Well, today I completed the beginning of the arduous task of applying for Social Security Disability. I don't know why I kept putting it off, but I'm glad I finally sat down and forced myself to do it. It took about 3 hours to complete online. Not an easy project. And it will be a long time coming and I will probably be denied the first time as most people are, as I've heard. The government makes it very difficult and I understand why, for the most part.
I was granted short term disability through an insurance company that the county uses some time ago now; I'm not sure if I mentioned that or not. I could also apply for long term disability through it, but I wanted to get on Social Security disability because I want to officially retire with the county when I do. I'm thankful I had the foresight to obtain and pay for this short and long term disability several years ago. Who would have thought I would be in this position today.
I'm not especially proud of applying for disability; I feel that it is the only thing I am able to do at this point. And like everything else in life, if you've never experienced it, it's not something you can totally understand, and therefore not be a judge of it. That's why I hate prejudice so much. People make assumptions about other people because of ignorance. It doesn't make any difference if it's a black teenage kid standing on a street corner, a single mom using food stamps at the grocery store, or a homeless man pushing a grocery cart and sleeping on the street. If you haven't walked in that person's shoes, you have no place to judge them or assume anything about them. It just makes me crazy when people do. It's at that point that I jump on my soapbox and begin to preach, sista!
Suffice it to say that I feel comfortable with my decisions and hope that the process isn't too overwhelming. Not like after I completed the application and emailed my dad a few documents that I needed him to print out because I don't have a printer. It's easy. Three documents to print out. What proceeded to take place was thrown way out of proportion. I don't know if he didn't know how to do it or what, but I offered to do it for him. Of course not - he knew how to do it. So I sat there and waited - impatiently - to print the 3 documents for me. He kept moving the mouse all around hitting the X and deleting it every time he opened one of the documents up. I kept saying, "Dad - let me sit there, I'll do it, no problem." He said, "No, no, I know how to do it, stop being so impatient." "Yeah, but dad, what are you doing? You keep deleting the document!" "Stop being so impatient and shut up! I'll figure it out," he says. Well, we lovingly bantered like this back and forth as he monkeyed around with the mouse, squinting because he can hardly see and clicking on everything but what he was supposed to click on and it was driving me crazy. Finally, after much talking and mouse-clicking and document-deleting, he managed to print the documents out for me. Whew. Three documents. A secretary he ain't.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
WalMart
I also miss the days when we were all young mothers and we would schlep our children on one side of our hip and the purse and diaper bag on the other side, everywhere we went. I loved raising my children, however, you may not have guessed that if you knew me at the time. It was very stressful being a single mother and the stress showed on me most of the time. But when my kids were finally asleep, I would creep into their bedrooms and watch them sleeping for a few minutes. It was then that I knew everything was all right and even though the day might have been a huge catastrophy, my children were all tucked into bed, sleeping and looking like little angels. Each one of them has these cute little lips that when they slept, they poked out like they were puffing out on something. It made me smile to see them so content. I miss that now, even though then I thought those frantic and chaotic days would never end. Unfortunately, they do, and really too late to take in what I miss most about them now.
My dad's cousin and his wife came to visit today, from California. His name is Bobby and he calls my dad Bobby, which is funny to me because I remember only my grandmother calling him that. My dad likes his cousin, who is only 3 years older than I am. He joked around and we reminisced all day. It was good to reminisce. He knew things about his side of the family that I didn't know and he kept making fun of my dad's mom. She really was a tyrant and everybody knew it, but my dad doesn't like when people make fun of her -- except Bobby could. It was pretty funny - we had a good laugh. His wife didn't have a whole lot to say, but that's probably because Bobby did all the talking. He had a lot to say about Micah being a preacher. He thinks it's "a shame" that such a good Jewish boy would go ahead and become a Christian. We avoided that conversation because I would have had a lot to say, but I think he sensed that, so it wasn't talked about.
After they left, my mom's friend Sue and her daughter came over for a short visit. They are from England and they have the cutest accents. I enjoy listening to them, although I have to admit, sometimes I didn't catch what they said. We met them yesterday before my mom and I went to Wal Mart.
