Thank you for continuing to follow our journey. Since my mother's passing, it has become more important than ever that I continue. 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.
The surgeon
had shortened moms’ leg by one inch to allow it to “swing through” as she was
to be “toe touch” weight bearing (for balance only) until they could do yet another surgery to put her knee back together in a few months. The hope was this would prevent the rod from
pushing through moms’ mushy soft bone again until they could be certain the
infection had cleared enough to chance replacing the hardware. Although her shoulders were bone on bone, mom
was able to push through the pain in her upper body by using a platform walker with
nearly all of her weight resting on her forearms with each step she took.
More than
once I wondered if we had made the wrong choice about not amputating moms’
leg. It almost seemed like we had
sacrificed the rest of moms’ ravaged joints to save the leg. Of course, that thought made me beat myself
up for a while.
As it was,
mom already needed help with just about everything: she was barely able to lift
her arms enough to brush her teeth; washing her face required both hands (one
hand to lift the other arm at the elbow enough to reach her face); she was
unable to shower or dress herself due to her limited range of motion of her
shoulders and the massive amount of hardware in her back; she couldn’t even
open a yogurt or cream container due to the pain and deformity of her hands
from the RA. What was going to happen if
mom wasn’t ever able to use that leg AND she loses any of the mobility she has somehow
been able to maintain? How could I even
plan for that?
The dark
thoughts of how bad it could be for mom were replaced by much more selfish
thoughts of how bad it might get for me. What about my challenges and limitations? I was already the personal shopper; the maid;
the cook; the secretary/appointment scheduler; transportation specialist; hair
stylist; etc. How much more was I going to have to do? How
much more was I going to have to
endure? What was going to happen to my life if mom continued to
decline? When was I going to catch a break?
Why was this happening to me? What did I
do to deserve this?
I didn’t do
anything to deserve this; It’s all
somehow part of God’s plan. This wasn’t happening to me, it was happening to us. I was going to have to do however much more my mothers’ declining health
warranted. I would endure however much more was required, for as long as required. I would catch
a break when mom did. Of course,
there was no way I could know (or predict) what was going to happen to my life regardless of how fast mom did,
or didn’t, decline.
Challenges and limitations.
The first
week of September, 2013, mom started her third stint in the Sub-Acute Rehab
Unit for the year. Things started out good
and mom was doing “as well as could be expected” with her Physical and
Occupational therapies, given the new challenges and limitations she was facing. Between therapies, when mom was whisked away
for audiology testing, I took a break and headed for the cafeteria as I contemplated the many anticipated new challenges and limitations.
The surgeon
had shortened moms’ leg by one inch to allow it to “swing through” as she was
to be “toe touch” weight bearing (for balance only) until they could do yet another surgery to put her knee back together in a few months. The hope was this would prevent the rod from
pushing through moms’ mushy soft bone again until they could be certain the
infection had cleared enough to chance replacing the hardware. Although her shoulders were bone on bone, mom
was able to push through the pain in her upper body by using a platform walker with
nearly all of her weight resting on her forearms with each step she took.
I couldn’t
help but wonder what kind of a toll this latest setback was going to take on
mom. Nearly every joint in her body, except her hips, were ravaged from RA. Her joints were already so damaged
from her 50 year history with Rheumatoid Disease and the various medications
she had taken for it over the years, I wasn’t sure how much more they could stand
up to (no pun intended).
More than
once I wondered if we had made the wrong choice about not amputating moms’
leg. It almost seemed like we had
sacrificed the rest of moms’ ravaged joints to save the leg. Of course, that thought made me beat myself
up for a while.
I had been
so focused on the fact that mom needed her leg, at least enough to balance for
transfers, I hadn’t taken in to account she would also need her arms to assist
in said transfers. Now, anyone who knows
me knows that I can do a much better job of beating myself up over things I
either have no control of whatsoever or things that “might” or “could” happen. Indeed, my mind quickly shifted to the unanticipated
complications.
Thoughts of
how bad it could get if mom lost the use of her arms were consuming me as I
tried to choke down the food I had forced myself to buy in the hospital
cafeteria. I felt tears on my cheeks as
my mind processed graphically vivid pictures of mom in various states of
decline; visions of a less than desirable quality of life for her, way less.
As it was,
mom already needed help with just about everything: she was barely able to lift
her arms enough to brush her teeth; washing her face required both hands (one
hand to lift the other arm at the elbow enough to reach her face); she was
unable to shower or dress herself due to her limited range of motion of her
shoulders and the massive amount of hardware in her back; she couldn’t even
open a yogurt or cream container due to the pain and deformity of her hands
from the RA. What was going to happen if
mom wasn’t ever able to use that leg AND she loses any of the mobility she has somehow
been able to maintain? How could I even
plan for that?
The dark
thoughts of how bad it could be for mom were replaced by much more selfish
thoughts of how bad it might get for me. What about my challenges and limitations? I was already the personal shopper; the maid;
the cook; the secretary/appointment scheduler; transportation specialist; hair
stylist; etc. How much more was I going to have to do? How
much more was I going to have to
endure? What was going to happen to my life if mom continued to
decline? When was I going to catch a break?
Why was this happening to me? What did I
do to deserve this?
Of course,
with each thought, I chastised myself sufficiently enough to get a good dose of
depression brewing. Also, with each
thought, my sweet mothers’ face flashed through my mind, reminding me that as
bad as it was for me, it was much more so for her; reminding me she had made
many sacrifices for me over the years; reminding me I already knew the answers
to most of my “poor me” questions.
I didn’t do
anything to deserve this; It’s all
somehow part of God’s plan. This wasn’t happening to me, it was happening to us. I was going to have to do however much more my mothers’ declining health
warranted. I would endure however much more was required, for as long as required. I would catch
a break when mom did. Of course,
there was no way I could know (or predict) what was going to happen to my life regardless of how fast mom did,
or didn’t, decline.
I just hoped
and prayed that, whatever was yet to come, God would give me the strength I
needed to get through the dark days ahead.
Trust me. There are
dark days ahead!
