After Mom arrived I stopped down to see before I went home. They had put her to bed. She opened her eyes when I wheeled to her beside..
"Oh, hi," she said. "Here I am.."
She was bummed, maybe a little embarrassed too, exactly my feeling after the femur fracture a few years ago.
"You'll be all right, Mom," I encouraged. "Work hard down in therapy and you'll be out of here in no tim at all. I'll come and see you everyday."
"I don't know how it got so bad," she said, starting to cry.
'Don't worry. Things happen. Get stronger and you'll be coming home."
"It's a good thing you know how to take care of yourself now," she said softly." I still worry about you being by yourself."
"I'll be fine,"" I said. 'You don't need to worry. "
She smiled slightly." Is it time for your van?
"Yeah, I gotta go, but I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything. Ask to use the portable phone at the nurse's station."
"I will," she reassured. "Go home and eat. There's food in the refrigerator .Say hi to Louie for me. Take care of yourself. And don't forget to water my plants."
"You eat too," I answered, wheeling to the door. "The food is pretty good here You need to keep up your strength. See you tomorrow."
We were never ones to say "I love you' very much. I know I should've said it more. I left feeling hopefully, knowing what our therapy staff could do. Still, I had a feeling that things would never be the same again.
It was needless to tell her how I scrambled to get bank statements together for the Business Office, and other paperwork and documentation needed to have her admitted. Mom was a bit of a hoarder so the information wasn't exactly at my fingertips. But she knew where everything was, so if I was missing birth certificate or another important paper, she told me where to find it.
Mom did very well. In fact the very next day I found her in the Therapy room, sitting in a wheelchair , waiting for her turn to exercise. I stopped in to say hi on my way to North Six. She went for rehabilitation twice a day, morning and afternoon sessions. They soon got her a special fitted shoe for her right foot. Soon she was walking with assistance, using a walker. Up and down the hall she went and around the busy rehab room. A few times they had to slow her down. I was so proud of her.
She was pretty tired at the end of the day. I spent my lunch time with her, encouraging her to eat in the dining room with the other residents. She started making friends and had a nice roommate. We brought her a small television that she had in her bedroom at home and fixed her shared window sill with flowers. And yes, I remembered to water her plants.
For the three months she was there she adjusted well to nursing home life. She wasn't used to having a roommate but liked the company. She enjoyed going to the weekly church services and even became one of the regular Bingo players on the unit.
Other than visiting her during lunch and before I left for the day, I would see her in passing. Swiftly whheling past the Clinic area I heard a "Yo!" Backing up, there was Mom, tiny in her wheelchair, sitting in a long line, waiting to get into to see the eye doctor . "What are you up to?" she would always ask.
"Oh, nothing, just working," I replied, and we would shoot the breeze for a moment before I needed to go.
It was reassuring to have her there, and I'm sure it made her feel better too, knowing I was so close. My siblings visited at night when I was home with Louie, so we all had turns.
As her rehab went along and her progress continued, verified at another Care Conference, I was shocked when a few siblings "talked it over' and decided it would be "best for Mom" if she stayed at the Geriatric Center forever. She 'liked" it there, had made friends, was on a regular routine, got her meals, healthy meals at that, didn't have to cook, and was getting therapy. What more can you ask?
They worried that she wasn't taking care of herself at home. Look how bad her foot got. She wasn't eating properly. How did I know if she really had breakfast?
All true. But it wasn't home.
"Let's leave it up to Mom," I said, standing my ground. 'She's competent to make her own decisions.'
I know she would side to go home. She saw me everyday and we took Louie on a leash to see her on weekends. But home was home. Her own bed. Her plants. Her independence and her rules..
I know she got used to the routine and the rules of a place like the Center. But no matter how "nice' it was it wasn't "her" home.
The family agreed that she would choose to return home, but not because she really wanted to go home. She worried about me. She was ninety and still thought she needed to take care of me, even if it meant making a simple breakfast on weekends or look in on me at night. She was Mom. She couldn't stop being Mom all of a sudden.
True again. She did worry about me . But once again- home is home.
We did allow her to decide. "Oh, no," she said at her final Care Confidence. "I want to go home. Greg needs me."
I didn't want to say I didn't "need" her, but the issue was addressed by the nurse conducting the meeting.
'Forget about Greg, Mrs. Smith," she said. "What do you want to do?"
"Go home" was the answer.
There were concerned frowns all around the table when she announced that the first thing she wanted when she got home was a Philly cheese steak. I nervously smiled. That was Mom.
There really wasn't much to keep her at the Center any longer. She was walking with a walker. Occupational Therapy taught her how to adjust to taking a shower, getting around the kitchen, getting in and out of bed safely with her revamped foot. Her Medicare was winding down, which meant her Therapy was ending.
Yes, the doctor could find reasons for her to stay. Her heart condition. Her overall age..And now her foot and risk of falling. But he agreed that she should be given a chance. So he gave his blessing and plans were made.
The Social Worker set her up with a visiting nurse at home. Meals on Wheels was offered, as was any adaptive equipment needed. All arrangements were made for discharge.
The staff was proud of her progress and their work. Her Bingo buddies at the Center would miss her. She got a new roommate, who wasn't as social as her previous mate, so Mom was happy to leave.
I had a taste of how families felt when their loved one is admitted. Going to the meetings, always alert when the phone rings at home, keeping up with the finances, and gathering all the info needed for her stay.I was on the other side of the fence as POA/son.
I was hanging in there by myself at home. I knew the routine by now of being alone. But Mom would always come home . Was the family right? Did I want her home because of my own insecurity and needs?? Is that the real reason why she wanted to come home/?
The staff wished her luck as we wheeled her out to the car. I prayed we had done the right thing.
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