There's only one thing worse than going to Wal Mart on a Saturday afternoon, and that is if you go with a cranky kid or a disabled mother. I parked the car as close as I could to the entrance, but she insisted on walking with the walker to the front door, to get a scooter. Well, it took forever for her to get across the parking lot road as I first of all kept cheering her on like a cheerleader, and then when I was getting frustrated, I just said, "C'mon mom -- go faster. You're going too slow, someone's gonna hit you! C'mon!" I started mumbling about the fact that she wasn't ready to go to WalMart and I told her that, blah, blah, blah. She walked so slow that she was almost at a standstill and kept saying that she had the right of way, etc. As she was coming in the doorway, her legs looked cockeyed, like they were going to give out from under her and I was beside myself. Fortunately, there were two scooters available and she very carefully got on one and I on the other. The nice greeter man put her walker to the side and kept it by the doors for us when we left.
As we started driving the scooters, I said just follow me, but I had to keep looking backward to see if she was still behind me. She was, but waaaaayyyy back there, so I said to just drive alongside of me, which we did until the aisles got smaller. Then I said, you go in front of me and I'll follow you and it was at that point that she crashed into a shelf, backed up and crashed into it again. I just sat there waiting for her to get her bearings and then we were off again at the races. She found what she needed and then it was my turn to look for what I needed, so I told her to follow me. She did, but at one point she went one way and I went the other and I just gave up and figured she'd find me at the pet section, which she did eventually. We picked up the few things that were on our lists and I high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible. This time, I pulled the car up to the door so she wouldn't have to cross the road and a nice fellow helped her into the car and put our stuff in as well. I flicked the a/c on high as I sat and took a few deep breaths, glared at my mom and she looked perfectly fine. It didn't phase her, partly because she can hardly hear and partly because she had no clue that I was beyond frustrated.
It will be a long time before I ever accompany my mom into WalMart again. I think Publix is safe because there are usually just a few people who shop there. But WalMart - nope. Not unless I take a horse tranquilizer before I leave.
My dad's cousin and his wife came to visit today, from California. His name is Bobby and he calls my dad Bobby, which is funny to me because I remember only my grandmother calling him that. My dad likes his cousin, who is only 3 years older than I am. He joked around and we reminisced all day. It was good to reminisce. He knew things about his side of the family that I didn't know and he kept making fun of my dad's mom. She really was a tyrant and everybody knew it, but my dad doesn't like when people make fun of her -- except Bobby could. It was pretty funny - we had a good laugh. His wife didn't have a whole lot to say, but that's probably because Bobby did all the talking. He had a lot to say about Micah being a preacher. He thinks it's "a shame" that such a good Jewish boy would go ahead and become a Christian. We avoided that conversation because I would have had a lot to say, but I think he sensed that, so it wasn't talked about.
After they left, my mom's friend Sue and her daughter came over for a short visit. They are from England and they have the cutest accents. I enjoy listening to them, although I have to admit, sometimes I didn't catch what they said. We met them yesterday before my mom and I went to Wal Mart.
There's only one thing worse than going to Wal Mart on a Saturday afternoon, and that is if you go with a cranky kid or a disabled mother. I parked the car as close as I could to the entrance, but she insisted on walking with the walker to the front door, to get a scooter. Well, it took forever for her to get across the parking lot road as I first of all kept cheering her on like a cheerleader, and then when I was getting frustrated, I just said, "C'mon mom -- go faster. You're going too slow, someone's gonna hit you! C'mon!" I started mumbling about the fact that she wasn't ready to go to WalMart and I told her that, blah, blah, blah. She walked so slow that she was almost at a standstill and kept saying that she had the right of way, etc. As she was coming in the doorway, her legs looked cockeyed, like they were going to give out from under her and I was beside myself. Fortunately, there were two scooters available and she very carefully got on one and I on the other. The nice greeter man put her walker to the side and kept it by the doors for us when we left.
As we started driving the scooters, I said just follow me, but I had to keep looking backward to see if she was still behind me. She was, but waaaaayyyy back there, so I said to just drive alongside of me, which we did until the aisles got smaller. Then I said, you go in front of me and I'll follow you and it was at that point that she crashed into a shelf, backed up and crashed into it again. I just sat there waiting for her to get her bearings and then we were off again at the races. She found what she needed and then it was my turn to look for what I needed, so I told her to follow me. She did, but at one point she went one way and I went the other and I just gave up and figured she'd find me at the pet section, which she did eventually. We picked up the few things that were on our lists and I high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible. This time, I pulled the car up to the door so she wouldn't have to cross the road and a nice fellow helped her into the car and put our stuff in as well. I flicked the a/c on high as I sat and took a few deep breaths, glared at my mom and she looked perfectly fine. It didn't phase her, partly because she can hardly hear and partly because she had no clue that I was beyond frustrated.
