She's definitely not herself, though she's trying very hard to convince us that she is. She forces herself to stay awake, even though she's very, very tired. She tries to work on the jigsaw puzzle my brother got her for her birthday, and gives up after placing a small handful of pieces. She leans back in her chair and dozes, mouth agape. Her dog watches her carefully, only closing her eyes when she's sure my mom is okay.
While she's awake, my mom is demanding and cruelly sarcastic. This morning, she said something I didn't catch, and when I turned to ask her to repeat herself, she gestured to my computer and said, "Just go ahead and finish what you're doing. I'll wait."
No, go ahead, I said. I'm not doing anything.
"K [my brother who lives 3 hours away] said they're probably going back this afternoon instead of tomorrow. You need to find out so you can plan dinner. You need to get something out to thaw." She began to list the various meats she had in the freezer. It was 10:30am when she told me this. I told her that I'd figure it out, and that I'd use the microwave to defrost meat if I needed to. She became more adamant -- "I don't know when they're going to leave. [SiL]K's leg hurts and they have a lot of stuff to do. They were going to go back tomorrow, but now they're saying probably today, and we need to plan supper."
Don't worry. I'll take care of it. We'll figure it out -- it's no big deal.
I got up, and asked her if she needed anything. No, nothing. As I left her room, she began to talk, and I walked back in to see what she needed. It was nothing important -- just something she had thought about. Mostly, I think, she didn't want to be left alone in her room, though.
I'm getting exhausted and I'm making mistakes. I'm afraid that I'll respond to her snark with just as damaging snark and, as the home hospice nurse told me when I talked to her Friday afternoon, she's in the end stages and she can't be held responsible for anything she says from this point out. I need to let it go in one ear and out the other. Easier said than done, said the nurse, but just try to remember that.
I spent the night with her again Thursday night, in the hospice care center. When we woke up Friday morning, she complained to me that I'd snored, loudly, all night. I apologized, but what am I supposed to say? She was supposed to leave the care center at 10am to go over to the hospital to get the stent put in her abdomen. She had an 11:00 appointment with Radiology, so I helped her get a shower and waited for ana and the transport people. Thankfully, we didn't need to drive her across to the hospital.
The transport people showed up at 9:30, early, and I held my breath, waiting for ana, who arrived shortly thereafter. Finally, we were ready to get in the ambulance and head across the road. I rode in the back with her, and she moaned with every bump in the street. They pushed the gurney down to Radiology, and I went to talk with the Admissions woman. "Do you have her insurance card?" Fuck. It was back at her house. Not to worry, the woman told me. They could look it up since she'd been in there recently.
Then the Radiology woman told me we really needed to go to Admissions. It was an outpatient procedure, but one that had to be routed in the proper way. Okay, so back down the hall, through the maze of the hospital, and to Admitting. "Insurance card and ID," said the woman, not making eye contact. Fuck again. The woman poked at her computer and said to wait around the corner for the next admissions specialist. Ana and I piled our stuff in a chair and I paced, waiting. I knew my mother was having a fit, still strapped to the gurney, in the hallway in the front of the hospital, waiting. Finally, a friendly man came out of an office and went through the consent procedure with me. I signed for my mother, consenting her for surgery, agreed to the HIPAA regulations, and apologized for not having her insurance information. "Not to worry," said the admissions guy. "She was just in here."
Then we waited for someone to take us to the Outpatient room.
And we waited.
The transport people pushed my mom, running her into a doorframe, then to Outpatient Services, where they immediately took her back. It was nearly 11 by this point, and I hoped I'd get to see her before they took her back for the procedure. About 11:30, I asked about her. The nurses were still in the room with her, but after they were done, I could go back.
A few minutes later, and I was back, where we waited until 1:30, when they finally took her back for the procedure. A nurse apologized. "They do want you here 2 hours in advance," she said. "But it was getting a bit ridiculous." My mom was uncomfortable and groggy and cranky.
Ana and I went down the street to the coffee shop for lunch, and we waited. She was finally done at three, and the nurse from Radiology came out to talk about the stent, and to tell me everything went fine. "She needs bed rest until 3:30, and she can go home at 4," the nurse said. They had removed another 1.7 liters of fluid, though, and I was a bit worried about her blood pressure. I asked when I went back to visit with her. It was 70/40, dangerously low. Several people took the blood pressure manually, since they didn't believe the automatic one, but yes, 70/40. "I feel fine," my mom kept saying. "I just want to go home."
They gave her a bag of fluid, and it finally came up to 75/50, and they let her go home. In the meantime, I talked to home hospice nurse, who told me that she would get help for me. She told me that the blood pressure was worrisome. She said she would drain the tube -- even though my mom wants me to do it. (Er, no. I'm not comfortable doing that. "You're not? Why?" I'm just not. I'd rather the nurse do it. "Well, okay," disappointed).
We got home around 7, and I was exhausted. Ana and I called my brother J to stay with her, and we went out to dinner, at a rather excellent small-town Mexican restaurant. Not as authentic as some I've had, but far better than anything I've had in Boston.
In the midst of all this, I forgot to get her antibiotic prescription filled Saturday morning, and by the time I remembered, it was 9:00pm, and the pharmacies in this town were all closed. They didn't reopen until 1:00 Sunday afternoon, so I sent SiL K to pick it up. I worry that my misstep will cause a painful infection, even though they gave her a heavy dose of antibiotics late Friday afternoon.
Now, we wait. Her blood pressure has come back up, apparently, and she's a little more steady on her feet. She's tired. She's mostly clear, but she says things that are borderline non-sequitur-ish. They make sense in her head, but not to anyone else, I think. I'm trying to settle into the idea that I'm running a marathon, not a 100-yard dash.
I'm trying not to be angry and impatient with her, and I'm trying to do the best I can. I'm disengaging, I can tell, and I'm fighting the sort of not-get-off-the-couch depression that comes in the aftermath of traumatic events. I don't have time for it right now, and I can't give myself the luxury of finding a place to hide.
My best friend B called me yesterday. We'd been out of touch for quite a while -- it happens, but we know each other is out there for whatever we need. She's offered to take me out for a beer, or to come here with her year-old daughter, or whatever I need. I was hoping that K&K would be here tonight so I could go out for a beer, but now they're leaving to go back to their farm. Perhaps I can get J or P to come stay with her.
My brother J called and said a woman at his church made a chicken casserole for us, so he'll be bringing that for dinner tonight. "Good," said my mom, relieved that finally, at 1:00pm, supper plans were in place. I'm now sitting in the kitchen, writing, unable to continue to sit with the TV running nonstop. I'm tired. I want to go home. I'm trying very hard to do what needs to be done, because I need to be here. I don't think I would be able to forgive myself if I abandoned my mom now, when she really does need me.
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