Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Wind of Change

It's been so long since I've written in my blog I don't know where to start. I've titled this post Wind of Change largely because so much has happened since my last post in April, so many changes, that indeed it seemed an appropriate title. I also happen to love the song "Wind of Change" by the Scorpions. You may listen to this song by following this link and watching the video: http://beemp3.com/download.php?file=164717&song=Wind+Of+Change


In April, I was actively pursuing work. I had a promising (or so I thought) interview at a company that I felt more than qualified to work for. They even called me back for a second interview in a different department more suited to my skills, but I believe the person I interviewed with didn't like that I actually asked questions when she asked me if I had any and took offense. That was a turning point in the interview and may (or may not) have been the reason I didn't get the job. After a couple more disappointing interviews I decided to just stop the madness and not put myself through this farce any longer. What's the point?

I threw myself into my sewing and began making garden aprons, which were easy and very enjoyable to make. I bought some beautiful material and loved matching the colors and patterns to create many unique designs. I found that sewing had become a passion I enjoyed much more than working on the computer so I devoted time to my sewing machine and bought a serger, which I've wanted for years. It's a wonderful tool and I love it.

Memorial Weekend. Jim and I went to our favorite campground, the Petoskey K.O.A. Jim left on Memorial Day (he had to work) and I stayed at the campground. The following Saturday, Jim drove back to Petoskey, spent one night, then on Sunday, we headed for our property, "Serenity Pines," which is 20 miles west of Alpena. Jim set up the trailer, and again left for home while I stayed for my 2nd week. The following weekend Jim came back for the 3rd and final trip, and towed the trailer back home while I followed in my mini-van.

By the end of my 2nd week up north, I was ready to come home. I had a wonderful, relaxing trip but was looking forward to getting back to my sewing projects and finishing my book. Little did I know what lie in store for me in the weeks that followed.

June 27th. At about 9:30 p.m. I had a strange feeling in my chest that wouldn't go away. It was as though I knew something bad was about to happen but I shrugged it off to nerves. But the feeling wouldn't go away. It wasn't a full-blown panic attack, more of a premonition.

June 28th. Nothing unusual. It was a pleasant evening and I sat on my deck. At 8:15 I came inside to change and relax for the evening. I hadn't sensed anything unusual, but that all changed when at 8:20 p.m. Laura called and told me she had gotten three emergency calls from my mother then told me she was on her way to the apartment. I told her to call me as soon as she got there. The feeling in my chest grew and I found it hard to breathe. This was it. This was the bad feeling I had had the night before. Something had happened to my mother, but I didn't know just how bad it was.

A few minutes later, she called back. "She's not here," Laura said. After calling the police department, we found out she'd fallen and broken her hip, and was in the E.R. Not until I had met my brother at the hospital did we discover that she'd fallen and then crawled from the bathroom to the living room to get to the phone. She first called Laura, who hadn't answered her phone right away, then called 911. We found out later they had to break in through the dining room window to get to her.

My brother and I saw her in the E.R. and talked to the young orthopedic doctor, who was adamant that she can no longer live alone. Period. She was scheduled for surgery on the 30th. It got late and I told my brother to go home. There was no sense in both of us being there. I'll never forget the screams as they lifted my mother from the gurney to the bed. I was in the corridor and no matter how I covered my ears, I couldn't get away from the horribly painful sounds coming from her room. I had never felt more alone or helpless. It was absolutely the worst night of my life.

By the time I'd left the hospital, it was after 1:30 a.m. and I was exhausted. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I tried to focus on the road in front of me until somehow I had reached her empty apartment and let myself inside. I had work to do but didn't even know where to begin. I pulled out the notepad I'd used to write the many things my mother had told me and got to it. After pulling addresses out of her desk drawer, watering her plants and washing the few dishes in the sink, I headed home. By that time it was 2:20 a.m.

June 30th. The morning of the surgery, the orthopedic surgeon was grave about the seriousness of the procedure and the long recovery process that would follow as he spoke to us, her three children and my niece. We all knew that given her age, the anesthesia alone could be fatal. After less than two hours, the doctor came out and told us she made it through surgery and handed me an x-ray of her newly repaired hip. A large metal plate with one giant screw, plus four smaller screws securing the broken hip bone were clearly visible. By the time my brother and I saw her back in her room, it was 4:45 and she seemed in good spirits considering what she'd been through. We left and by the time I got home at 5:45, I was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. I couldn't remember ever being so tired. I was too tired to form words.

For the next two months my life consisted of trips between my mother's apartment and the rehab facility. I was doing her laundry, picking up her mail and communicating with the nurses, staff and family about her progress. I also paid her bills, made trips to the post office and had to get a letter from the doctor stating she could no longer live alone so she could be released from the one year lease she'd just signed. I had to deal with utilities, change of address and explain to her neighbors what had happened to her. I hated going to that empty apartment as every corner reminded me of her. I felt her presence so strongly yet she was not there. There were numerous trips to Target, J.C. Penney and other stores as we needed to get storage units to fit her stuff into the smaller apartment. The little trips here and there seemed endless.

