She walked to the far end of the lobby and selected a chair next to a big picture window that looked out onto the parking lot. Once she was settled comfortably in, she patted my hand and smiled up at me. "I'm fine," she said. "Go on. Do what you have to do." But when I returned less than five minutes later, she had passed out and was slumped over the arm of the chair. As soon as the alarm was sounded, the once empty lobby was full of concern. None of my attempts to revive my mother-in-law were working. Was this the end?
This story actually begins one week earlier when the Florida assisted living center where Tom's mother lived called to say she was no longer able to stay with them. Her short-term memory failures and need for oxygen were a combination that did not work well in their facility, they reported. She needed to move out as soon as possible.
MOM IS COMING TO NORTH CAROLINA
Thursday, April 24, 2014
After the checklist of travel essentials was reviewed over and over and over again, Tom, Maggie Mae and I pulled out of the driveway as the sun was coming up over the Nantahala mountains. Twenty-five minutes later, our truck pulled back into the driveway because one of us (not Maggie Mae) forgot their cell phone. No problem. We're off again and this time we've made it four hours down the road before one of us realizes we forgot... . No problem because we don't have to turn back; it's not a travel essential. It would be nice to have, though. Really nice, actually. Love, love, love to have it on this trip. Okay! Alright! We'll stop and buy one! What's another hour added to a thirteen-hour trip?
Since Tom had just had surgery to repair a torn rotor cuff--the shoulder was being held together by a thread the doctor said--his right arm was in a sling and non-functional, which meant that he could not drive or pack or aid in any way the removal of his mother from Florida and the subsequent transfer of said mother to an assisted living center in Franklin, North Carolina. No problem. I can do it. How hard can driving fourteen hours one way and packing a one-bedroom apartment be? How difficult can transporting a 90-pound, 95-year-old lady on oxygen with short-term memory issues be? Besides, Tom's brother and sister-in-law are coming to help, right? What? They've caught a bug?
Friday, April 25, 2014
Packing, packing, packing. Tom wishes he could help. No, really he does. He looks so handsome sitting on that recliner on the assisted living center's veranda holding his sweet tea with his left hand... while I pack. No, really he does.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Packing, packing, packing. While I am transporting boxes from the apartment to the truck, someone comes into the room and takes one hundred dollars, a table and two chairs. No problem, though. The assisted living center's management will get to the bottom of this. What? They want to know if Tom or I took the items, but due to short-term memory issues, we have forgotten.
Later around midnight...
What is that awful wretching sound coming from the bathroom? What? Tom has a bug?
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Tom is getting worse as the day progresses. Lethargic and nauseous with pain. A trip to a MedCheck reveals nothing, however, he is given an anti-nausea pill. The staff at the assisted living center asks once again, "Is it possible that you or your husband took those missing items, but forgot?"
Later around midnight...
More wretching sounds from the bathroom. Pill not working.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Wonderful Day! Great Day! Mom is coming to an assisted living center in North Carolina where she will have advocates who live only fourteen minutes (not hours) away. With her two sons and two daughters-in-law by her side, Mom grins big and steps up into the backseat of our truck. Waiting for her are pillows, blankets, snacks and a tail-wagging Maggie Mae. Oh, how she loves that dog, she says.
Off we go, north on Interstate 95. The plan is for us to drive all the way to Franklin and stay in a hotel because Mom can't negotiate the steps at our house. At eight o'clock the next morning, she would be sitting in the lobby of an assisted living center, ready for a new chapter in her life.
"I'M FREE, I'M FREE!" Mom screams from the backseat. I adjust the mirror on my visor so I can see her big smile. Even though we're not sure what she means, Tom and I both agree with her, "Yeah, Mom, you're free."
Fifteen minutes later...
"Are we there yet?"
Tom, who is still sick, turns around and answers, "No, Mom. We haven't left Florida yet."
Fifteen minutes later...
"Are we there yet?"
Tom again, "No, Mom. We haven't left Florida yet."
Fifteen minutes later...
"Are we there yet?"
Tom, "No, Mom. We haven't left Florida yet."
Two Hours later... (only twelve hours to go)
No response.
Tom is pretending to be asleep and I have a rule "The driver doesn't talk." That's what I told her but she has forgotten so she keeps asking if we're there yet and then I say...
"How would you like a chocolate shake?"
