Today Mom had a cardiac chemical stress test to see if her heart needed surgery. The test was negative, meaning there were no blockages large enough to warrant either a cardiac catheter to insert one or more stents, or bypass surgery.
It also means she will be able to withstand surgery to clear out her right carotid in a couple of weeks. Good news.
Of course, before we found out the results, a nurse from the cardiologist's office had to come by and check Mom out before telling us she didn't know anything yet. Then the cardiologist did the same thing. Later that day the cardiologist came back again to give us the news.
Medicare? Be forewarned. I see BIG bills coming your way.
More good news; her main doctor said her test results are good enough to discontinue the shot of blood thinner she has been getting in the stomach in addition to her Coumadin, and she can start taking the daily aspirin orally instead of rectally. Big pluses for her.
On the bad side, blood has been found in her stool. This could be a complication from the blood thinners, or it could be something more serious. We've been advised to wait until the second carotid surgery to have the colonoscopy done to find out what may or may not be wrong, so we will wait.
The speech therapist was in today. Mom called her three different names during the session, only one of which was right. However, even as tired as she was from the physical therapy session she'd just had, she impressed the therapist with how alert she was, her cooperation, and her improvement over the last session. Mom graduated to being able to drink regular liquids like coffee and water, rather than the thickened liquids she's had to drink recently. She was happy to hear that.
The occupational therapist was pleased as well, commenting how much Mom had improved just over the weekend. He said she was able to help in getting herself washed and dressed, and seemed much stronger.
What aliens have kidnapped the people we met with last Friday, who gave us almost no hope???
After the occupational therapist was done with Mom she had to take a two-hour nap to recuperate. She woke up in time to eat dinner, and she was in a foul mood.
I'm hoping this phase won't last long. I'm hoping that when we move her to the new rehab facility on Wednesday we'll be over this part.
In the meantime, the pedicure and Sangria worked wonders.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Day of Rest, Wasn't
Normally you'd see my husband and I going to church on a Saturday night, being as he works the late-night shift and sleeps Sunday mornings. However, for the past couple of weeks we haven't had the chance to go at all. We've been too worried about Mom, and I've spent most of my time at the hospital while he's been holding down the fort at home.
Today was no different.
I went to the hospital around 9 a.m. and stayed there until 6:30 p.m. It made for a very, very long day. When I got home tonight I was absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, Husband had dinner on the table in nothing flat. He's been a real rock for me these past weeks, and I so appreciate him stepping up to the plate (so to speak) in the fixing dinner area.
Mom is very demanding, both mentally and physically. She talks almost constantly, asking questions we've answered over and over again. She wants ice from the machine down the hall. She wants her back rubbed or her neck rubbed. She needs to be taken to the toilet. She is in pain and needs medication. She needs help eating and drinking. She needs to be repositioned in bed. She is confused about the time, who has been there and who hasn't, who people actually are, and sometimes where she actually is.
Please know I don't begrudge her anything. I would do anything she needed and more. I'm just happy to have her here.
But I'm turning into a zombie.
Sis and I have decided that rather than have both of us spend great amounts of time with her all day long once she moves into the new rehab facility, we're going to have to break things up. I'll visit after work on Monday and Wednesday, and Sis will take Tuesday and Thursday. Then she'll take Saturday and I'll take Sunday, giving both of us time to attend church. Hopefully, this will also give us time with our families as well...something that has been sorely lacking since the heart attack/stroke happened.
Although I feel extremely guilty about this, I don't know what else to do. The new facility is a 20-minute drive from home. As we speak I have no clean underwear ( I know, too much information) because I haven't had time to do laundry. I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal for the family to sit down and enjoy, and I am so very sick of hospital food that I could scream. I'm exhausted even after eight hours of sleep.
And the hospital thing ain't over yet.
Tomorrow Mom will have a chemical stress test on her heart. Depending on the outcome of that, she may be undergoing surgery on the right carotid in two weeks.
