More Mama Less Drama

Update March 17th

My mom had a rough week and I learned the importance of being a squeaky wheel.

My mom was sounding worse everyday – fuzzy in thought – kind of like she had been drinking, which of course she hadn’t. I couldn’t get to see her for a variety of depressing reasons, so I was limited to action by telephone. My mom told me she wasn’t sleeping so well – and also told me there were towels on the floor of her bathroom because of a water leak. I tried to reach the social worker with no success.

I spoke with my mom on Friday about 7 or 8 times – she mentioned the water on the floor of the bathroom at least 5 times. She said it had been reported. Friday evening when I called her at 8 PM she was already in bed, sounding tired and still fuzzy. Saturday morning I called and she sounded fuzzier and told me that when she needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night there was so much water on the floor, they had to take her DOWN THE HALL.

I got on the phone. The weekend manager told me she would check on the water leak and call me back. I told her that it was UNACCEPTABLE (in just that tone) that my injured mother had to be trucked down the hall in the middle of the night. No apologies. My next call was to the nurses station to discuss my mother’s fuzziness. And this is where it gets good – the nurse told me that a “family member requested that she be given more vicodin.” Hmm – the family (except for me) is in IRELAND for a wedding so I doubt it was one of them. Then she recognized my voice – she said it was me – I asked for my mother to be given more vicodin. She said “you came to the nurses’ station and spoke to me, to give us your phone number and to request more meds for your mom.”

Uh, NO. I was not at the nursing home, I had called to confirm that the SIL in charge (delicacy prevents me from calling her names) had left a local contact before leaving the country with the other family member in charge. She hadn’t. I gave them my number, inquired what meds my mom was on (tylenol and if she needed something stronger – vicodin).

The nurse then told me that she gave my mom tylenol before therapy since it seemed to make therapy go more smoothly. While she was talking to me there were voices in the background – discussing what was in the chart. Bizarre. I told the nurse that “no, I never requester that my mother be given more vicodin.”

Long story short – the Director of Nursing called. The leak was fixed – it was a LOOSE BOLT. There maintenance man fixed it. And she apologized. The meds issue – abit more complicated. She listened, offered suggestions (darvocet instead of vicodin – less fogginess) and told me to call her with any other issues.

I talked it over with my mom – she did not understand the PRN meds order – she knew something was wrong and thanked me for figuring it out. Today she sounds better.

I am grateful.

Update March 13th

Sure, she looks sweet but don’t mess with her or now you know where I get my stubborn streak

Per yesterday’s post my mom informed me that the rehab powers that be were going to force her to take all her meals in the communal dining hall. You will recall that my mom was none to happy about this although, and I quote “I am not prejudiced against all those other old people – they can’t help the way they are …”

I talked to my mom at lunch time today. She was in her room, waiting for “them” to bring her lunch. Surprised I said “I thought you had to have lunch in the dining room.” To which she lowered her voice and replied “If you beg in just the right way they don’t make you go.”

Rock on mom, don’t let the man get you down.

UPDATE ON MY MOM

Thank you all for your kind words, and in Aunt Becky’s case, the offer of back up muscle. My mom is doing great – exceeding all expectations. She is doing all her own self care and walked either 50 or 500 feet today. She isn’t sure about the distance (she has been getting a little fuzzy on details over the past year).

I called the nurse’s station to clarify a couple points, and although they were a tad snarky, they did answer my questions and confirmed that she is doing well.

One thing is a bit weird, my mom has refused to go to the dining hall. Now it appears she has no choice. Today she told me that “they” would no longer bring her meals to her room. Keeping with her change in vernacular she said “our” room. Her roommate, whom she refers to as “my friend” or “the other lady,” apparently does not want to go to the dining hall either. I can’t figure out why.

Is it the temperature? The one time she went there she said she was cold. Or, is it the depressing sight of all the other residents? When I try to find out she gets all defensive. “What are you saying – that I am prejudiced against all the other old people. I have nothing against them. They can’t help the way they are” she says. Then she reverts to “we” meaning she and the other lady – “we prefer to eat in our room.”

“Why Mommy?”

“Why what? I just don’t want to go that’s all. If I have to I don’t mind. It’s not a problem.”

Sigh. I feel useless.

Time Moves On, Things Change

It seems a lifetime ago that I watched my mom agonize over the decision to put her mom in a nursing home. Today my mom is the one in a nursing home. She fell over a week ago and fractured her pelvis. Since she has severe osteoporosis, she is not a candidate for surgery and must simply wait for the fractures to heal. She cannot walk, or stand, so she is either in bed or the wheel chair with short periods of physical therapy.My mom is a fighter. Not a knock down, drag em’ out kind of fighter, rather a lay low and let it flow kind of fighter. Being in a nursing home is hard though, and I wonder if she can lay low enough to survive the hundreds of little indignities she will have to endure before she can return home.

I visited her just hours after she was transported by ambulance to the “rehab center.” I walked in and was assailed with unmistakable smell and sounds of a nursing home. Most rooms were dark with tiny forms under white blankets. It was only 9:30 PM. I made my way to my mom’s room. She was in bed and they had removed her teeth so she looked, for want of a better word, awful.

My mom is a night owl; she didn’t want to be in bed at 9:30PM. She was happy to see me but embarrassed about the teeth thing. She was in pretty good spirits but had already slipped into the role of a good nursing home patient.

She referred to herself as “we” and the staff as “they.” It was necessary to refer to the staff that way since no one, please read that carefully, NO ONE, took the time to introduce themselves to her or to me. She had been there a few hours when she finally gave into her need to use the bedpan. She pushed the call button, we heard it ring in the hall, but no one responded. We waited and waited and waited. After 10 minutes or so I went into the hall and flagged down a nurse. A few minutes later someone came in to assist. I stepped out into the hall to give my mom privacy.

It was interesting, there were nurses and other staff in the hall, but no one would made eye contact with me. They seemed to make a point of not talking to anyone except other employees. I left that night about 11:30 PM. It was hard to leave her there.

Here is the difficult thing – I live 75 miles from the nursing home. I am between jobs so I have all the time in the world to spend with my mom, but for one thing, the price of gasoline. Even with my economy car, one tank is approximately 2 1/2 trips. Last week the cost to fill my tank was $40.00. This makes for a very hard choice – food or gasoline?