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.