So tomorrow, after the stress test is over, I'm getting a pedicure and drinking Sangria.
I think that's the only logical way to handle all the stress.
Well, that and the Xanax. It helps, too. :O)
Today was no different.
I went to the hospital around 9 a.m. and stayed there until 6:30 p.m. It made for a very, very long day. When I got home tonight I was absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, Husband had dinner on the table in nothing flat. He's been a real rock for me these past weeks, and I so appreciate him stepping up to the plate (so to speak) in the fixing dinner area.
Mom is very demanding, both mentally and physically. She talks almost constantly, asking questions we've answered over and over again. She wants ice from the machine down the hall. She wants her back rubbed or her neck rubbed. She needs to be taken to the toilet. She is in pain and needs medication. She needs help eating and drinking. She needs to be repositioned in bed. She is confused about the time, who has been there and who hasn't, who people actually are, and sometimes where she actually is.
Please know I don't begrudge her anything. I would do anything she needed and more. I'm just happy to have her here.
But I'm turning into a zombie.
Sis and I have decided that rather than have both of us spend great amounts of time with her all day long once she moves into the new rehab facility, we're going to have to break things up. I'll visit after work on Monday and Wednesday, and Sis will take Tuesday and Thursday. Then she'll take Saturday and I'll take Sunday, giving both of us time to attend church. Hopefully, this will also give us time with our families as well...something that has been sorely lacking since the heart attack/stroke happened.
Although I feel extremely guilty about this, I don't know what else to do. The new facility is a 20-minute drive from home. As we speak I have no clean underwear ( I know, too much information) because I haven't had time to do laundry. I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal for the family to sit down and enjoy, and I am so very sick of hospital food that I could scream. I'm exhausted even after eight hours of sleep.
And the hospital thing ain't over yet.
Tomorrow Mom will have a chemical stress test on her heart. Depending on the outcome of that, she may be undergoing surgery on the right carotid in two weeks.
So tomorrow, after the stress test is over, I'm getting a pedicure and drinking Sangria.
I think that's the only logical way to handle all the stress.
Well, that and the Xanax. It helps, too. :O)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
And So It Began
June 12, 2008
A day I won't soon forget. Neither will I forget June 13, 2008, or the day of Mom's stroke, June 14, 2008. The details of those days are foggy at best. Exhaustion, grief, worry, fear, and an extreme sense of loss dominated that time. Now, two weeks post-stroke, these are the things I remember.
That Thursday night around 11:30 p.m. the phone rang. Both my husband and I wondered who on earth would be calling that late as he answered the call. I heard him say, "What's wrong?" and then, "Who is this?" before he said, "Hang on, we'll be right there!"
It was my mother. She was having trouble breathing. So much so that she could barely talk to let my husband know.
We rushed out of the house, calling 911 as we drove. We made record time to her house, and entered to find her an ashen gray color. Every breath sounded as if it came through water because her lungs were filled with fluid.
And I was scared to death.
The ambulance, thank God, showed up a couple of minutes after we did. They quickly went to work providing her with oxygen through a CPAP mask, which forced the oxygen into the lung space she had left. We were assured they would meet us at the hospital shortly after we arrived, and they didn't feel as though they'd need to use the siren and lights. I called my sister to have her meet us there.
We arrived a few minutes ahead of the ambulance, but contrary to what we were told, there were full sirens and lights running. They asked us to wait in the waiting room until the preliminary work was done, then they'd call us back.
My stomach was in knots. I had never been this scared in my life. My sister and I, sitting in the waiting room together, exibited what must be a genetic trait. Both of us had trouble controlling our bouncing knees as we waited to hear from the doctor.
And so we prayed.
I had to use the restroom, and being the directionally challenged woman we all know me to be, got lost on the way back. I ended up in my mother's room in the ER, and found she'd been put on a respirator.
My mother is 74 years old.
