How Lucky We Are

I got over there close to eleven in the morning today, and Mom greeted me loudly from her chair. "Hi Kate!"

She had eaten a little for breakfast, and we had a big day planned. Three visits from the hospice agency.

I started to read an article to her from an older issue of the New Yorker about the writer George Elliot, and towards the end, we received our first visit from our primary case worker, Nurse M. around twelve fifteen, shortly after Mom ate a few bites of toast with bacon slices on it that Dad had prepared for her. Nurse M. checked her ankle. Both issues were looking better (a rash on the front part of her leg just above the ankle bone, and a bed sore on her ankle bone.) She checked her vitals (BP good, pulse good) and checked her temperature (normal.) She asked a few questions, while Mom wandered from couch to chair to walking about, and then she left, saying she'd call on Monday morning to set up another visit for that day. She also called Mom's primary doctor, Dr. N., to inquire about when it would be okay to start up on the Haloperidol drug. The doctor's assistant did call back later in the afternoon to say that the doctor thought it would be okay to start her up on that Saturday at two in the afternoon.

We had about half an hour or more before our next visit. I settled Mom down again on the couch, and I finished up the George Elliot article, and soon enough, our next professional walked in the door, the physical therapist, Brian, a seasoned, young man with a wonderful and warm bedside manner. He got right down to business with Mom, evaluating her mobility and the space she lives in. Mom became quite animated with Brian, and he was very charming and understanding with her busy bee like urges. When she proclaimed that all she wanted to do was lie in her bed and go to sleep, he told her that that was fine, and followed her to the bedroom and observed how she got in the bed. Then he showed her (and Dad and me) a few exercises, testing her strength in her legs. She did quite well, and seemed to respond favorably to his inquiries. He also recommended we look into purchasing a handle for her side of the bed, which we could purchase on line. It's a rail we can easily add to the bed to aid in her mobility in getting in and out of bed. He was great, and will come back a week from today.

We had another period of respite, where Mom retreated back to the couch and I read aloud to her some more from New Yorker magazines. Finally, our third visitor arrived, a home health aide named Jackie, and she was all business and was ready to give Mom a sponge bath. Mom protested quite a bit, but eventually, she subsided and did quite well. I wasn't one hundred percent thrilled with Jackie, but, she was professional and very nice. Mom, again, was very animated with her and mentioned that she looked familiar to her. Mom got sponge bathed, a new shirt and panties (well, adult diapers), and a little more "get to know each other" conversation, and then Jackie left.

Dad had left to run some errands shortly after Jackie showed up, and after Jackie left, I let Mom settle back into the couch for a well deserved rest. I read aloud a short article from the New Yorker to her, a recount of a man's time spent in a private school in Wales when he was stealing books from the library, and when I finished, I saw that Mom was sleeping, so I just sat there reading alone and let her rest.

Finally, Dad came back with fresh groceries and pills. Mom and I put away the food, Dad took his pills and retrieved wood from the woodpile for tonight's fire in the wood stove, changed his shoes, and then I insisted that he sit with her quietly for awhile on the couch. Then, I was able to leave. I got home a little after four-thirty. A long day for me, and it's not over yet. Phone calls and band business, dinner and visit from my brother, who is coming up tonight out of the kindness and compassion in his heart for his mother. Sister wanted to come up, too, but was too pressured with work obligations, but we'll be just fine. It's probably for the better this weekend anyway. Mom has really been expressing massive confusion the last few days about where she is, where she's from and where she's going. Also, who lives there, where I live, where my siblings live.

Despite all that, she is much more mobile and verbal, and their are small moments of clarity and understanding for her. The only really, really sad part for me today was when at one point, just she and I alone, she asked me, "Am I going to be this way for the rest of my life?"

How could I answer that question? I decided to just go with the truth, counting on her short-term memory to erase my answer. "Sadly, Mom, yes, you will be."

After a long pause, I added, "But that doesn't take away how much we love and care about each other, and how lucky we are to have that."

"Yes," she replied.