Bob Thomas Writes

I’ve heard it said that writing is easy. 

“Just sit down at the keyboard and open a vein.” 

~~~~~

Confessions of a bad Son.

9/26/97

My Mothers Lost Youth.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to loose all control of your body. I don’t mean incontinence, although it’s a problem. I mean, getting old and having to let other people decide what’s best for you.  To spend your life trying to tell others that you just want the T.V. closer . . . or the telephone . . . or the button to call the nurse.  Just a little closer, just so you can reach it!

I would think the really infuriating thing would be to have all of those other people say things like, “Oh, it’s better where it is !” or  “Why, it’s only 12 inches away from you!” They don’t realize that you can’t reach 12 inches without pain! They don’t know that you can’t see the T.V. very well, or that you don’t always understand what’s being said because you can’t see the action to explain the words!  Try listening to your T.V. without looking at it . . . it doesn’t always make sense because you don’t know what they are doing or talking about!

Over the last few years you’ve had such a hard time forming your thoughts that you can’t tell them why you want certain things done for you! By the time you can gather the words to form a sentence; they’ve left your room!

I would think that the worst indignities are having to have someone change your diaper . . . or help you go to the bathroom. Because no one likes to “dirty their hands” on a job like that, they tend to treat you with impatience and a little anger.  They push you or pull you around like they are the ones that should be humiliated and shamed beyond belief. Don’t they realize that you’ve lost all of your dignity and pride? You have to depend on strangers . . . minimum wage employees . . . who are young and healthy and mad that they have this disgusting job . . . to clean you and put your diaper on you and they don’t realize how degrading that is to you . . . to anyone! Humiliation is often the worst pain to endure.

You have reached a point in your life that you swore you would never get to….the point of helplessness. Your feel like your family has “dumped” you in a “Home” and they don’t know how bad you’re being treated. You forget that you told them repeatedly over the years to “never let me in your house! Put me in a nursing home!” You felt that way because your sister’s life ‘ended’ when your Mother moved in with her for 28 years! When you tell them the food is bad and hard to eat they say, “Oh Mom!  It can’t be that bad!

(Maybe because they haven’t eaten cabbage boiled in unseasoned water, or had to struggle with a bite of meat that their dentures won’t allow them to chew. Maybe they’ve never had their dentures come loose and fall from their mouth during their meal.)

 Besides, they say, it must be good for you, you’re gaining weight! They don’t realize that you’re gaining weight because you stuff yourself with cookies, candy, crackers and anything else you can get to ward off the awful hunger you feel because your blood sugar is too high or low! When you  want to try and explain how sad and depressed your are, you don’t . . . because you can’t find the words  to  express yourself intelligently, and you  know that they can’t , or won’t , do anything about it .  They have their own lives to lead . . . things to do …places to go. They can’t imagine how badly you want to “go and do” too. They don’t know how much you just want to go back to your home place . . . just to ride around and try to connect with your memories. To recall the good times you had before you were old and infirmed. To remember the laughter of a big family on Saturday Night when the work was done and everyone was on their way to a barn dance. To recall the pleasure of a watermelon on a hot day in the fields . . . the taste and smell of fresh hot sausage being made in the backyard by your Daddy. The giggles and laughter of your brother and sisters when they were up to no good. They don’t understand that your memory is only allowing you to recall the good times of youth. . . your memory has let you down. . . it no longer works well in the present. It recalls every moment of your life up to your 20’s, most of your life up to your 50’s, some of your life up to your 70’s and virtually nothing after that…………You are starting to have trouble recognizing your own sons . . . sometimes you can’t remember which is which . . . you don’t recognize your own room or possessions most of the time now . . . mercifully, they act like it’s funny and help you laugh about it. Later, when they’re gone, you can cry in silence . . . alone.

It seems that being old is Gods’ cruelest punishment for sins unknown. You often wonder why you have to suffer the indignities of age.

 You can recall your own Mother suffering in a nursing home . . . where you visited her every evening on your way home from work . . . everyday, day in, day out for 5 years.  It seemed the only choice you had then….apparently; today’s children have other choices.

Some days, you feel like you would be happy if you could just have one day without pain, or sadness, or the realization of what the future holds for you. You just want to walk easily, to sit, stand, turn, and play your piano or guitar with fingers that aren’t arthritic or even dance a little jig . . . without pain.

 After that  day,  if  God  would  allow  you  to  just  remember  it .. . .that one day. . . you could finish you life easily. Not “end” your life, just live it to completion.

These thoughts all came to me in a blinding flash of realization one day last week. I had taken my Mom to the Doctors office. She had complained of terrible pain in her hip for three days. THREE DAYS! . . . but, it was the weekend and I was busy with my 7 day a week business. . . and the Doctors were all closed. . . and I didn’t want to be bothered with having to take her to a hospital E.R.   So, I let my Mother suffer for three days. She would call me at5 a.m.crying because she hurt so bad….it irritated me to be wakened so early…and I couldn’t do anything about her pain. So, I told her that the nurse in the assisted living center had given her all the pain medicine she could have, and  she would just have to wait till the Doctors came to work……”try to rest”, I said. And she said, “O.K. Honey, I’m sorry I bothered you.” I said, “That’s O.K. Mom I don’t mind.” I didn’t call her for the rest of the day. . . I assumed she had “gotten over it”.

