High Anxiety
Mom asked me yesterday in a combo whisper and sign language, "Do you think I can whip this thing?"
I hope she didn't see the fear in my eyes when I said, "Sure. You're a strong person. You'll beat it, just like you have everything else. Fight, remember?" I gave the clenched fist sign she had given to me the first day she was back in the hospital after our talk about hospice.
I told Mom yesterday how serious this infection is, that over - prescribing antibiotics didn't mean they had been over-prescribed to her. It's a general problem that causes infections to mutate into antibiotic resistant strands.
The one thing I cannot do is let her see my fear, because if she knows I'm giving up, she will too. The statistics aren't horrible, but they're not good. Roughly 30-40% of patients over 85 (Mom is 82) have lost to MRSA, mostly after developing pneumonia or blood infections. Mom's developed both, but tests say they are getting better.
I was surprised to learn that a cousin of mine had this infection as well. After 4 weeks of hospitalization and 2 more weeks of I.V. therapy at home, he finally beat it - twice.
Mom's been through so much, but she's beat the odds each time. The loss of my brother, a serious heart attack (of which a majority of women her age fail to live more than a year and she's made it 3) and now this.
It will be 4 weeks on Wednesday since the first onset of symptoms and only the 5th day since the dr. started her all over on I.V. therapy and se still have a ways to go. After asking me if I thought she could beat this she made the comment later, "You would think something would start to work by now."
It doesn't help that she still hasn't regained the use of her voice and the last thing I heard her say to me on the phone last night before going to bed was a very weak and raspy, "I love you."
Yesterday, I told her how serious this illness is, today I need to tell her that the fight has only begun and we both need to stay strong.
My fears need to be confined to my own mind - and they are.
I awoke this morning in the middle of a panic attack, my heart beating wildly and shortness of breath. I didn't share this with my husband, who heard me get up. But he seemed to sense there was something wrong (afterall, it was 3 a.m.) and came in and gave me a deep rub with our hand held massager.
He did much more than ease the tightened muscles in my back; he rubbed the strength back into me that I will need this morning to go in and pass it on to her.
I hope she didn't see the fear in my eyes when I said, "Sure. You're a strong person. You'll beat it, just like you have everything else. Fight, remember?" I gave the clenched fist sign she had given to me the first day she was back in the hospital after our talk about hospice.
I told Mom yesterday how serious this infection is, that over - prescribing antibiotics didn't mean they had been over-prescribed to her. It's a general problem that causes infections to mutate into antibiotic resistant strands.
The one thing I cannot do is let her see my fear, because if she knows I'm giving up, she will too. The statistics aren't horrible, but they're not good. Roughly 30-40% of patients over 85 (Mom is 82) have lost to MRSA, mostly after developing pneumonia or blood infections. Mom's developed both, but tests say they are getting better.
I was surprised to learn that a cousin of mine had this infection as well. After 4 weeks of hospitalization and 2 more weeks of I.V. therapy at home, he finally beat it - twice.
Mom's been through so much, but she's beat the odds each time. The loss of my brother, a serious heart attack (of which a majority of women her age fail to live more than a year and she's made it 3) and now this.
It will be 4 weeks on Wednesday since the first onset of symptoms and only the 5th day since the dr. started her all over on I.V. therapy and se still have a ways to go. After asking me if I thought she could beat this she made the comment later, "You would think something would start to work by now."
It doesn't help that she still hasn't regained the use of her voice and the last thing I heard her say to me on the phone last night before going to bed was a very weak and raspy, "I love you."
Yesterday, I told her how serious this illness is, today I need to tell her that the fight has only begun and we both need to stay strong.
My fears need to be confined to my own mind - and they are.
I awoke this morning in the middle of a panic attack, my heart beating wildly and shortness of breath. I didn't share this with my husband, who heard me get up. But he seemed to sense there was something wrong (afterall, it was 3 a.m.) and came in and gave me a deep rub with our hand held massager.
He did much more than ease the tightened muscles in my back; he rubbed the strength back into me that I will need this morning to go in and pass it on to her.
posted by Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell at 3:44 AM
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