I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. If someone handed me a stethoscope right about now, I'd place it next to my IPod dock speakers to see if it amplifies the sound; If I had a blood pressure cuff, I'd bundle that pile of branches I cut from the bushes around my house for the Monday brush collection; The feeding tube syringe would be great for watering those little houseplants we have laying around; and last, but never least, a bed pan would make a more than adequate paint roller tray. I have been a medical ignoramus.
Now, my dear Mother has been in a hospital bed in the Intensive Care Unit of Paoli hospital since May 31st. First, there were three days of oxygen; next two weeks of being hooked up to the monster ventilator; and finally, after a grueling family meeting where Mom blinked twice to continue receiving treatment, ventilation through a tracheostomy and a feeding tube. I have become the dimwitted advocate for this little lady, giving written and verbal consent for medical happenings which I have never heard of before, and am frightened and honored to do so.
My problem with all of this is the same as as everyone's. There is no timeframe for her recovery. Each two steps backward is being treated so she can take a step forward. Each facet of her well being has been treated: from the high heart rate to the high rate of respiration, from the temperature rising to the blood pressure falling, from the lungs having too much in them to the stomach not absorbing enough nourishment and medications fed through the tummy tube, and from the high blood sugar to the swelling in her hands and belly. The logic behind the lack of a definitive recovery timeline is that this was the mother of pneumonia attacks, and an illness this serious in a person of her age is critical, and it is going to be a long recovery. Since she gave the two blinks of her eyes last week, she has begun a rigorous regimen of medications, treatments, therapies and emotions. Just like all the family and her friends, I want her better....now!
The removal of the tubes and tape from Mom's face signified the beginning of the second phase of her recovery. Though she is in a bed all the time and still quite sick, some genuinely poignant moments have come our way. The biggest and best was when I got a text from my little sister Lisa shortly after Mom woke up after the procedures of that frightful Friday. It said, 'She can smile now! It's beautiful!' It's fun to see her eyes widen, as well as the smile and wink that follows, when a grandchild comes by for a visit. It's rewarding to finally, after a week of struggling, to be able to read her lips when she needs something. It's awe inspiring to watch her benefit from the phenomenal care she is getting at the hospital she's in, and comforting to watch her trusting eyes as the devoted nursing staff tends to her every need. It's fortunate that, though no hospital is fun to be in, every effort is made to make families comfortable. It's relieving whenever a sign of improvement is evident. Her color has been good, the swelling has been diminishing, her blood pressure and sugar are stable. Most of all, she asks to go home and looks incredibly annoyed at any of us that inform her of the times in the last few weeks that she can't remember. If that isn't a sign of improvement, I don't know what is!
No, she certainly isn't out of the woods yet. It's still one day at a time. Maybe if I confess my sins against her and pray hard, things will be better:
Ma, I'm sorry that after I got my driver's license and told you I was driving Lisa and me to church, I actually parked the car on Quaint Street and she and I just talked. I'm sorry for those times as a wee one when I didn't feel like coming in to do.....you know.....and did it outside. I'm sorry I let one of the neighborhood kids talk me into breaking into another neighbor's garage only to subsequently lock me in the garage and leave the scene. I'm sorry that long after you thought I had gone to bed, I snuck downstairs and sat quietly on the family room steps where you couldn't see me and watched whatever programs you watched. If you get better now, I promise I'll tell you these stories in person! I'll stick my index finger on the inside of your elbow until you slug me....just like old times. I'll say all the Italian cuss words you taught me whenever you need to giggle.
It is to her credit that she has a family full of members working together to see that she is getting the care she needs, and supporting each other through this crisis. I am thankful for the heartfelt prayers of all her friends, all my friends, all my sisters' friends, all our children's friends, and anyone who has asked us about her, or even thought of us during this difficult time. We are certainly remaining positive and hopeful as more and more time passes. Nothing is etched in stone, and she may continue to take backward steps, but until they tell us that there is a symptom they won't treat, we're going to move forward optomistically expecting this stubborn and strong lady to recuperate, and realistically ask for her healing.
One day at a time..............
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