Total Pageviews

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The truth was.........

Thank you for continuing to follow our journey. Since my mother's passing, it has become more important than ever that I continue, it has also become more difficult. Mom and I discussed my blog often and she always encouraged me to share the WHOLE story, but even with her unending support and encouragement, I felt somehow the sharing many things would strip some of the dignity I struggled so hard to help her preserve. I made a promise to my mother that after her journey home to The Lord I would reveal some of the more personal "stuff" about my role as a carer and hers as her need for care increased. As always, I will attempt to be delicate and tasteful, but some of you may find some of the details to be a bit graphic.

I had done the unthinkable.  I had lied to my mother!  I was 50 years old, and I LIED to my mother!  I guess I was a little off when I teased her about being a travel agent for; I was making myself feel guilty enough without any input from mom.  I probably even felt guiltier because I knew she believed me; she trusted me completely.

I knew mom had believed me because the first thing the CNA said to me when I arrived at the hospital, after not being there for one day, was "I'm glad to see you're feeling better".  Why hadn't I just told mom the truth, I just needed a day off.  I wasn't sick.  Well, I wasn't physically sick.  I was, however, questioning my sanity a little.

Mom was laying on her left side, facing away from the door, when I entered her room at the inpatient rehab unit; I thought maybe she was napping; she wasn't.  "Mom, what's wrong?", I asked when I saw the tears in her eyes.  I was holding my breath waiting for her to answer.  I just knew it was because she had been working too hard in therapy; she had pushed too hard.  I didn't know if either one of us could handle any more set backs.

Mom was nearly sobbing as she told me she wasn't able to do her "required" therapy due to developing bursitis in her hip.  She wasn't crying because of the pain, which I'm sure was excruciating, she was crying because 1) she didn't know if we would still be able to go home on September 10, 2013 and 2) she was afraid, since she was unable to complete the 3 hours of "required" therapy in sub-acute rehab, they would make her go to a SNF.  Mom had no sooner verbalized these fears when both her nurse and her physical therapist came in the room.

"How are you doing?", moms bubbly nurse sing-songed as she went around to face mom; "What's the matter, sweetie, are you hurting worse?", she asked when she saw moms puffy eyes.  By then, the therapist was also by moms side, looking very concerned.  Both of these women had become like family and you could see the genuine concern they had for my mother.

Both of moms concerns were legitimate and both would directly affect me, so, when mom didn't speak up, I did.  Both women assured me that kicking mom out of sub-acute rehab was not going to happen.  "This is just a set-back", the therapist told us and further assured us that she had every reason to believe that as soon as mom could, she would be fulfilling the "required" hours of therapy. Unfortunately, they were not very reassuring regarding the outlook of mom's release date, indicating it very well could be pushed out.

After the initial relief that mom would not be "kicked out", the thought of going home being "pushed out", made me want to cry.  I was tired of living in a hotel.  I was tired of spending hours and hours a day at the hospital.  I was tired of feeling guilty for being tired of spending hours and hours at the hospital.  I was tired of feeling so out of control of everything.  I was tired of being tired.  I was just tired.  Obviously, mom was tired too; she was dozing before the nurse and therapist ever left the room.

I left mom sleeping and went back to my hotel, where I cried myself to sleep in the middle of the afternoon.  When I woke up, several hours later, I was reminded with a vengeance of why I should not lie.  I felt horrible.  My stomach hurt.  My head hurt. My hands felt like they were on fire.  My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode.  This isn't the first time this had happened to me.

When I was 8 and didn't want to go to school, I told mom I had a terrible sore throat.  Of course, she threatened me with a trip to the doctor if I was not better by the following day.  That trip to the doctor resulted in my tonsils being removed for said sore throat.  Why hadn't I learned my lesson then?  Why hadn't I just told mom the truth?

The truth was, I was TIRED!