The Move
I called the social worker in charge of Mom's care and the nursing case manager over to her apartment early yesterday morning. The call had to be made because of an earlier, 5 a.m. call Mom made to me to come over and help her to the bathroom.
I didn't mind getting out in 13 degree temperatures yesterday morning. It was something that had to be done because of a lack of judgement that ranged all the way from the doctor and nursing home to me and Mom over the weekend that ignored the fact she couldn't care for herself.
Better me be cold than Mom to break a hip.
But that arrangement could not last. I had come to terms with it and now it was time for professionals to convince Mom as well.
When the professionals arrived, I turned down the television and wondered how in the world Mom escapes complaints by her neighbors about the noise.
The introductions were really only reacquaintence formalities as these two had worked on Mom's care before. They talked, as Mom still doesn't have a voice. When the word "rehab" was brought up, that's when Mom quit listening. She started shaking her head and writing on a tablet Stay HOME!
They told her that was not an option.
"How about your daughter's house?"
They had already asked my permission before going in, knowing full well of my mother's stubborness.
She shook her head in the affirmative.
"There's one thing though, you'll have to show us you can get up out of your chair before you go to your daughters."
For the first time since her return home, she lifted herself out of the chair. It wasn't easy, but she did it.
She's been playing me all along, I thought. I knew then the only thing to keep her moving now was the threat of going back to the nursing home.
It was an exhausting day, dealing with medical equipment suppliers, who came to the house with the three machines that assist in her breathing and to outfit the downstairs bathroom. The nurse and social worker ordered her a wheelchair for the move and put in orders for a barrage of therapists and personal care folks to come starting today.
My husband was a prince. He works nights, but was up by 8 a.m. cleaning the house and clearing the clutter while I finished an assignment already 3 days past due.
And as I fell to sleep last night with the television blaring downstairs my last thoughts were,
I wonder how far down on the waiting list she is for those hearing aids?
I didn't mind getting out in 13 degree temperatures yesterday morning. It was something that had to be done because of a lack of judgement that ranged all the way from the doctor and nursing home to me and Mom over the weekend that ignored the fact she couldn't care for herself.
Better me be cold than Mom to break a hip.
But that arrangement could not last. I had come to terms with it and now it was time for professionals to convince Mom as well.
When the professionals arrived, I turned down the television and wondered how in the world Mom escapes complaints by her neighbors about the noise.
The introductions were really only reacquaintence formalities as these two had worked on Mom's care before. They talked, as Mom still doesn't have a voice. When the word "rehab" was brought up, that's when Mom quit listening. She started shaking her head and writing on a tablet Stay HOME!
They told her that was not an option.
"How about your daughter's house?"
They had already asked my permission before going in, knowing full well of my mother's stubborness.
She shook her head in the affirmative.
"There's one thing though, you'll have to show us you can get up out of your chair before you go to your daughters."
For the first time since her return home, she lifted herself out of the chair. It wasn't easy, but she did it.
She's been playing me all along, I thought. I knew then the only thing to keep her moving now was the threat of going back to the nursing home.
It was an exhausting day, dealing with medical equipment suppliers, who came to the house with the three machines that assist in her breathing and to outfit the downstairs bathroom. The nurse and social worker ordered her a wheelchair for the move and put in orders for a barrage of therapists and personal care folks to come starting today.
My husband was a prince. He works nights, but was up by 8 a.m. cleaning the house and clearing the clutter while I finished an assignment already 3 days past due.
And as I fell to sleep last night with the television blaring downstairs my last thoughts were,
I wonder how far down on the waiting list she is for those hearing aids?
posted by Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell at 4:38 AM
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