She was moved to CICU, and to tell you the truth, I don't remember a whole lot about the rest of that day. I know I was awake for a full 24 hours, and I remember that Sis had to be forced to go home and rest. As for the rest of the first couple of days, it's a blur.
Mom was on the respirator for a few days and I noticed that while her legs and right arm moved constantly, her left hand didn't seem to move. Since she's left-handed we were all especially concerned. I suspected that in addition to the heart attack we knew she'd had there might have been a stroke. However, a CT scan showed no clots or bleeding, so a stroke was ruled out. Tests were done to determine if there was a clot in her lungs. Nothing there. She came off of the respirator, but wouldn't wake up.
Then a very alert ICU nurse did an assessment of her on shift change. The left side of her face was drooping, her pupils weren't the same size. There were all the classic symptoms of the stroke I feared to begin with. Another CT scan was done and it was confirmed.
A massive stroke affecting 3/4 of the right side of her brain.
We still couldn't get her to wake up, and thought she would stay that way. Another heart attack or stroke was almost a certainty, and with that she would die. And that was how the story would go. My mother was going to die. I could say it, but it was like a very, very bad dream that I didn't want to believe.
Everyone went in, one by one, to say goodbye. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchild. Each had their turn.
I don't know how we got through that night, but we did. More importantly, so did she.
She woke up eventually. She was alive, and that was all that mattered.
She was moved from ICU to a room on the Cardiac floor, due to the heart attack. The doctors started Coumadin, Protonix, aspirin, and other drugs to help her maintain. Speech therapists came in, occupational and physical therapists came in, all to help in their own ways.
The stroke had certainly done its damage. Not only was Mom's speech affected somewhat, but her mental ability and even the personality that made her Mom seemed to have changed. She is now confused and unsure of herself, she hallucinates, and yet she is proud. Too proud to admit there are things she can't put together with their names, letters she doesn't recognize, and even a whole left side she is completely ignoring now. Her left, completely paralyzed, side.
Time passed, and she was moved to a med/surg floor without cardiac monitoring in order to prepare for her move to the Rehab floor.
In order for her to stay on the Rehab floor, she had to be able to complete three hours of intensive therapy, half an hour at a time, every day. To give her credit, Mom stuck with it for four days, but she struggled every day. The therapists would finish one session and find it hard to keep her awake for the next because she was so exhausted. Her pride kept getting in the way of the speech therapy, so her attitude was judged.
Friday the 27th of June, my sister and I sat down with the occupational therapist, the physical therapist, the speech therapist and a social worker. On a scale of one to five with five being the most improvement, Mom was placed at a one by all three therapists. We were told that if they were to judge the remainder of her life by how she had been able to improve over the past four days, each of them would have her placed in an "extended care" setting...a nursing home.
They had given up on her.
So next week, we'll be taking a different approach. We'll be giving up on THEM.
Whether or not Mom gets better is not the point. The point is that at least she will have a fighting chance with people who will work with her as she is until she is able to get better - if she ever is - without giving up. Rather than judge her for what she is unable to do, they will take the time to help her become all she can be in her own time.
And that's all we can ask.
A day I won't soon forget. Neither will I forget June 13, 2008, or the day of Mom's stroke, June 14, 2008. The details of those days are foggy at best. Exhaustion, grief, worry, fear, and an extreme sense of loss dominated that time. Now, two weeks post-stroke, these are the things I remember.
That Thursday night around 11:30 p.m. the phone rang. Both my husband and I wondered who on earth would be calling that late as he answered the call. I heard him say, "What's wrong?" and then, "Who is this?" before he said, "Hang on, we'll be right there!"
It was my mother. She was having trouble breathing. So much so that she could barely talk to let my husband know.
We rushed out of the house, calling 911 as we drove. We made record time to her house, and entered to find her an ashen gray color. Every breath sounded as if it came through water because her lungs were filled with fluid.
And I was scared to death.
