Part 17: Weight For Me
When I was young I recall my mother saying she was “four feet eleven and three quarters.” She was usually one hundred pounds, if she got sick maybe she’d drop down to ninety-five. She was eighty-three pounds in the last rehab center.
Today she was weighed by a Hospice nurse: the scale was brought to the kitchen where the floor is hard and level and my mother weighed in at seventy-five pounds. When the nurse told me I gasped, but I wasn’t all that surprised. She is barely eating. She is having respiratory issues and is on oxygen. I could hear the oxygen treatment going in the background. I never pictured my mother on oxygen. When she walked from the kitchen to her recliner not too many feet away she was beyond exhaustion. The Hospice nurse didn’t want to be morbid, but she so much as said that there will be no need for very long term care. I am being realistic.
My mother is insisting on having her hair done at the facility’s salon tomorrow-
the aide will need to find a wheelchair to transport her
At five feet two I now tower over my mother who is probably about four feet nine. I am huge next to her. She is now about the size of a nine year old. She has returned to childhood. I am not sure where that leaves me; motherless? Is my mother my mother or my child? Last July she introduced me to her friends at the assisted living facility: “this is my mother.” That was a scary slip.
So far there have been no squeals from the mouse traps in the wall. I made a few calls and spoke to a few people and I crave quiet. Today was a day when the phone didn’t ring continuously. I ordered lovely flowers to arrive tomorrow and the next day, a few days before my mother’s ninety-fifth birthday. Why wait? Live is short and it is getting shorter.
One of the aides is going to go shopping for a juicer. She wants to make fresh healthy drinks for her. She wants to save her. She has my blessing. She has served us above and beyond. This woman should be a candidate for sainthood. She is in the front line; she does more than I could ever do. Today, on the phone she said: “if we could have gotten to her sooner in the rehab center, she wouldn’t be in this position.” But I know better: my mother’s health began to show soft signs of decline back in September. She has been complaining that food tastes funny for months. She complained about the food at the Assisted Living. She said everything tasted salty. Now everything is sweet. The cook claims they don’t add salt to the food. The truth is her taste is distorted, nothing tastes right. Wherever she’d be there would be a problem. I believe her system is being weighed down by her age; the parts are wearing and too tired to work efficiently. They are burdened by life. My mother is the sum of those parts. All seventy-five pounds of her.
This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.
Oh, it’s sad… But I have loved the way you write and the gorgeous photos.
This blog series makes me think of this video.
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4I3TxyYDcSw
Ho, boy! sigh, sob, true.
Your mother is so lucky to have you. I went through similar circumstances with my mom who was a decade younger than your mother when I lost her. I do hope your mother gets to celebrate her 95th birthday.
Hi Suzanne, I’m happy to see you. Here is my world of escape. The words. Still hard to internalize all that is going on.
It’s hard to be the person who is sick. Sometimes I think it is just as hard to be the person observing. Hugs to you.
Through your daily accounts I continue to be amazed by your mother, Sue. There is a lot of spunk and pride packed into that tiny package. You are fighting for her as best you can; there is so much out of your able hands though. Thanks for sharing her with us Take care of yourself – sending you love….
Phyllis, it IS amazing, isn’t it? The spirit is there still shining and fighting and I can’t imagine how much longer this can go on. I got a call earlier, the aide, from the first shift was in a panic. The second aide, I believe called her to tell her my mother’s pulse was 104 and they called the Vitas Hospice nurse who happened to be in the building who calmed everyone down. The aide was thinking they had to take my mother to the hospital. oh, Lord, has she had enough. I suppose the smaller you are, like a hummingbird, the pulse is quicker. Where is she getting this strength?
I hope when the time comes her dad comes for her. She has missed him for 64 years, spoke about him constantly. I hope he takes her home. I got her a burial plot in the same cemetery as her parents.
I thought I was tough and now it just hit me…
It really is heart-wrenching to witness the decline, the shrinking down of someone we love so dearly. I’ve witnessed its parallel in a friend who just died. The one you knew is no longer there. I’m so sorry, Sue. I hope your Mom will make it to her birthday – and to the hairdresser tomorrow.
Love you and her.
Dani xxx
Oh boy, Dani, is it ever. I know if I were there I wouldn’t be able to take it. The fact that I am not strengthens me to tend to all the details to keep her comfortable and tended to. We don’t talk everyday and when we do not for long. She is just too tired. I sent bouquets of flowers early to start the birthday off. I prefer flowers to the Ensure food supplement I was shipping from Amazon.com.
She is actually still there in a smaller package but in such a weakened state. The weakened state of Florida.