"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," she says. So we stop at McDonalds and she's as happy as she can be.
Four hours later...
"Are we th..."
"How would you like a chocolate shake?"
And that is how the trip went all the way into darkness and into North Carolina, where we had to stop for another travel essential, this time for Mom. It was eleven o'clock when we walked out of Walmart and into a severe thunderstorm. We hadn't heard the alarms and warnings about wind and tornadoes but we soon discovered on our own as I was driving over Cowee Mountain, our last few miles before finally reaching our destination. The rain was coming down so thick that I couldn't see the road. Mom, thankfully, was sleeping as I crept along at ten miles an hour, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, my nose ten inches from the windshield. I thought about pulling off the road but in mountain country, that is not wise. Cars were stopped, blocking the lanes. I continued on and at midnight we arrived at the Comfort Inn.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014, 12:30a.m.
Mom, Tom, and Maggie Mae are all in bed. Mom has her oxygen, Maggie Mae has her ball, and Tom is snoring. All is well, until...
6:00a.m.
"Carol Louise, I think I need to go to the emergency room," Tom said.
6:15a.m.
I drop Tom off at the emergency room and hurry back to the hotel where Mom and Maggie Mae are still sleeping. We have to be at the assisted living center at 8:00a.m. which is over an hour from now, but getting Mom ready takes time. There's the dispensing of her medicine, and getting her attached to oxygen is also time consuming, so I wake her up and she says, "Are we there yet?" to which I respond, "Yes, we are finally there." She smiles.
8:00 o'clock sharp
She tells me she needs no help getting out of the truck, but she really does. I hold both of her arms as she slides down from the seat onto the pavement. She's perky this morning and happy. She walks without help into the front door of the assisted living center and to the far end of the lobby where she selects a chair next to a big picture window that looks out onto the parking lot. Once she is settled comfortably in, she pats my hand and smiles up at me. "I'm fine," she says. "Go on. Do what you have to do." I leave her and walk to the receptionist's desk to announce our arrival. But the receptionist says she has no record of anyone being admitted today, to which I respond, "But I have an appointment with Teresa at 8:00." "I'm sorry," the lady says, "I have no record of that."
I return to the lobby to find my mother-in-law slumped over the arm of her chair. I notice that her oxygen tank is empty. I send out a request for help and the room fills with management and staff but no one can touch her because she is not a resident...yet. Could her unresponsiveness be due to her lack of oxygen? Could someone direct me on how to hook up a new tank? No is the answer, but rules sometimes are meant to be broken. At least that's how one staff member feels as she jumps right in and replaces a depleted oxygen tank with a full one.
I tell the staff that I must leave now and go to the emergency room at the hospital to see about my husband. They say "Go, she'll be fine now."
9:00a.m.
Tom is released from the hospital with a diagnosis of Norovirus and a different type of anti-nausea pill. I take him home where he immediately goes to bed, and I return to the assisted living center to check on Mom. She's still not conscious, but she is checked in and has a room. Could it be something other than lack of oxygen? I ask. Yes, I'm told. "How much Xanax did you give her this morning?" they want to know. "I gave her the dosage I was instructed to give her by the nursing staff," I reply. "Well, there was a typo on the paperwork," they say, "You gave her a double dose."
Later that same day...
"I need to go back to the emergency room," Tom tells me. The right side of my body is jerking uncontrollably." I stand over Tom and watch as his arm and leg do the jig without his permission. I check the side effects on the paperwork that came with the anti-nausea drug and see a warning: Contact your doctor immediately if parts of your body jerk uncontrollably after taking this drug. So off to ER we go. Good news, kinda. It's not life threatening and it will wear off in a day or two.
Later that evening...
Tom is sleeping comfortably. Only an occasional moan can be heard from the bedroom so I go back to the assisted living center to find Mom in her room but still unconscious. Well, not unconscious, but non responsive. "Way too much Xanax," the dispenser of the meds told me. "No problem, though, she'll be fine."
Later that night...
I fall into bed next to Tom. Half of his body is doing the jig and the other half is sleeping peacefully.
Four Months Later...Thursday, August 28, 2014
And so it was, five days in April, 2014, that I'll never forget. No problem, though. I was grateful that I was among those "able" to help and not among those who needed help. Four months later Mom is doing great and Tom is back in the creeks and rivers fishing and life is good.