A few days later, and after two trips to the Doctor, whose x-rays showed arthritis of the spine, she was treated with pain killers and injections.

I was taking her “Home” when I suddenly had an epiphany!  I knew what she felt like!  I could look at her and see the terrible sadness in her face. A look that, up to this point, I had always thought was pain or just plain old grumpiness that we assume is the nature of old people.  I could imagine what would make her happy. I felt the over powering guilt of not doing anything for her.

I should pack her clothes up right now and take her back to her home place, show her around the old town again, drive by her old school, the place she worked, the relative’s houses, all of the places she would remember!

A few more moments of thought brought me to the realization that she couldn’t endure a 500 mile ride – and these places don’t exist anymore! They, like her youth, are all gone. Only memories in her mind. . .

When she was settled in her chair again, in front of her T.V., with her cane, and her water close at hand. I massaged her shoulders and feet for her for a few minutes. I told her I was sorry that I couldn’t relieve her pain. She said, “That’s alright Honey, I know you do the best you can.”

After I left I drove for a few miles and pulled over to the side of the road.

. . . . . . . . . . And I cried for my Mothers lost Youth.

Today is Saturday,9/27/97. I closed my business today because my Mother was taken to the hospital this morning. The “Home” called and said her blood pressure was 90/40, her blood sugar was 280 and she had a mild temperature . . . plus she could hardly move because of pain in her back, hip, leg and foot. “They asked, “Should we call the ambulance?”  YES!

I drove the 60 miles to the hospital and met her. She had been there for about 45 minutes, since9:30 A.M., when I arrived. She had no water to drink… She had wet herself… She had no way to call the Nurse . . . the doctor had not seen her yet. I changed her diaper. 10:30, no doctor. 11:30, no doctor.12:30, no doctor.1:15the doctor is in the E.R.! He has two others to see first.1:30the doctor has left without seeing her! GET HIM BACK! NOW!1:45the doctor is back, He didn’t know! . . . No one told him! . . . yada, yada, yada!  Great Doc, just look at her now! “Blood Pressure is O.K. Slight bladder infection causing temperature. Blood sugar O.K. . . . I can’t admit her!”  (While she writhes in pain, and moans constantly . . . She sounds like a little kitten mewing . . . Oh! Mercy!  Help me! Make it stop! Oooooh God . . . Help me! I can’t stand it any more . . . help me! Mmmmmmmnn! Help me! Ohhhh! God, I can’t stand it! )  Doc, you have to admit her! “She doesn’t meet the criteria for admission.”

SHE CAN’T WALK! SHE CAN’T GO THE BATHROOM BY HERSELF! SHE CAN’T SIT UP! SHE BARELY KNOWS WHERE SHE IS!   AND YOU PEOPLE LEFT HER ON A HARD GURNEY FOR ALMOST FIVE HOURS….PLUS YOU LEFT HER IN A ROOM BY HERSELF FOR THE FIRST HOUR WITHOUT WATER, OR A CALL BUTTON TO GET A NURSE, AND SHE WET HERSELF BECAUSE SHE COULDN’T GET HELP TO GO TO THE BATHROOM! AD-MIT- HER! “Oh? Well, I didn’t know all of that . . . I’ll fill out the papers right now!  We’ll make her an orthopedic admit!”

When I left her she was in a bed on the third floor, she was warm, finally, and resting somewhat peacefully. She wanted me to bring her some toothpaste, a brush, her ‘good’ gown, denture adhesive, bedroom shoes and some chewing gum! I will do all of that tomorrow morning. I still think I’m not a very good Son . . . she should have been cared for better. I should have done something before she became pitifully miserable. Before she could only lay on a gurney and moan. . . “Help me…God help me.”

She’s 84 years old. Sometimes I think, “How long can I endure this?”

If I were worth a damn, I would think, “How long can she endure this?”

I love my Mother . . . really, I do.

I visited my mother today. . . She’s been in the hospital for several weeks. Every time I go to see her I never know what to expect. One time she is sitting in her chair and says,” Well! Hello! When I step in the door. I’m thrilled that she is “back” from where ever she went with her last “mini-stroke” and I revel in her return. We talk about things that are current and she knows just exactly what’s going on . . . where she is . . . why she’s here…and what day it is today.

On my next visit she’s lost again! She doesn’t know me or anything else. She just stares at the wall or the T.V. and doesn’t respond to my questions. She is apparently not in pain, but I can’t help but feel sad for her.