It will be a long time before I ever accompany my mom into WalMart again. I think Publix is safe because there are usually just a few people who shop there. But WalMart - nope. Not unless I take a horse tranquilizer before I leave.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The Good Old Days
I miss the days when my friends and I would all jump into the car and head out to known and unknown places, all very exciting and carefree. I miss hanging out every Friday and Saturday nights, going to concerts or just hanging out at Mister Donut. I also miss going out to Lake Michigan and sitting on the rocks by myself and meditating about life. I knew there had to be more, but what it was, I didn't know. We would do whatever it was young people did and enjoyed every minute of it, not thinking much about the future or what some things would do to our bodies or have an affect on them in the future. We just never cared. Now, of course, I wish I had. I was very hard on my body, in more than one way, and now I'm paying the price. However, if someone had come up to me in those days and told me to take better care of my body, I would have told them to "blow it out your ear," or something equally as repulsive. I never liked someone telling me what to do. I think now, after the many conversations my dad and I have had, I must have inherited all of those wonderful traits from him.
So sometimes it's hard to sit here and watch while the world goes physically by. We take some things, such as walking, for granted. When you can no longer walk or no longer walk without a great deal of pain, it's then that you realize what you once took for granted. You never think about it - you just get up and walk. And if there's one thing I really want to do and have so for some time, is to walk. I just want to walk by myself and not be in pain.
What brought this on is the fact that some friends and I want to plan a vacation together. We were tossing up different ideas and one of the concerns was "Can Sharon get her scooter or wheelchair in and out of cabs?" and "Who will push her if she doesn't take her scooter?" among others. So we decided to take a cruise, which sounds like fun, I've never done that before, even though my choices were sightseeing in Hawaii, New York or Bermuda. But in those cases, it would probably be difficult for me to get around. I think my friends were thinking a cruise would be easier for me overall and it probably would be.
When I told my parents what my friends and I were deciding on doing, the first, not the second, but the first thing my mom said was, "Well, you know all you do on a cruise is eat, eat, eat - that's all you do, morning, noon and night, (blah, blah blah)." I said, "Ma, there's a whole lot more to do on cruises, I've seen brochures." But she insisted that eating was the primary goal on every cruise. Okay. Whatever. She is so obsessed about eating and weight that she actually asked one of the nurses at the doctor's office yesterday to weigh her. He had to stop what he was doing, help her out of her wheelchair, and announced to the whole waiting room that she is 114 pounds. You could see a little twinkle in her eyes and then she told me in a serious tone, "Don't tell your father." In her twisted sense of body image, she thinks the less she weighs, the healthier she is, when in reality, at her age, she needs to gain weight -- and the doctor told her so. I think sometimes she thinks she looks younger than she really is, but she has so many wrinkles, spots and sagging skin that it hardly makes her a candidate for a beauty pageant.
I think she would have liked that. I think she would have liked for people to fuss over her and say what a beauty she was, and how thin she was! And I think that goes back to her childhood. My aunt, her only sibling, was a cute girl and probably fussed over by my grandmother, where my mom had striking features and would have been considered pretty, but she was tall and lanky, and my aunt was short and petite. I have a feeling my grandfather gave her the attention she craved as a child, but he died when she was very young, and she was left with a heart that was never the same. I saw the anger and resentment she had toward my grandmother when she was alive. Now, she in fact reminds me of my grandmother, a small, little body in a wheelchair and not making a lot of sense most of the time. Not angry any more, though - just seemingly content with fond memories. I hope when I get old, I'm like that too. I don't want to remember all the bad stuff - I only want good memories. Even if that makes me look lame, I don't care. I want to be at peace and content and know I lived a full life with few regrets and lots of memories.
