA, putting hand pressure on her hip, which seemed to help some. Nicki was holding her hand, and talking, talking with reassurance. Kelly had called the ambulance. I rode in the ambulance to Utah Valley Hospital. Mom had been given morphine for pain, and had several other doses before she went into surgery later that evening.

I was impressed by her conversation before the surgery. She focused on her love for me, her appreciation for my service and the good care of all who were helping. She was unable to remember what was going on. Although she was in pain, and kept saying she needed to "straighten her leg," she didn't remember falling. She didn't remember anything I said in explanation. I had to do a lot of repeating, as she became understandably anxious. 

How did I feel? It was interesting to be thrust so abruptly into a major role, again. After months of distance, I was again on stage, so to speak. I quickly realized my own stress/fatigue level was quickly climbing, again. I realized that I was not recovered adequately to take on such a job. But there was no choice. 

I wondered if Mom would survive the surgery, yet, it was certainly necessary. Without it, she would be in serious pain that would never ease. The x-rays showed a fracture in her upper tibia. The surgeon explained that he would place a steel rod into her thigh bone. She would need therapy to walk again. The decision was simple, at this point: get the operation, and then see what happened next. But, I could see that we had reached an emotional/mental crossroads, as well. The deterioration in her mental acuity was evident. How would SHE handle this? It was daunting.

The surgery was the least of our troubles, in the end. As she began to wake up and regain awareness, I could see fright and pain in her eyes. I wasn't sure she recognized me. When at last she did, she said, "They hurt me on purpose!" I realized she was identifying with her mother's last hospital stay. I had to talk, carefully, to help her separate herself from her mother's experience. There was a big emotional scene with tears and pleading, "I don't want to die!" And she asked me to "come with her." 

The next day, she couldn't talk. Her jaw hung open. Sure enough, she had sustained multiple strokes on both sides! On day 3, as I arrived in her room, she was in a circle of medical people, doing "vitals," and generally ignoring her continual pointing at her chest, while she said, "Ow!" Oh, they ordered another EKG. But it didn't seem very urgent to them. Yes, she had had a heart attack, in simple terms. I wondered if Mom were on her way home. And I was marginally impressed--annoyed, really,  with the personnel.

The physical therapists showed up, and tried to get her to sit up. She was barely aware. An Occupational Therapist came in and decided to help brush Mom's teeth! Counselors, house physicians, aids, nurses, specialists etc. made a steady stream (most of them multiple times) into her room. I counted 23 of them before we were done. And most of them sent us a bill, later. (The tooth brushing cost $300). I finally told the physical therapists to go away. And I said that to some of the other busy bodies, as well. But it took me a day or two to realize, analyze, and decide what was needed and what was not.  

Steve insisted I return home to sleep at night, though I spent most of every day with Mom, there in the hospital, for the five days of her stay. He was wise. I was quickly frazzled. And the big decision hung over me: how to proceed for Mom's future? The choices were 1. Therapies in a nursing facility, with the goal of physical recovery--walking again. -or- 2. Hospice Care in a nursing facility with the goal to keep her comfortable until death. It was hard to imagine that she could cope with strangers insisting that she do "therapy." She wasn't very stable before; that's why she fell. How much could one realistically expect? And I really began to think she wasn't going to recover. Prayerfully, I decided to opt for Hospice Care. Fortunately, the care center where Mom had been living would accept her new designation and accommodate Hospice. I felt at peace once that decision was made. Remembering that peace comforted me in months to come.

So. She is still here. Did I make the right decision? Yes. But it is hard to be part of this lingering journey. Some days I cry after our visits. Other days, I rejoice that I was able to share a bit of joy. It may be fleeting, but it is still joy. Yesterday, I played hymns on the keyboard for a bit. After each song, Mom said, "that's my favorite song! I want that sung at my funeral." The spirit of such a day is a blessing. I seek for the faith, hope and charity to pull off this chapter. Some days I am more successful than others. But I am at peace.

    

So here is another chapter:

Trying to serve my mother appropriately whilst I could not see her in person, was tricky. There were many phone calls in which I had to reassure her that she was where she lived, now, not at the ward house, a theater, shopping mall, or other place--all of which she believed at various times. She would call me to "take her home" or "pick her up, now." Once, she was embarrassed to report she had gone to Relief Society in her pj's and robe. 

Sometimes, she would talk about the other residents. Just days after she moved in, while I was visiting her, she told me that the facility was very nice. Everyone who worked there was kind and patient. "But, Linda," she confided, "the other people who live here are all nuts!" As time went on, and our only visits were by phone, she frequently talked about the people who behaved in odd ways. She was critical of them, and complained that they were arrogant or busy bodies. "They think they can go where they please and do whatever comes into their heads!" She was anxious about the way some of them liked to touch things, fuss with stuff. Fidgety. I could usually reassure her, saying the people had forgotten good manners. They just didn't know what to do with themselves.

She could only focus on what she could see. I often listened to her describe the current TV show, scene by scene. Or she would tell me about the room she was in, and the other people sitting or lounging there, the view from the window, the pictures on the walls...

But, I also witnessed her innate kindness. When she wasn't alarmed, she tried to serve. I could hear her trying to comfort someone, "This is your blanket, dear." Or, "Let me help you put on your slipper." Her innate need to be in charge and control things also demonstrated itself. One of the CNA's called me to ask that I assure Mother about the rules and routines. She was trying to "organize" the other residents and assign jobs. It sounded rather like a mutiny, to me. This rebellion lasted several days. Since her short term memory was usually zilch, this fixation was particularly curious. One of the girls described her as "sassy." That was probably an understatement.

Her fears didn't go away. She was especially vulnerable at night, of course. The requirement for the CNA's was to check on every resident at least every two hours. When someone came into Mom's room during the night, it scared her to pieces! I asked that the check be every four hours, at night. The likelihood of her falling or having other troubles wasn't as high as the fright giving her a heart attack. She couldn't remember that this was normal. She was inclined to attack the visitor, besides. I also insisted that any night checks be done by a female CNA. 

Most of the time she was mostly happy. She participated in the activities, and attended Church meetings, held there. She enjoyed her ministering brothers' and sisters' visits, until the COVID quarantine shut everything down. The isolation was hard; but not as hard as it could have been. After all, she didn't remember that she was isolated. She didn't remember when I had visited last, or when she had been to Church, or what activities she was missing. And it was a blessing to me, as I have said. I was forced to "let go" and trust the staff to take care of my momma. It was ok. Tender mercies still abounded. For example, once, when I was talking to Mom on the phone, someone brought her a little pink pill and asked her to swallow it. She described this pill to me, and asked me if I knew about it. Was she supposed to take it? I prepared all her daily vitamin supplements, and delivered them to the facility every month. There were no "little pink pills." I asked to speak to the CNA who gave her the pill. It turned out that a mistake had been made. The pill was not intended for Mom. It was an antidepressant. If I had not happened to be talking to her at the time, she would have taken a prescription intended for someone else: not good for either person. And the error needed to be corrected with the medical tech who had passed on the assignment inappropriately. As it was, I alerted the nurse who retrained her staff and all was better. Another example: Mom was given the COVID-19 vaccinations, when they became available, with very little reaction. Such a blessing!

Meanwhile, I was deep in the red tape of applying for Mom to receive the Veteran's Benefit, for which she qualified because of Dad's service during WWII. It helped with the financial side of things. Although it took months to be resolved, the benefit was retroactive to the time of the application. I made several trips to the bank to get that sorted out. Government agencies are a pain in the neck; and a blessing. 

And then, in February, 2021, Mom fell. That will be the next chapter.