Archive for December, 2014|Monthly archive page

It’s not easy

I was holding my cell phone in my hand this morning at 6:34 a.m., looking at the weather report for Columbus, JFK and London, England – my destination over the holidays to celebrate Patrick’s 50th birthday. And then the phone rang, and the Alz center’s number appeared. This is one day before I leave for an overseas vacation, I thought. Of course I’m getting a call about Mom at the crack of dawn. A nurse had to let me know that on rounds last night, she found Mom lying on the floor by her bed. She presumably rolled out. She has bruising on her face. She seems to be OK.

Visiting Mom was on my list of things to do, so I went in the morning instead of after work. She had just finished breakfast. She has bruising, alright. Two black eyes and some extensive swelling of her left eyelid. It looked to me, as I examined the bruises, like she bumped her forehead and her left cheek when she landed. There is now a full-length pad next to her bed. I don’t think the Alz center uses rails on most beds – if residents want to get up, they can get up and venture out whenever they want to. So a pad is the next best thing to save Mom from herself. It was hard to get a good picture of her face – I didn’t want anyone on staff to think I was recording this for any legal reasons. It’s just part of the Bonnie archive.


I rubbed Mom’s arm and held her hand and talked to her quietly. She burped, which made her laugh. She smiled from time to time, and she talked. I tried to encourage her to stand up by pulling on her arms – the usual method – and she said, “Ouch ouch ouch ouch.” So I am concerned that she might have some other injuries from the fall. Just sitting, she seemed fine and pain free. The nurse said she’ll be evaluated by a physical therapist to be sure. I timidly felt around her face for bumps and, to my surprise, I started to cry. I don’t usually cry when I’m with Mom and I don’t want her to see me cry – I worry that she could sense the sadness. So I wiped away the tears and tried one more time to get her to stand so I could move her to a chair where she could watch the music activity that had started. She said “Ouch” again so I just let her be.

I’ve worried about her mobility since the Christmas party on Dec. 12. That day, I found her asleep in bed but managed to stand her up and walk her out to the program area to watch the Elvis impersonator’s performance. She was a little more shuffly with her steps and definitely less stable as she stood up and then lowered into a chair – both times, she needed substantial help. But when I left that day and asked if she might be a wheelchair candidate, a nurse assured me that Mom was not at all ready for a wheelchair – especially because she hasn’t suffered any falls from a standing position. Shows how little I know after all this time. Despite her general sedentary ways, I do wonder if Mom – who can also be a contrarian – might have some disdain for a wheelchair at this point anyhow.

I couldn’t understand what she said today, of course, and I was so distracted that I didn’t try very hard, either, to offer a positive response. When I did pay attention, I sensed a slight urgency in her manner – like it is more difficult just to make the sounds she makes, which she has always done freely and frequently. Maybe another decline, an inability to vocalize, is ahead of us. Or maybe I imagined it. But her one clear phrase, besides “Ouch,” was easy to hear and understand: “It’s not easy,” she said. It’s not easy being Bonnie. Sometimes it’s not easy being me.

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