Okay, so my mom had an extended stroke-like spell Thursday morning, scary enough to cause us to call 911. She came around in the ambulance before they even drove away from our curbside. Still, off she went to the hospital. Spent the day in the ER. Lots of tests. They decided her diagnosis was Dementia. Idiots.
Came home before dinner. She went to bed early. Acting sane. All was well.
Got her up Friday morning and it's like dang Groundhog Day. Off she goes again. In a zone. Staring, unresponsive, can't seem to hear me. I finally get some juice past her lips and after 10-15 minutes, she's back. Nevermind calling 911. We got this. And, no, she's not diabetic.
You know what really was wrong with her? Constipation. She was trying to force herself to go and sort of overdid it. There's a name for it, but don't care. Strangely, though, a person can send themselves into a heart attack or stroke, if they're fragile, by going to the bathroom.
The things I learn.
Youngest daughter got Mom up this morning, we're all exhausted from the emotional merry-go-round which is life with my mom, and Mom announces that she's going to church with us tomorrow. It's been, like, 3 years since she's gone to church with us. That was after her first stroke. And it was Mother's Day then too.
My first response wasn't puppydogs and rainbows. It was more along the lines of 'Cra*p, what the h*ll time are going to have to get up in order to get her up, fed, dressed and in the truck?' This said quietly to myself. Our daughter didn't need to hear my inner reality.
Not feeling generous. Ran errands today, set up flowers and Communion at church (which I really enjoy). Hot and tired when we got back. Mom was here alone, no problems, but nevermind personal tiredness. She needed to eat. Fed her before sitting down, then she's ready to get out her outfit for tomorrow. I tell her to go ahead. I'm lying down.
Rest a few minutes, fourth son comes by with bedding plants for me (happy dance), visit with him then head to the store, get back and it turns out Mom wants stuff, including clothes, from her house. For tomorrow.
Shoot me now.
I realize this might be the last Mother's Day we have her. Her history of strokes makes that a possibility. I know that, but it doesn't erase the magnitude of my tiredness, not just physical, but emotional. Having to dig into such reserves of energy I don't have.
Makes being thankful plain hard.
I want to fast-forward to tomorrow afternoon, and plant my new things. Putter. Be left alone.
Introverts. Let me hear an Amen.