(318/366) One Day at a Time

8

November 13, 2012 – Hospitals aren’t fun places for people to visit, but they are even less enjoyable for those who are lying in the beds and wondering when they will get to go home.

My earliest memory of a hospital was when I was very small, probably around five or six years old, maybe younger. We went to visit my Great Grandmother in the hospital and an elderly woman stopped me int eh hallway and was so happy to see me. She touched me and held my hand and told me how much she had missed seeing me. I had no idea who she was, I assume she thought I was her grand daughter or great grand daughter. I was scared, but I smiled and accepted her greetings before moving on.

It’s now been almost a week since Mom had her stroke, but it feels much longer. There are small improvements, but also steps backwards too. Today was hard, we were all hopeful that since the long weekend was over, things would take a jump forward. We thought the physiotherapist would start to get Mom moving, and she was so happy that the swallowing specialist was to visit and was so looking forward to being able to have a bit of water, maybe some ice chips, perhaps even some pudding of peaches. The MRI was to be done today too.

Instead, she went for an ultrasound of her legs and we found out that a clot in her calf had increased in size. That meant that she had to have a vena cava filter surgically installed. That was upsetting. Particularly because she cannot have any blood thinners yet. The filter is important as if a portion of the clot breaks free it could travel to her heart and into her lungs and result in a pulmonary embolism.

The occupational therapist did come by, and she measured Mom for a chair, that made Mom happy. But the nutritionist came and said that she could not have any water yet, and that was a major disappointment.

The neurologist came to see her and talk about her CT scans. They indicated that although there is some haemorrhage, there is no midline shift and therefore no significant swelling. That means no need for an emergency airlift to Vancouver for a hemicraniectomy – that was a massive relief. I asked if I could see the results and, after he asked Mom if she was fine with that and she said yes, I was allowed to see her brain CT scan and I saw where the damage is.

Several other doctors, residents, and student doctors, came through to see her and ask questions. The Prince George hospital is attached to UNBC now, and as a University Hospital, the care and attention is exceptional. If this had to happen somewhere, I am glad it happened here.

There were a few good points in the day. The chair measurement, the visits from her friends, and most notably something that happened when it was just she and I together. I had brought the newspaper in with me and we were talking about the new polymer currency coming. I had a 20 Peso note in my notebook from our trip to Mexico a year ago, and I handed it to her to feel. She took it with her right hand and asked if she could try to rip it. I said sure, go ahead, but didn’t know how she’d manage since she can’t move her left hand and her sensation in it is dubious, and she can’t lift her head at the moment either.

She took the bill, and stuffed it in between her thumb and forefinger and pinned it there while she tried to crumple and tear it. She couldn’t see what she was doing because her head was back. The day before if you’d asked her to grab her left hand with her eyes closed, she couldn’t find it. With her head back she was just as blind as to where it was, yet she had just stuffed a 20 Peso note into it without much effort. When I asked her if she could feel it, she said yes. When I asked her where it was she said in her hand. When I asked which hand, she said her left. And when I asked where in her left hand, she told me that it was between her thumb and forefinger. I think that was the best part of the day for me.

A challenging part of the past few days has been the woman next to Mom. Every single day she has at least six people visiting her at a time, and they are loud and inconsiderate of the fact that there is a quiet woman trying to recover from a stroke on the other side of the curtain. They bring food in and lay out a smorgasbord on her bed, while Mom lays there wishing she could swallow properly and eat anything. They take all the chairs, and drag in extras, and make it almost impossible to get in and out of the room. I don’t know if it bothers Mom, but it’s driving me insane. Mom can’t speak loudly, and I can’t hear her, or myself, when we try to speak to each other. It’s draining.

The hardest thing is seeing her frustration. She is a fiercely independent person who will give almost anything to help most anyone, but will almost never willingly take any generosity for herself. She is proud and never wants anyone to see her in her weak moments. She is an “I can do it myself” woman. Except that for an unknown period of time, she will not be able to do it herself, and she will have to learn to accept the generosity and assistance of others. It will be difficult for her, I totally understand, because I am my Mother’s daughter in many ways.

When I came home for a bit to feed the dog and phone my brother to update him, I just collapsed onto the carpet and cried my heart out first. It’s become a bit of a daily routine. I bottle it up as best I can during the day, and I can’t help but let it out when I get back to Mom’s house. Then I pull myself together so that I can go back and spend a bit more time with her before she receives her night time medications and tries to go to sleep.

One of my best friends does still live here, but she is in Florida. My former supervisor and his wife live here, they are my surrogate family, but they too are out of town. There are a few others who I haven’t seen in more years than I care to calculate, but in the shape I’m in, I just don’t want to subject anyone to a less than happy me. This sucks, it’s stressful and draining, and it is so hard feeling so alone in this town that I once called home, but now is a city full of strangers. As Mom pointed out to me tonight though, I am the one who left, therefore I am the stranger. She’s right, and I suppose that’s part of why I feel isolated, though I know I am also doing it to myself to a large degree. There are so many memories here, and between the stress of Mom’s illness and having all of those memories wash over me, I am exhausted and an emotional basket case. It’s made that much worse by the fact that my Father is also not doing well, and he is in the Kootenays. I am practically living at this hospital, and I don’t know how I could handle it if anything went horribly wrong down in Cranbrook. That situation has been ongoing, and the deterioration is difficult to deal with. But this…this came from left field and is just a shock.

It’s probably a good thing there is a dog needing dinner at her house since it forces me to leave for a bit each day, and Darbi gives me a bit of companionship at the house. Another day ahead tomorrow, time to see if I can find my unconscious place.