In mid-July, my brother and I had visited five assisted living facilities. We narrowed down the top three, and showed her the brochures. Once she chose the place she would move into without ever seeing, I got busy. There was just so much to do, many times I didn't think I could possibly get it all done, so I started making lists. The lists kept me on track and maintained my sanity. They proved to be an invaluable tool to keep me organized so that I could prioritize the many details that had taken over my life and still maintain some semblance of functionality to handle making dinner, doing grocery shopping and talking to my husband. It was overwhelming. It was exhausting and it was many times frightening.

By the end of July it was time to pack.The process was tedious, time-consuming and tiring. Since she was going into a considerably smaller apartment, some of the furniture wouldn't fit. I had questions. Where do I start? What do I keep? What do I give away? What do I sell? I had to make decisions which were sometimes at odds: logic vs. emotion. I felt I had no right to dispose of things that belonged to someone else and yet I knew they wouldn't fit into the new space so I did the best I could and kept my mother informed of my decisions, hoping I didn't make the wrong ones. One night Jim and I made a movie of her entire apartment, then showed it to her. She picked a few things she definitely wanted to keep and I had to make a judgment call on the rest.

The trips to the rehab facility were becoming tiresome and aggravating. I didn't like the nurses' attitudes and my mother's daily complaints regarding the lack of service was putting intense pressure on me. I was working as fast as I humanly could to get everything in place for when she was released but it didn't seem like it was fast enough. My stress was through the roof and my patience was dwindling. The intense, prolonged heat of the summer only added to my already frayed nerves. I was tired of sweating and working much harder than I should be working for someone with back problems. My anxiety level also increased and I wasn't sure how much more I could handle without breaking down. I felt myself cracking into a million little pieces and at the end of the day barely held it together, driving myself and my husband crazy.

In between the constant motion that had become my life, I also worried about my mother. She seemed so frail and tired. She hated therapy, complained about the cruel treatment, and despised the food. I had to keep encouraging her to keep her spirits up and get her excited about her new apartment. I told her about the swimming pool, all the amenities and how very nice the staff as well as the residents were. Mostly I feared that after all the work I'd done, she wouldn't even live long enough to see it. I voiced this to my sister as well who had felt the same thing. All we could do was pray that this didn't happen.

August 10th. I stopped at the post office and as I pulled out of the drive into traffic, I heard a loud "clunk" and after that, the van simply wouldn't move. I had barely picked up enough speed to pull into the driveway of a store next to the post office and get out of the way of the rude drivers that had angrily beeped their horns at me. It didn't help that on that day I had worn a very thick t-shirt instead of my usual tank top and it was close to 95 degrees. UGH. I called my road service and the van was towed to a transmission shop just two blocks south of where I broke down. Driver's CV joint had broken and they'd have it fixed in the morning. Jim was there shortly before the tow truck arrived and afterward we went home.

August 11th. The wonderful owner of the transmission shop picked me up and took me to the shop so I could pay him the $170.10 for fixing my van. I was beyond grateful to him both for the ride and the fast service as I simply couldn't afford to be without my van. After I left the transmission shop, I went to the assisted living facility that my mother would soon call home, paid the rent and received the key. We started moving boxes that very same night and filled both Jim's Suburban and my mini-van until they could hold no more. By Friday the 13th, we had everything moved, including the furniture. Saturday, August 14th, Jim and I went to the old apartment and vacuumed the carpet and washed the floors so that she'd get her security deposit back. Monday the 16th her mail was to be forwarded to her new address. Everything was falling into place. Her release date was scheduled for August 22nd, but I was pushing for the 20th and met my goal.

August 20th. I picked my mother up from rehab and took her to her new home. After showing her around briefly, I got her tucked into bed and made a few phone calls, then left. She loved the new apartment, but I knew it would take her a while to adjust. Plus she was still healing from her injury and quite weak. Then one week later she ended up back in the hospital for an intestinal infection. After a few days, she was released with orders to see the doctor for a follow-up in two weeks.

September 6, 2010. Jim and I spent the past couple of days up north. It was a relaxing, refreshing change from the hectic, busy pace my life had taken on in the past couple of months. There were times when I thought I would burst from the stress. I didn't know how much more I could take, but I knew this was what I had to do and I needed to come to terms with that because there simply wasn't anyone else who would (or could) do this.

I don't know what the future will hold or how long my mother will live, but I hope she will not suffer too much and can enjoy what time she has left in her beautiful new apartment I've worked so hard to make a home out of. I have always told her that I'd take care of her and would be there for her. And in my heart of hearts, I know I've done all that I could for her, and will continue to do as I promised I would many years ago.

And realizing this, I have finally found peace.

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