Trust the Process

For years I've been a person who facilitates diversity-related gatherings for high school and adult groups. Our curriculum was created by NCCJ, the National Conference for Community and Justice. When the organization first came about in the 50's it was called the National Conference for Christians and Jews. In the 70's the organization became more inclusive. I got involved in the mid-90's because of the enthusiasm of two of my high school students and due to the energy and enthusiasm of my students, I haven't turned back since.

I share this because one of the mantras that we have in our work is "trust the process." This saying has helped to ease the tension and stress that has a tendency to enter into the work and I've fallen back on the simplicity of this belief time and time again. Once again I'm leaning on this belief as I deal with the recent set-backs in my chapter as primary care giver for my dear Nani (mother). On Saturday of last week, the day after her Skype interview with all of our relations in Wisconsin, Mother was complaining of being cold. "I just can't get warm," she said. So I put another warm blanket on her, tucked it in around her feet and shoulders, refilled her coffee, and returned to my lesson planning. Again she complained, "I'm freezing." I made her some warm tea and heated up some soup, while also putting a stocking cap on her head. Our house was built in the late 40's and has a tendency to be drafty around the windows and doors areas, so I thought that she was just feeling the late-November chills of the desert Southwest. I took her temperature with our digital thermometer and it read 97 F. When the tea and soup didn't help, I started rubbing her shoulders and massaging oil behind her ears and neck. It was then that I noticed the way that her body was shivering under the three layers of Pendleton blankets that covered her body. I called my sister in Wisconsin to see if this had ever happened before to mom. In a calm, reassuring voice my sister told me that this had never happened before and she told me to call an urgent care center. I immediately jumped online and discovered the plethora of urgent care resources available in our area. This was too confusing! At that time, Mom started to shiver to the point that she was making her whole body shake in her chair and I knew at that time that I needed to call 9-1-1. After placing the call I rubbed her shoulders again, calming her and telling her that my friends were on the way to help. In less than 5 minutes, the Emergency Response Team (ERT) were at the door. As they took her vitals we discovered that her temperature was actually over 101 F. They immediately told me that she was too sick to stay at home and they recommended a hospital in Scottsdale. I tried to center myself and ask questions in order to collect the paperwork and information that would be needed at the hospital. The ERT folks were awesome and assuring. I collected our stuff and followed the ambulance to the hospital. On the way there I called my family in Wisconsin and my son in AZ. My wonderful sonny-boy was at my side and greeted me with a hug as soon as I reached the hospital. I couldn't have dealt with things as calmly as I did if it hadn't been for him.

We spent the next 5 hours in the emergency ward as mom was hooked up to an IV and given medication to address her high temperature. The ER doctor visited us numerous times to bring us up to date regarding the findings of blood tests and her chess x-ray. At about 3:30 we learned that Mom had an infection in her blood, and evidence of the infection was found on her leg; the symptoms of the infection were redness, heat, and inflammation and it covered the entire area from her knee to her ankle. The doctor and nurses asked if I had noticed this redness earlier and unfortunately, I hadn't seen this before. My mind was racing, and I thought back of the times that I had helped her to go to the bathroom the night before and change her clothes just that morning. Why hadn't I seen this?

Our final hour in ER was waiting for the doctor to determine what type of bacteria was in Mom's bloodstream and causing this inflammation and infection. The end diagnosis was cellulitus, an infection of mom's right leg caused by a streptococcal bacteria. Fortunately it was caught early, but Mom would have to be admitted to the hospital as some serious antibiotics would be needed to fight this infection and rid it from mom's body. Mom was admitted and I stayed for another two hours as she was able to eat (after 6 hours in the ER) and we were able to get all of the necessary information to her new doctor and medical staff. It was quite a day.

Mom spent the next 5 days in the hospital. I requested a leave of absence from work which was granted without question. This episode conflicted with an annual conference that I attend, so while I was disappointed that I wasn't able to participate in this annual professional development opportunity, I was so happy that I could be home for mom. Her levels of tolerance and frustration were like riding a classic roller coaster. At times she was patient and loving, while other times she was loud and obnoxious. I was hoping that my presence at her bedside would help her to deal with all the poking and prodding that hospital stays entail, but alas, her yelling and uncooperative attitude was true to that of other dementia/early Alzheimers patients. While I tried to calm her and encourage her to be more cooperative, she was going to be who she was going to be and act the way she wanted to act. The upside of this whole week was that the antibiotics were doing the trick, her infection was visually decreasing in size. The downside of this incident was that 5 days in a hospital for an 86 year old diabetic patient resulted in mom's loss of mobility, i.e. standing and walking.

On Thursday the doctor informed me that they had done everything that they could for mom. Her infection was under control. But, the doctor couldn't recommend bed rest at home, due to her inability to stand and walk as reported by the physical therapists that had worked with Mom over the last few days. It was ordered by the doctor that Mom receive physical therapy at a facility that could offer skilled nursing. In other words, Mom would be going to an assisted living facility. Within the next hour the social worker was there asking where I would like Mom to be placed. I hadn't a clue. It had all happened so quickly that I didn't know where she could go, let alone what type of facility that I should look for on her behalf. I was informed that she was going to be discharged in the next 6 hours and I needed to make a decision. It was at that time that I called my husband and told him what was going on and that I needed some help. He assured me that everything was going to be alright and that I needed to ask the social worker for information and recommendations. I immediately did as he had suggested, and the case worker supplied me with four pages worth of facilities in the area that specialized in Mom's physical needs. I would spend the next 4 hours driving around the area in search of the best place to care for my mother. Murphy's law prevailed and the final location of the day was the place for mom. The call was made, I returned to the hospital, and by 7pm that evening mom was half-way home.

Mom's been at BG in Scottsdale for three days. Since her arrival there I've visited her about 7 times. The emotions that I've felt since placing Mom in their care has been full-spectrum, from delight to guilt. Tonight I sit here composing this story with a feeling of disappointment in myself yet at the same time trying to find a way to remember the words that have always kept me going... trust the process. I was so hopeful that Mom's time with me in Arizona would be happy and carefree. We'd enjoy the nice temperatures and ability to do our occasional outings throughout the fall, winter, and spring, and we'd return to our homeland of Wisconsin after Memorial Day. She would maintain her level of activity and all would be good. My hope was that we'd be able to maintain this lifestyle for at least a couple of years. But unfortunately, life has thrown us a curve-ball. I know that I'll get by, and perhaps in time my feelings of guilt and disappointment will pass, but I wonder about Mom. While she assures me that she's fine and comfortable there, and that she's getting good care, I  hope that she's not feeling bewildered, scared, or abandoned when I'm not there. This is so hard; my heart is breaking.

The most shitty part of this whole chapter is that it's the 20+ days before Christmas. Right before I left Mom today, she asked me to help her to go to the toilet. As I wheeled her into the bathroom and assisted her on to her porcelain throne, we talked about how she was feeling. She asked me, "how did I get so old... and, why didn't I just stay young?" I told me that I often share with my students that I'm a twenty seven year old woman trapped in a 50 year old body. We laughed together, as we acknowledged our similar stories.

Once I got her back into bed, snuggled up with several layers of covers and a fresh cup of warm tea, she sent me out shopping this afternoon, in search of clothing for her great-grandchildren. Tomorrow I'll take these things over to show mom, and perhaps together we'll wrap them and send them off to the family. And tomorrow will be another day, dedicated to my Nani...