How's Your Mom?

“How’s your mom?”

I've been getting that question a lot in the last 18 months. First she had blood clots and then, a year later, had to have her hip replaced. Once she had the surgery and was healed and back home, we had a little respite, but as the second half of last year unfolded, she lost some mobility, had increased pain and just generally stopped being able to do much. She has sort of folded in on herself. She’s more bent, more shuffly, much, much slower. The last couple of months have included two hospitalizations and a month in a rehab facility to work on strengthening her body. I expect that this shouldn't be a surprise. I mean, people get old. But there are old people and elderly people. Today I googled “how old is elderly?” and found an article on NPR.org from March 14, 2013 that says “In the end, ‘elderly’ may be more a state of being – or feeling – than a certain age.”¹ Mom was supposed to get old without being elderly.

Mom was a force to be reckoned with when she was younger. She was incredibly active and health-conscious, roller-bladeing around Atlanta and working out at all hours of the day or night. She took a year off of work to travel around the world – she spent time in Australia and China, she trekked in Nepal, and I think she even rode an elephant in Indonesia. She eschewed conventionality, read vociferously, honed her disrespect of authority to a fine point, and just generally danced to her own music.

The damage to her hip is what did her in, I think. Prior to that, she knew she had some degenerative disc issues, but she worked out at the gym and remained active, and was able to keep herself flexible and pretty strong. Once the pain of her hip overwhelmed her, she just couldn't do any of that any more. The surgery to replace her hip certainly made things better for a while, but the months of inactivity allowed other pains and issues to come to the forefront, and it’s been a constant battle for her since.

So the question “how’s your mom?” which used to be answered by regaling the questioner with tales of Mom’s latest conquests, is now answered using the previous day as a point of reference. “She’s much better than she was yesterday.” Or, “She seems much weaker today than she was yesterday.”

Mom is frustrated and scared. Mostly she’s scared that she’ll have to live out her life in increasing pain. And scared that she won’t be able to live independently any more. And, unfortunately, it looks as if both of these fears are not unfounded.

The job my siblings and I have is to help Mom navigate this new reality and help her to find hope. Of course, we also have to make sure she’s taking her meds and eating right, and doing all those other things that her caregivers tell her to do - which can tend to annoy her (see the comment above about her feelings about authority). But that’s the price for having children who love you I guess.

Besides worrying about Mom, the thing that keeps me up at night is knowing that I need to take better care of myself. Mom’s story proves that even the healthiest people are not promised an easy trip up to and through their golden years, but I’m guessing that my chances will be better if I do the things I know I should do. If I’m lucky, it’ll make life better for not only me, but for my children as well. Because the fact of the matter is that at some point I’ll probably have to depend on them the way my mother is depending on my siblings and me. I hope they are kind and loving. And I hope I’m not a complete pain in the arse.

Update: So if you asked me “how’s your mom?” right now, I’d tell you that she had a good day. We’re watching a movie that she can’t really hear and I pause it every once in a while to tell her what’s going on. And a little bit earlier tonight, while Mom was making her way through the kitchen with her walker, my sweet Sara called her “Zippy.” It is important to keep one’s sense of humor.  

¹http://www.npr.org/2013/03/12/174124992/an-age-old-problem-who-is-elderly

Doubts

This has been a week for doubts.

Last Saturday night, my 79-year-old mother was taken via ambulance to the emergency room. It’s an almost impossible admission to make to myself, not to mention to the anyone who might read this, but I hadn’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks – every day I’d think “I need to call Mom,” but when that thought came to my mind, I was never in a place or time where I could do it just then. And then I’d forget – only to remember when I was lying in bed – much too late to call. Damn. Tomorrow I’ll do it… and repeat.

So last Saturday comes, and Mom gets admitted to Northside. She’s super weak and uncomfortable. Sunday she’s doing better – getting IV antibiotics, some pain meds, and physical therapy. Monday things start to deteriorate – shes confused and weaker, she can’t speak clearly and even when she does, she can’t grab all of the words from her brain and put them out into the world. By Thursday, she’s sleeping most of the day – they've done an MRI and we’re waiting for the neurologist to come do an exam and tell us what it showed. Because we’re waiting, and we need Mom to be alert enough for the exam, the attending doctor doesn’t want to give Mom anything strong for pain. She’s pissed – I mean really, furiously pissed– and we all have a terrible night. The one good thing about that night was that Mom was pretty clear in her ability to speak – the words were angry and accusing, but at least she could say them without losing her train of thought.

In the middle of that awful night, doubts flooded my brain. I tell myself that I’m a terrible daughter. I beat myself up for not making it a priority to talk to and see my mother on a much more regular basis. I’m praying. Pleading for her pain to be relieved. But all I hear is Mom asking for help. All I see is her face contorted in anger and pain. And I see my sister, who is the one who always holds it together – the one who is best at the business of figuring out what needs to be done – I see her break down. In the middle of the night, we are, all three of us, broken and crying.

And where is God? I know that with a wave of His hand He could fix all of this. So why wasn’t He waving his hand now? Why isn’t He answering my pleading? Is He really here at all? Is He just here for other people? I know He answers other people’s prayers and gives them comfort – why not me? Is He the God that created the world and then washed His hands of the whole mess?

And now I’m not only a bad daughter, I’m a terrible person for questioning the existence of the God . Oh – and add in the moment I snapped at Mom’s nurse who had been wonderful all day, and I’m pretty sure I"m the most awful person you know.

You can tell me that I was under immense stress and all of these doubts in the middle of the night are normal, understandable – maybe even expected. And that went through my head that awful night, but it gave me no peace. All I could see was doubt.

Mom woke up Friday morning and was much more herself and has gradually gotten better enough to be discharged to a rehab facility. She still has moments of confusion, but overall, the light is showing at the end of the tunnel. And for this I am immensely thankful.

So what happens next? I still feel terrible about the kind of daughter I allowed myself to become. And I still wonder where God was that night. The first issue is pretty easily fixed because in spite of what my neglect might look like to others, I love my mother with all of my heart. I won’t allow myself to fall into such self-absorption again. My siblings deserve a better partner in the care of our mother. And most importantly, she deserves better.

The solution to the second issue is less obvious. But, as I have told the kids in my Sunday School class many times, faith waxes and wanes. And I tell them that’s normal - even human, because I truly believe that it is. 

Continuing to say the words of our corporate prayers helps. Because as I say them I remember what they have meant to me. And as hard as it might be to admit, maybe it’s not up to God to show Himself to me, but for me to open myself to Him.