A Long Day

Last night, Dad called me twice. The first time to tell me that he got her to the table and she ate a little bit of her dinner. The second time, at about nine-fifteen at night, he said that he got her to bed alright. We were both tired, but feeling a little hopeful that she would come out of this slump.

This morning I awoke early (for me) and got ready to head over before ten, when Maria was to show for Mom's bath time. I got there at nine-thirty, and Dad had managed to get her in the chair and she was drinking a glass of cranberry juice and taking her morning pills. Dad was holding the glass with the straw in it. Then I sat with her and tried to get her to eat half of a banana (which she ate only half of) while he went and fried up an egg. We put the tray on her lap and started helping her get the little pieces of egg to her mouth. She moved slow. She chewed slow. She didn't swallow very well, kind of like she didn't remember how to do it. Plus, she kept her eyes closed most of the time, and seemed to be nodding off in between bites. We finally gave up, her egg barely half way eaten. She nodded off.

Maria called, running late. She had called the night before to let Dad know that she did have a cold, but would be willing to come up and wear a face mask so she could work with Mom. Dad was able to fill her in then about what had happened in the last few days. Maria recommended we get some adult diapers, and to keep her drinking fluids.

Maria arrived just as we were finishing up with Mom on the toilet. She took one look at Mom and suggested we bring her to the bed. She planned on giving her a sponge bath today in the bed. She took her blood pressure (we had done that earlier, too, after Maria had called), and both times it was okay, over one hundred. Then she took her pulse, once on the wrist and once on her neck. Mom was lying with her eyes closed, sleeping, I guess. Maria quietly motioned me to come out of the bedroom with her. Dad was downstairs on the phone with the doctor's aide, making his check up call.

Maria came right out and said she thought it was time for us to call for hospice. I was shocked for a minute, but realized she was right. Maria admitted that she could be wrong, and that she did not want to sound dramatic, but her experience around very ill and dying people makes me trust her instinct. She told me about some of the details involved.. about how we could get a nurse in once or twice a week, how they would check all the vitals and do other work with Mom. Maria said we could take the special bed and commode and pads from our neighbor up the street, who lost his partner to dementia early last year and who Maria had worked with (that's how we found her.) She asked me if we had a large tee shirt around that we could cut up the back so it would be easy to get on and off. I found one at the bottom of her drawer that said "Ireland" on it. I cut it up the back.

Then Dad came up the stairs, and reported to us what the doctor's aide had said. That we should just hang in there, keep doing what we are doing. Finally, I was able to tell Dad what Maria had told me. We three discussed it some more, quietly, trying not to alert Mom. Mom and her razor sharp ears.

Dad agreed to look into it. We had a number of a reputable place already. He called them while Maria gave Mom a sponge bath and cleaned her all up, in her bed. He found out that they don't accept patients until we have the doctor's permission. He called the doctor's aide back. She said they would okay it, even if our Dr. N. was not around (vacation until next week.) Dad said he could wait until Dr. N. came home. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but I guess nothing happens fast anyway.

Maria suggested we let Mom stay in bed for the day, maybe later she could get up. She showed me how to prop her head up and to give her a drink. Mom moaned and complained. We realized she had a cramp in her thigh. We gave her a Tylenol, I ran home and got my heating pad for her leg. Maria left, saying to call anytime. Mom fell back asleep. I went home for a quick lunch.

After an hour, I went back and Dad had just helped her to the bathroom. She was sleeping. Dad decided to run down town to buy some adult diapers, some medicated talc (for her underarms, Maria noticed redness), a blender so we can mix a banana up with the drinks (bananas are high in potassium, help with leg cramps), and some fresh bananas, strawberries and juice. While he was gone, I let Mom rest in her bedroom alone, while I sat and read in the living room.

After a while, I went in to see her. I offered her some water, she accepted. I laid on the bed with her, stroking her hair a little, answering her questions which made no sense. I just go with her reality, what else can I do? At last she stirred and she said she had to go to the bathroom. I lucked out again, Dad had just got home. He was able to help me get her out of the bed and onto the toilet. She moaned and wailed when we lifted her out of the bed. It was painful to hear.

She peed. She got up. She wanted to go back to bed. Dad was beginning to worry that she would sleep too much during the day and not sleep at night. We got her back into the bed, and I asked her to drink some more water. I put the straw to her lips, and she blew hard, bubbling and spilling some water on to her tee shirt. "You little rebel, you!" I said, and so we gave up on the water. She can be such a bad patient.

I put in a load of laundry, then Dad said he wanted to lie down for awhile, too. So, as he laid down next to Mom on their bed, I went home for awhile. Later, I went back to check the laundry. Dad had already put it in the dryer. I went back home. Then I went back over for (I hope) the last time, bringing chicken that my partner cooked that afternoon, for Dad's dinner. I made up a shake with protein powder, a banana, strawberries and milk, and put that in the fridge for her dinner. By that time, Dad had convinced her to sit in her chair for awhile, and she had drank a whole bottle of Ensure. But, she was sleeping in the chair by the time I got there.

I helped Dad get the rest of his dinner together, gave Mom some kisses goodnight (even though she was asleep) and left.

Mom may be heading into Stage Seven now. Or not. Hard to say. But probably. We'll see how she is tomorrow.