Hospital & Health Update: Mum
Where to begin? Seriously. It's been chaotic here. My exhaustion is weekly, day by day. that I have no other choice but to scurry into the bathroom closet and scream into a bag of adult diapers.
It started the weekend before Valentine's Day. I remember Mum coming home from the hospital on the holiday or the day after. She had gone to the ED and they admitted her for observation. She couldn't breathe. Lung cancer will do that.
Before the ambulance picked her up, and despite pain in her throat (vocal cords) and knee, she was her feisty old self. She did her own thing. She made her breakfast, and her lunch, and her own dinner. She washed her demonic dog. She went shopping. She used the basement bathroom to poop. She did her laundry.
That changed over the weekend. It's as if she hit a brick wall.
They assessed her occupational skills and suggested that she go into a rehab facility (old fart home). She refused. I also refused when they called me to ask permission to ship her off. It didn't make sense. She wasn't in the hospital long. Why would she be that fucked up?
Many of my Tweeps recall how my mother does in a hospital, especially prior to or after surgery. For those of you that are new: she is a fractious patient. She bemoans her situation with a long-suffering voice, or else uses a pitiful quaver when asking for things. Every little pain is agony. She throws tantrums over discomforts such as a loose blood pressure cuff that slips down her arm, or the IV plumbing, or the bed, or whatever. The latter attitude seems to only manifest when we're there to visit. Most of the time, she puts on a polite face with the staff, or so I'm told. Malingering disorder is another label for these antics, focusing on attention.
Given all this nonsense, I was a bit surprised by her calm attitude that weekend, except for the bruising from botched attempts to access a vein. There wasn't much petulance. Did they explore pharmacologic options for anti-anxiety issues? They didn't consult with me prior to administering meds. I asked her nurse about it. She said Mum was only given medication for her rapid heart rate and mucus from her lungs (her lung cancer has spread).
There were only two issues bothering her: the telemetry leads got tangled and they wouldn't let her walk around. I adjusted those leads. As for walking? Nope. She's a fall risk.
My phone rang early the next morning. Mum was going to be discharged. The cantankerous behavior had returned and was leveled at two doctors. I know one of them. I agreed with her that he is indeed an asshole. He told her that she should go to a nursing home.
I arrived about an hour later. She was in bed and she was back to her poorly-done-by nonsense. She griped about not being able to walk for two days, and said it was the reason she couldn't function.
Could not function.
They loaded her into a wheelchair while I schlepped her overnight bags out to the Bronco. She gave me an earful about those two doctors. She asked if we could part out front. We have a ramp there. She didn't feel strong enough to walk up it, and we have several wheelchairs.
The advice to go to a nursing home was validated once she was back on home turf. Mum was an invalid incapable of doing any normal tasks. She was genuinely trying her best. This wasn't an exaggeration. Her fatigue and weakness was real.
Like I stated earlier: What the fuck happened to her in that hospital?!
A plenitude of health stuff has happened since then. Jeff and I are doing her normal things for her. Getting meals made, helping dress her, getting her up the stairs to her bedroom, performing menial tasks, and generally wear ourselves out in the process. She has apologized for being a burden more times than I can remember.
She had a power port placed, and has gone through her first round of cancer treatment. Those two things knocked her down even more. She is absolutely depressed and infirm.
She isn't a burden, of course, but sometimes she asks for too much while we're already doing things. "Let me finish this, 'kay!" It's funny. And she does appreciate our efforts to be good caregivers.
I don't know how long Mum has. I wonder if she'll see Christmas this year. Hell, I'm hoping she'll see Easter. All we can do is live one day at a time.