So sometimes it's hard to sit here and watch while the world goes physically by. We take some things, such as walking, for granted. When you can no longer walk or no longer walk without a great deal of pain, it's then that you realize what you once took for granted. You never think about it - you just get up and walk. And if there's one thing I really want to do and have so for some time, is to walk. I just want to walk by myself and not be in pain.
What brought this on is the fact that some friends and I want to plan a vacation together. We were tossing up different ideas and one of the concerns was "Can Sharon get her scooter or wheelchair in and out of cabs?" and "Who will push her if she doesn't take her scooter?" among others. So we decided to take a cruise, which sounds like fun, I've never done that before, even though my choices were sightseeing in Hawaii, New York or Bermuda. But in those cases, it would probably be difficult for me to get around. I think my friends were thinking a cruise would be easier for me overall and it probably would be.
When I told my parents what my friends and I were deciding on doing, the first, not the second, but the first thing my mom said was, "Well, you know all you do on a cruise is eat, eat, eat - that's all you do, morning, noon and night, (blah, blah blah)." I said, "Ma, there's a whole lot more to do on cruises, I've seen brochures." But she insisted that eating was the primary goal on every cruise. Okay. Whatever. She is so obsessed about eating and weight that she actually asked one of the nurses at the doctor's office yesterday to weigh her. He had to stop what he was doing, help her out of her wheelchair, and announced to the whole waiting room that she is 114 pounds. You could see a little twinkle in her eyes and then she told me in a serious tone, "Don't tell your father." In her twisted sense of body image, she thinks the less she weighs, the healthier she is, when in reality, at her age, she needs to gain weight -- and the doctor told her so. I think sometimes she thinks she looks younger than she really is, but she has so many wrinkles, spots and sagging skin that it hardly makes her a candidate for a beauty pageant.
I think she would have liked that. I think she would have liked for people to fuss over her and say what a beauty she was, and how thin she was! And I think that goes back to her childhood. My aunt, her only sibling, was a cute girl and probably fussed over by my grandmother, where my mom had striking features and would have been considered pretty, but she was tall and lanky, and my aunt was short and petite. I have a feeling my grandfather gave her the attention she craved as a child, but he died when she was very young, and she was left with a heart that was never the same. I saw the anger and resentment she had toward my grandmother when she was alive. Now, she in fact reminds me of my grandmother, a small, little body in a wheelchair and not making a lot of sense most of the time. Not angry any more, though - just seemingly content with fond memories. I hope when I get old, I'm like that too. I don't want to remember all the bad stuff - I only want good memories. Even if that makes me look lame, I don't care. I want to be at peace and content and know I lived a full life with few regrets and lots of memories.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Mom's Drug Usage
My mom would never have had fun if she was a teenager in the 60's and 70's. The slightest variation in medication and she goes a bit off. Tonight, after taking her sleeping medication and the new medication the doctor prescribed for seizures, she didn't make a lick of sense. It upset my dad and he called me in the bedroom to decipher what she was saying. She was talking about the medication and then said something about the recipe and I said, "It's ok mom, we'll talk about it tomorrow morning when you're making sense." She kept babbling on and on and she was falling asleep in the wheelchair. My dad and I had to get her up from the wheelchair and help her onto the bed, and my dad lifted her legs up so she could lay down. She's only about 120 pounds, but she seemed alot heavier as I tried to get her to a standing position so she could hold onto her walker as we guided her into bed. I kept saying, "Wake up, mom!" I felt like the mother of a stoned or drunk teenager that I was trying to get into bed so she could sleep it off.
My dad stayed in the bedroom with her until she fell asleep, then came looking for me. He just shook his head and kept saying that she wasn't making sense. He was listening to her and trying to make sense out of what she was saying. I told him that it was like she was high and she wouldn't be making sense and she should take those meds right before getting into bed so this type of thing doesn't happen again. I felt like I was giving my dad a lesson on drugs. But after thinking about it, of course he would have no idea, because they never used drugs. On the other hand, I would have quite a bit more knowledge on the subject because, well, let's just say that I would.