Did she decide to leave this earthly world and forget to take her body with her? Has she just “tuned” me out and gone to visit her past? Where is she I wonder?

She has up to 100 days on the fifth floor of the hospital. It’s kinda like a nursing home floor. She is cared for, fed, kept clean and “checked” on every few minutes . . . supposedly.

Today isDecember 31, 1997

I haven’t written in a while. Mother is now is a nursing home. We have given up her room at theAssistedLivingCenterwhere she had been for several years. She was in another nursing home for a week. But, they didn’t give her any water and she dehydrated! She went back to the hospital for about 3 or 4 weeks and they recommended that we move her to this nursing home…it’s called ‘Britthaven’. It was the old Hospital. It is old looking but clean. The staff has fewer patients, so she gets more attention. But, it’s still a nursing home. Our Aunt Betty came to see her the first day she was admitted. Betty always amazes us with her knowledge of caring for the elderly. But she’s done it for almost 40 years as a Private Duty Nurse. She made sure Mom had everything she needs. She told us to not expect Mom to ever return to the assisted living center. We should expect her to remain here the rest of her days! It’s realistic I suppose . . . but it sure is hard to accept.

My visits with Mom are like visiting a total stranger now. She is living in a fantasy world she has created. She works. She attends parties. She goes shopping. Maybe that’s good. She has a busy day in her mind every day.

I miss her. I didn’t get to say goodbye before she left us. Maybe she’ll stop back around for a visit with me before she leaves permanently. I hope I have just a few moments with “the old” her one day. I have to make sure she knows that I love her and that she did a great job raising me.

I also want to hear her laugh one more time.

I really do miss her.

Today isMonday, March 23, 1998.

I visited my Mother last Monday after a visit with her Doctor. He told me he was startled by her decline since his last visit.  He said he wouldn’t be surprised to hear from the Nursing home that she needs to be hospitalized in the next few months.

 What follows were my thoughts that night.

My Mother Screams out in terror now. She is 85 years old and she is confined to a hospital bed in a nursing home. 24 hours a day. Every day. I visited with her yesterday for about 30 minutes. As I exited the elevator at the far end of the hall, I heard her screaming. I rush to her room to see what’s wrong. She is highly agitated and gesturing at the door. She sees demons that aren’t there except in her imagination. She is terrified.  She recognizes me, but she doesn’t know why, or who I am. She knows only that I am a friendly face. She wants me to make “them” go away and leave her alone. I don’t know what to do, so I comfort her and tell it’s alright. I’m here now, you’re safe. She babbles incoherently and gets progressively louder until she finally screams out in what appears to be terror. She points at the door and says, “Make them go away and leave me alone”! I understand every word. I can’t help her. I can’t make ‘them’ go away. I begin to cry and caress her cheek. I say, over and over again, “I’m here, you’re O.K. You’re safe. I rub her feet and ask if she’s in pain and she responds by shaking her head “no” vigorously and crying out in apparent pain. I stop rubbing. I pat her shoulder and tell her it’s “O.K. You’re safe”. I don’t know what else to do.  I take her face in my hands and turn her towards me, I look in her eyes and I say, “I love you”. I kiss her on the forehead.  She calms down for a moment, the tension in her face drains away and she says, “I love you too Honey”.  A heartbeat later she returns to her place of terror and starts babbling again and looks at the door and screams, “You go away”!  I stay with her long enough to realize that she will not calm down. The nurse’s aide comes in and tells me she’s been like this all day. They don’t know what she imagines that she sees. They have checked her over thoroughly and she is not in apparent pain. She’s warm, clean, fed, bathed. That’s all they can do for her. After half an hour I tell her that I have to leave. I tell her that I will be back soon. It’s a lie. I know that it will be a week, at least, before I see her again. She is clutching at me with her eyes. She is so weak that she can’t hold me with her hand. She can’t even get her hand out from under the covers. She says, “Are you coming back”? Yes . . . soon. You’ll be O.K. They’ll take good care of you here. “Are you going to leave me here”? I’ll be back soon Mother. She babbles and locks her eyes on the door. Her eyes grow large with apparent fear. She screams in terror. I leave. I sit in my truck and cry for her. She was a vibrant, cheerful, hard working lady just a few short years ago. Everyone loved to be in her presence. I like to believe that she helped mold me into the person I am today. I hope that I have some part of her within me. Then I realize that the part of her that I admire the most is the part that I don’t have. That’s the part that wouldn’t let her leave my bedside if I was the one screaming out in terror. The part that would never say “I’m too busy to visit”. I love my Mother. I feel such shame for letting her end up in this condition. For not visiting her more often. Yet, I tell myself, I had nothing to do with it. Age, time and Nature have robbed her of herself.

I’m home now. Sixty miles away from her. I still hear her screams.

I cry.

 In my heart, I try to tell her, it’s O.K. Mother. Don’t be afraid.

I’m here for you.

I hope that what she sees are Angels.

Today isWednesday July 29, 1998