Accident
At the end of September, my mother had an auto accident.
She lived.
The car didn’t.
Mom ended up with a broken clavicle, a punctured lung, massive bruising, and some confusion.
The lung puncture was minor and healed itself. The rest has been taking a while. Weeks in bed took away her muscle strength and balance.
After some rehab she came home at the beginning of December. Although she doesn’t live with me, Mom does live in the same town. The next closest relatives are five hours away if they push the speed limit. My stepbro is almost fourteen hours away.
So I’ve been dealing. Most of my time away from work has been spent with her.
Physically Mom’s getting better, although not as fast as she would like. She moves with a walker or occasionally a cane for short distances.
Mentally it’s been a challenge. She still can’t tell me the date, although she usually gets the day of the week right. There’s been less than a half dozen times she’s been able to tell me the year. Mom’s sequencing is getting better. When she got home, she could do a three step sequence without help. Now she does five and occassionally six step sequences.
I have to watch her. Mom can’t fill her weekly pill box. When she went to the store (and she was so proud of doing so), I asked her to pick up some multivitamins and some vitamin B12 for her. Mom got two different brands of multivitamins and four different types of vitamin B. She did get most of the other things on the short list without problem though. So every morning I’m at her house making sure she takes her pills and then again in the evening.
Believe it or not, this is an improvement.
Supposedly the confusion is temporary. Gods, I pray that it is. I miss my mother and the thinking games we used to play.
I’m spending between five and sixteen hours at her house every day. Some nights I’ve slept over.
I do not like hospitals or doctors or care centers or clinics. I’ve had terrible experiences, starting with multiple ingrown toenails in high school and some really incompetent doctors in my college days. If I stay too long in a hospital or clinic, I’m at the edge of an anxiety attack. More times than not, that fills me with rage.
I don’t like the “poor little me” card. But I needed a place to vent. My companions are on edge too. Bless them both, they know that family comes first.
Thank you for reading.
She lived.
The car didn’t.
Mom ended up with a broken clavicle, a punctured lung, massive bruising, and some confusion.
The lung puncture was minor and healed itself. The rest has been taking a while. Weeks in bed took away her muscle strength and balance.
After some rehab she came home at the beginning of December. Although she doesn’t live with me, Mom does live in the same town. The next closest relatives are five hours away if they push the speed limit. My stepbro is almost fourteen hours away.
So I’ve been dealing. Most of my time away from work has been spent with her.
Physically Mom’s getting better, although not as fast as she would like. She moves with a walker or occasionally a cane for short distances.
Mentally it’s been a challenge. She still can’t tell me the date, although she usually gets the day of the week right. There’s been less than a half dozen times she’s been able to tell me the year. Mom’s sequencing is getting better. When she got home, she could do a three step sequence without help. Now she does five and occassionally six step sequences.
I have to watch her. Mom can’t fill her weekly pill box. When she went to the store (and she was so proud of doing so), I asked her to pick up some multivitamins and some vitamin B12 for her. Mom got two different brands of multivitamins and four different types of vitamin B. She did get most of the other things on the short list without problem though. So every morning I’m at her house making sure she takes her pills and then again in the evening.
Believe it or not, this is an improvement.
Supposedly the confusion is temporary. Gods, I pray that it is. I miss my mother and the thinking games we used to play.
I’m spending between five and sixteen hours at her house every day. Some nights I’ve slept over.
I do not like hospitals or doctors or care centers or clinics. I’ve had terrible experiences, starting with multiple ingrown toenails in high school and some really incompetent doctors in my college days. If I stay too long in a hospital or clinic, I’m at the edge of an anxiety attack. More times than not, that fills me with rage.
I don’t like the “poor little me” card. But I needed a place to vent. My companions are on edge too. Bless them both, they know that family comes first.
Thank you for reading.
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