The ambulance, thank God, showed up a couple of minutes after we did. They quickly went to work providing her with oxygen through a CPAP mask, which forced the oxygen into the lung space she had left. We were assured they would meet us at the hospital shortly after we arrived, and they didn't feel as though they'd need to use the siren and lights. I called my sister to have her meet us there.
We arrived a few minutes ahead of the ambulance, but contrary to what we were told, there were full sirens and lights running. They asked us to wait in the waiting room until the preliminary work was done, then they'd call us back.
My stomach was in knots. I had never been this scared in my life. My sister and I, sitting in the waiting room together, exibited what must be a genetic trait. Both of us had trouble controlling our bouncing knees as we waited to hear from the doctor.
And so we prayed.
I had to use the restroom, and being the directionally challenged woman we all know me to be, got lost on the way back. I ended up in my mother's room in the ER, and found she'd been put on a respirator.
My mother is 74 years old.
She was moved to CICU, and to tell you the truth, I don't remember a whole lot about the rest of that day. I know I was awake for a full 24 hours, and I remember that Sis had to be forced to go home and rest. As for the rest of the first couple of days, it's a blur.
Mom was on the respirator for a few days and I noticed that while her legs and right arm moved constantly, her left hand didn't seem to move. Since she's left-handed we were all especially concerned. I suspected that in addition to the heart attack we knew she'd had there might have been a stroke. However, a CT scan showed no clots or bleeding, so a stroke was ruled out. Tests were done to determine if there was a clot in her lungs. Nothing there. She came off of the respirator, but wouldn't wake up.
Then a very alert ICU nurse did an assessment of her on shift change. The left side of her face was drooping, her pupils weren't the same size. There were all the classic symptoms of the stroke I feared to begin with. Another CT scan was done and it was confirmed.
A massive stroke affecting 3/4 of the right side of her brain.
We still couldn't get her to wake up, and thought she would stay that way. Another heart attack or stroke was almost a certainty, and with that she would die. And that was how the story would go. My mother was going to die. I could say it, but it was like a very, very bad dream that I didn't want to believe.
Everyone went in, one by one, to say goodbye. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchild. Each had their turn.
I don't know how we got through that night, but we did. More importantly, so did she.
She woke up eventually. She was alive, and that was all that mattered.
She was moved from ICU to a room on the Cardiac floor, due to the heart attack. The doctors started Coumadin, Protonix, aspirin, and other drugs to help her maintain. Speech therapists came in, occupational and physical therapists came in, all to help in their own ways.
The stroke had certainly done its damage. Not only was Mom's speech affected somewhat, but her mental ability and even the personality that made her Mom seemed to have changed. She is now confused and unsure of herself, she hallucinates, and yet she is proud. Too proud to admit there are things she can't put together with their names, letters she doesn't recognize, and even a whole left side she is completely ignoring now. Her left, completely paralyzed, side.
Time passed, and she was moved to a med/surg floor without cardiac monitoring in order to prepare for her move to the Rehab floor.
In order for her to stay on the Rehab floor, she had to be able to complete three hours of intensive therapy, half an hour at a time, every day. To give her credit, Mom stuck with it for four days, but she struggled every day. The therapists would finish one session and find it hard to keep her awake for the next because she was so exhausted. Her pride kept getting in the way of the speech therapy, so her attitude was judged.
Friday the 27th of June, my sister and I sat down with the occupational therapist, the physical therapist, the speech therapist and a social worker. On a scale of one to five with five being the most improvement, Mom was placed at a one by all three therapists. We were told that if they were to judge the remainder of her life by how she had been able to improve over the past four days, each of them would have her placed in an "extended care" setting...a nursing home.
They had given up on her.
So next week, we'll be taking a different approach. We'll be giving up on THEM.
Whether or not Mom gets better is not the point. The point is that at least she will have a fighting chance with people who will work with her as she is until she is able to get better - if she ever is - without giving up. Rather than judge her for what she is unable to do, they will take the time to help her become all she can be in her own time.
And that's all we can ask.
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