Laugh or Cry?

To appreciate this you need to know that within the family I’m known as Susie not Nancy. My sister is Judy and the two of us have reservations to Florida this week to visit our mother who is less than two months short of 98 years old.

When I called Mother today to wish her a happy Mother’s Day she said, “I know Judy and Susie are coming to see me on Thursday; but, when is Nancy coming?” I guess she’s going to get a two for one deal on this visit.

Happy Mother’s Day

Evelyn Coleman

Jupiter, Florida – July 2008 

Since today is Mother’s Day I felt it appropriate to post a picture of my mother taken on her 97th birthday last July.

Happy Mother’s Day to mothers everywhere.

Back to “Normal”

Good Friday saw my mother discharged from the rehab center and moved back to her assisted living facility. After a tumultuous week we’re feeling blessed that she’s back to familiar caretakers and surroundings. Indeed, a Good Friday.

“I Don’t Know What I Need”

My 97-year-old mother was transferred from hospital to a rehab center this evening. My sister talked to her after the move, explaining where she was, and why. Judy tried to remind her that these new caregivers didn’t know her, her needs, how she liked things. She told Mother that she needed to talk to them and tell them what she needed. Mother’s weary reply was, “I don’t know what I need.”

You Have to Laugh or ….

Late afternoon, the phone rings; Mary Kay says, “Nancy, where’s you mom? I went over to the facility and she’s not there.” My mind immediately thinks of the hospital as the facility. I stutter around for a few seconds with all sorts of possibilities cascading through my brain. Reason comes – she means the assisted living facility. I explain that the doctor has ordered a number of tests and Mother will be in the  hospital at least one more night. We have a good chuckle over my thought process.

I hang up and call my sister repeating Mary Kay’s words. Judy goes through the same thought process. The things sisters share – thank goodness for them.

Here We Go Again

Evelyn’s crying in pain and rubbing her “blood clot” leg. The doctor hasn’t returned Mary Kay’s call, everyone wants me to fix the situation. At least ten phone calls fly back and forth between Colorado and Florida plus a half dozen relating information to Judy.

I’m near meltdown with frustration. Judy was almost frantic this morning thinking something needed done right this minute. I feel like the problem is dumped on me and then she’s off for the day with friends while I’m glued to the phone coping. Each call from Mary Kay is a re-hash of, “This is typical, he doesn’t return my calls,” and “All she does is sit with her knees bent all day, this is going to keep happening.”

In the middle of a situation I’m not interested in hearing the re-play; I want to know what are our options and take action. When I ask Mary Kay how swollen Evelyn’s ankles are, she admits she hasn’t seen her yet today. Knowing that they often close the office at noon on Friday I call the doctor’s office and leave a message that I absolutely must talk to him before he leaves for the weekend. Will he get the message, is the big question.

Finally Mary Kay and Dr. Harpalani connect. He orders medications and compression hose (I’m taking credit for putting that idea in Mary Kay’s head) and promises to stop by to see Mother this weekend. He follows-up with a call to me, reports what he’s ordered, the factors he’s considering and assures me, “Nancy, you know I’ll take care of her.”

Stay tuned.

“I Woke Up singing”

A couple of  hours before the scheduled procedure she’s telling  us to call the church and let them know she was having surgery, “Then I’ll have lots of company.”  Although I didn’t make the call, indeed two hours afterwards she had a visitor. Bless all those who came during this hospitalization. Two weeks after Bob had his surgery he was having colorful hallucinations, Evelyn’s holding court. As the doctor says, “Bless her heart.”

“Good Morning, Nancy”

Groping for the cell phone, my weary mind snaps to attention, this has to be a call from Florida. A cheery, “Good Morning, Nancy,” are the first words I hear. It’s easy for him to be alert, alive, awake, enthusiastic – it’s 8:10 am there. After a couple of wakeful hours starting at three this morning I’d finally fallen into a restful sleep and I’m quite cozy at 6:10 am. Dr. Harpalani is calling to discuss Mother’s condition and the treatment options. Before we get to that he inquires into my health and why it’s been so long since he’s seen us – saying, “You could just stop by and say hello when you’re here.”

This is why I don’t even want to entertain the idea of switching doctors to oversee Mother’s care. He knows me, he knows her and as frustrating as it can sometimes be to get through to him, when things are serious he’s there for us. That’s a great comfort when we’re more than 2,000 miles away.

The good doctor gives me a complete run down of Mother’s situation and what’s been done so far before going into the alternatives from here. I appreciate that he doesn’t just tell me what we should do but makes me part of the decision making process. He even tells me to look things up on the web; and, wasn’t surprised when I said I already did over the weekend.

 The typical course of action would be a year long treatment with coumadin and the frequent blood work and dosage changes that requires. Dr. Harpalani said, “When I was brushing my teeth this morning I thought that isn’t the best treatment for her. If she were my mother here’s what I would do.” Does it get more personal than that from a person who highly values and respects family? He remembers the unexplained bleed out she experienced nearly five years ago and doesn’t want to risk that reoccurring.

Tomorrow a vascular surgeon will insert a filter in the inferior vena cava in the abdomen. They’ll go in through the groin, much like an angiogram. This will prevent the blood clot from being able to move into the lungs, heart or brain should it break loose, yet blood flows normally through the filter. A picture found on the Internet shows it’s shaped, like the ribs of an umbrella. Risk could be bleeding in the groin or the vein not being able to hold the filter. Pluses are that after just a couple of weeks of blood thinners she won’t have to be treated with meds or require blood draws. Optimally she’ll be able to go home by Friday. We’re amazed at how her aging body – 97 1/2 – tolerates all the procedures required in the last five years.

Judy called to explain to Mother what will happen. Mother’s question was, “Will they put me to sleep?” Judy told her she would certainly be given something but we didn’t know if she had to be completely under. Mother”s response was priceless, “They don’t like to put people my age to sleep, you might never wake up.”

My prayer – “Please lord, if this isn’t her time to die, make this as easy as possible.” I’m reminded of one of Mother’s favorite lines in a hymn, “God will take care of me.”

The Seesaw of Dementia

Judy had a busy Sunday so I made the call to Mother today. I felt like we were on a seesaw  throughout the conversation (With those who want to make every environment safe, with no risks, will the next generation know what a seesaw is?). One minute she seems perfectly in touch and the next topic shows no reality.

She bemoans the fact that she hasn’t seen us in such a long time yet remembers that the Millers are in Florida for the winter and came to see her recently. In fact the Millers were there a month ago and just two weeks ago today Judy, Janis and I were there holding her hand and visiting. Mother asked if Bob was better after his surgery. I told her he was better and had been out for a walk. She replied, “I try to walk as much as I can, at least a mile every day.” She no longer is strong enough to stand by herself let alone walk.

Judy faces this kind of dichotomy with her daily phone calls to Mother. These moments sadden us by forcing us to face the reality of Mother’s condition. The blessing is that Mother hasn’t a clue she can’t walk a mile. With the attentive care she receives at Morning Star the dementia doesn’t make her a risk to herself. She’s happy, we’re helpless and life goes on.