The Fragility of Life

My mother has been riding a medical rollercoaster this week and I have been along for the ride. I am just now stepping off the rollercoaster and my head is spinning; it is time for a break.

I shared with you in last Sunday’s blog post that my mother was just about to go under the knife again for a second round of hip surgery. Well, a lot has happened in a week!

Sunday: The surgeon calls to say the surgery went well and her recovery will probably be faster than after her first surgery. He feels she needs support and asks that I visit. I arrive at the hospital and I am refused entry, the ward is closed to visitors.

Monday: I call for an update and the nurse informs me that my mother is doing well; she has started physiotherapy. My mother calls in the afternoon and she is in good spirits but is confused, ‘why I am not visiting her?’, she asks.

And then the rollercoaster spins into free fall!

Tuesday: My phone rings, the hospital is calling. An internal medicine doctor says he would like to ask me a few questions before he tells me what is happening. My heart literally skips a beat - this cannot be good! Does my mother have a DNR, he asks? Has she been diagnosed with dementia? Who is her next of kin? He informs me that my mother has had a heart attack, and there are other complications. She has been moved to the heart ward so they can monitor her. He then tells me to prepare for the worst. He says he expects we will need to make some tough decisions in the next few days. He then adds - but some patients pull through. He says immediate family can visit, only one person a day. I call my husband. I call my brothers. I call my daughters. I suggest to my oldest brother that he visit her as I have seen her almost every day since COVID started.

Wednesday: I call for an update. I hate disturbing the nursing staff because I know how busy they are. But my mother’s nurse is kind and gentle, informing me that there is no change in her condition. I ask if I can visit. Yes, they feel that because of her condition and confusion, visits are vital. My mother is sitting in a chair beside her bed when I arrive. She is 86-year old and yes, that is old - but today she looks really old. The doctor arrives and asks to speak to me in the hall. He tells me there has been no improvement. They are very concerned about her confusion. I return to her bed and my mother tells me there are two people sleeping in the bed across from her and at night, two other people join them. She says she is not sure what these four people are up to in that narrow bed and there is a hint of impropriety in her voice. I make a joke about there not being sufficient hospital beds for everyone. She smirks and rolls her eyes. She is still there; I get a glimmer of my mother among the confusion.

Thursday: I call for an update. The nurse informs me that my mother is doing well. There are signs of improvement. My brother goes to visit her. (I want to interject here that having my brother step up and visit her every other day has been such a relief for me. I am tired and stressed from being my mother’s sole care provider.) My brother reports back to us that he is amazed at how much better she looks. She is still confused but has moments of clarity.

Friday: I call for my daily update. My mother continues to improve. The medical staff are amazed at her rapid recovery. My husband and I laugh that it is because she is a stubborn, determined Dutch woman. That can have its challenges but in this case, it is proving beneficial. She is fast asleep when I arrive to visit and looks fragile and vulnerable. She wakes up and is delighted to see me. I show her the 20-week ultrasound of her first great-grandchild. At first, she has a difficult time comprehending what she is seeing but after I explain, she is struck with awe. I tell her the sex of her great-grandchild. (No, I am not going to tell you - you’ll have to keep reading my blog for another 20 weeks to find out!) I can see tears filling her eyes. She says she needs to get better so she can be there for the birth of this baby.

Saturday: My mother continues to improve. They are moving her back to the post-surgery ward. The speed of her recovery takes my breath away. I try not to worry about her future and whether she can return to independent living. I am optimistic about what lies ahead.

But I am also tired. I am drained. My family and friends are worried about me. I know I need to take better care of myself. And so I am going to shift gears for the next few weeks. I am going to go for long walks and bike rides. I am going to get together with friends who I have not seen for many long months. I am going to sit in coffee shops and research the book I want to write. I am going to watch sunsets with my husband. I am going to make a mini bucket list and head off on daylong adventures. And, instead of planning my life around my mother’s needs, I am going to start fitting my mother’s needs into my daily schedule. If I don’t start taking care of myself, I won’t be able to take care of my mother.

I am also going to take a short sabbatical from my blog and social media. I’ll be back soon. My writing and this amazing community of women fill me with so much joy that I can’t imagine stepping away for too long. But before I can bring some balance back into my life I need to spend some time by myself and with those near and dear to me.