The Days Need To Be Sweet

The whole saga about the memory patch seems like ancient history so much has happened this week.  I still don’t know if Mom took the patch off or not…. one phone call, yes; the next phone call, no.  It doesn’t even matter anymore.

Mom’s in the hospital — again.  Third time in as many months.  The nurses know her by name as her bed is wheeled into place.  She gained 20 pounds this week; all water.  I have called her every day, but I didn’t make it over there.  How can things change so quickly?  She gave no indication that she was retaining water.  The Cardiologist had just given her a stable report.  But here we go again….   Her heart won’t go out of AFIB….    And she is so confused; hard to hold a coherent conversation with her.  She is still trying to cover, and if I didn’t know the truth, she would be somewhat believable.  And that’s the hitch.  She isn’t doing well physically, and she is very confused — but tries to cover.  I don’t think she’ll be going back home alone.  I should have been better prepared.  We knew it would come to this, but it’s come much faster than we anticipated.

If she is sick, she’ll be willing to come here, but once she is a little better, she will be wanting to go home.   I don’t blame her.   It stinks.  Everyone wants to live in their own home.  So sad.

I need to get some books — I need to get educated on this.   I need to get prayed up!

God, please give us all the grace we need in the days ahead.   Help my siblings and I make these days loving and nurturing and sweet.  May my Mom feel loved and cherished.   We’re going to need your help.  And even as I write this, I feel a peace about it.  I know you will give all the grace we need to walk this road.  You have been faithful in the past … I can trust the days ahead to you.  And that is comforting.

A Phone Call at 2 a.m.

It’s been a crazy week.  A solemn week.  A phone call at 2 a.m.   I’m half asleep, but I think I hear the last few chimes on my cell phone.  My first thought is:  Mom!  But no, it’s not Mom, and it takes me a few seconds to change gears.  But I hear my daughter’s fiance’ saying things like, ’emergency room, sedated, intubated’.  And I physically feel his words in every pore of my body.  As I try to make sense of what he is saying, I scribble as fast I can on the pad by the phone.  He hands the phone to the ER nurse and she relates, more calmly, exactly what I’ve already been told with the addition that they are transferring her to the “bigger, better” hospital.  The weight of that sinks in.

I wake her dad, as I start throwing things into an overnight bag.  Why does she have to live 5 hours away?!  Dear God…. Dear God…. Dear God….   I pray the whole way there.

The better hospital has her stable when I arrive.  No mother ever wants to see her child like this — tubes and wires everywhere.   So much equipment in the room.  A machine is breathing for her.  Her eyelids, face and neck are very swollen.   I run my fingers through her hair (she always loved that) stroking her and telling her, ‘you’re okay;  it’s going to be okay; I love you’.  At one point, later in the day, as I am holding her hand and whispering to her, she squeezes back. Thank you Lord Jesus.  Thank you.

Anaphylaxis.  I was barely familiar with the word.  A few more minutes and we would have lost her.  Severe, life threatening, allergic reaction.  To what?  We’re still not completely sure.   And that’s the scary part.  Dear God…

While at the hospital, over the last few days, I have touched base with Mom every day on the phone.  She is doing fine.  She sounds good.  I know my sister has been there to visit.  I’m not worried about her.

When I arrive home, the adrenaline has left my body (I’m great in a crisis), and I crash on the couch for a complete day.  I’m worried and sad and scared and…

On Monday, after checking in with Mom, I go shopping.  Enough said.  I just can’t be in this house doing normal things.  I have been thanking God constantly, but now I just need a distraction.

On Tuesday, I’m scheduled to pick my 8 year old granddaughter up from school.  I am “in charge” of her while her Mom and baby brother go to Riley Children’s Hospital for a somewhat minor consultation.  While waiting for the school children to be released, I call Mom.  It takes her quite awhile to answer the phone.  She says, ‘bathroom emergency’.  Evidently this has been going on for a few days.  “I’m not taking my meds anymore.  They are making me sick.  I can’t live this way.”   Sigh.   As I convince her that she must take her pills; she has no choice, I also allow her to remove the “memory” patch.  Throw it away.  Don’t put on another one.  Let’s wait a few days, and see if that helps.  She accepts this and says she’ll take her pills.  We talk for a few more minutes, and I am confident she understands.  Pills must be taken. 

I call the doctor’s office just to let them know what’s going on.  Since our last appointment, we have gone for blood work and had the scheduled mammogram.  I cancelled the stress test — the Cardiologist, after all, gave her a “stable” status and isn’t seeing her again for six months.  Let’s not fix what’s not broken right now.   We are awaiting more blood work, bone density, and physical therapy.  I think that’s all.

I need to check my notes.  Having a daughter get sick has muddled my brain.   My whole life was held in balance there for a few days.  I haven’t even processed what “take the memory patch off” entails….  I can’t think about it right now.

One day at a time.  One crisis at a time.

Mom, daughter, granddaughter…  I hug the 8 year old a little tighter; a little longer.

Lord, thank you.  I am so grateful….so very grateful.