Everything we do here it seems is done in slow motion. My mom likes to sit in the wheelchair instead of walking with the walker and so she pushes herself around by her feet - very slowly. She reminds me of the little old man who Tim Conway played on the Carol Burnett show. She gets there, but it takes a lonnnnnnggg time. So while I'm waiting for her to get to the kitchen table, I sit in the rolling kitchen chair and watch tv or play on my phone, because there's not enough room in the hallway if we both try to get there. If my dad with his walker, collides with my mom in her wheelchair, then somebody has to get out of the way. It's usually my mom. But then, she goes in reverse, as slowly as she was going forward. I just sit, watch and wait until the coast is clear. Me with my cane, my dad with his walker and my mom with her wheelchair is quite a sight to behold. And when she is actually using her walker, she goes even slower, talking out loud, telling herself to "step with my heel first, then my toe, heel first, then toe," something she learned at the nursing home. She learned a lot of useful things at the nursing home. She learned that her "grabber" is not only good for grabbing, but for pushing and pulling and even getting her shoes on. The grabber helps me grab things off of high shelves that the three of us could never reach, so I really enjoy the little tool too.
We are going to the doctor tomorrow and Friday again, so I have that to look forward to in the heat and humidity. I think I should buy or make a bandana sort of thing, to bind around my head so all the sweat can be caught in the fabric. I think it would probably look ridiculous, but it would definitely serve its purpose. I think I will look for that next time I'm at WalMart. Maybe I can find a cool one, like a biker's scarf and pretend I'm a biker. It wouldn't work, of course. Just one look at me and you can tell I'm no biker. I can't even walk. Oh well, I can pretend, can't I? It would be kind of humorous tho, while I'm scooting around WalMart or Publix in the motorized scooter. That's about the closest to a biker chick that I'll ever be.
My dad stayed in the bedroom with her until she fell asleep, then came looking for me. He just shook his head and kept saying that she wasn't making sense. He was listening to her and trying to make sense out of what she was saying. I told him that it was like she was high and she wouldn't be making sense and she should take those meds right before getting into bed so this type of thing doesn't happen again. I felt like I was giving my dad a lesson on drugs. But after thinking about it, of course he would have no idea, because they never used drugs. On the other hand, I would have quite a bit more knowledge on the subject because, well, let's just say that I would.
Everything we do here it seems is done in slow motion. My mom likes to sit in the wheelchair instead of walking with the walker and so she pushes herself around by her feet - very slowly. She reminds me of the little old man who Tim Conway played on the Carol Burnett show. She gets there, but it takes a lonnnnnnggg time. So while I'm waiting for her to get to the kitchen table, I sit in the rolling kitchen chair and watch tv or play on my phone, because there's not enough room in the hallway if we both try to get there. If my dad with his walker, collides with my mom in her wheelchair, then somebody has to get out of the way. It's usually my mom. But then, she goes in reverse, as slowly as she was going forward. I just sit, watch and wait until the coast is clear. Me with my cane, my dad with his walker and my mom with her wheelchair is quite a sight to behold. And when she is actually using her walker, she goes even slower, talking out loud, telling herself to "step with my heel first, then my toe, heel first, then toe," something she learned at the nursing home. She learned a lot of useful things at the nursing home. She learned that her "grabber" is not only good for grabbing, but for pushing and pulling and even getting her shoes on. The grabber helps me grab things off of high shelves that the three of us could never reach, so I really enjoy the little tool too.
We are going to the doctor tomorrow and Friday again, so I have that to look forward to in the heat and humidity. I think I should buy or make a bandana sort of thing, to bind around my head so all the sweat can be caught in the fabric. I think it would probably look ridiculous, but it would definitely serve its purpose. I think I will look for that next time I'm at WalMart. Maybe I can find a cool one, like a biker's scarf and pretend I'm a biker. It wouldn't work, of course. Just one look at me and you can tell I'm no biker. I can't even walk. Oh well, I can pretend, can't I? It would be kind of humorous tho, while I'm scooting around WalMart or Publix in the motorized scooter. That's about the closest to a biker chick that I'll ever be.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
God Always Answers Prayers
My dad and I got up to the hospital around 1:30 this afternoon, and we all didn't leave until 6:30 this evening. We were waiting for the neurologist all that time, to come and explain to us what is going on with my mom. Finally she did appear and what she said was very good news. She thinks my mom has been having tiny, small seizures by her own description before she falls. The doctor prescribed her some new medication that will help if she is truly having seizures, and hopefully help with the dizziness. She also said the spot on her brain was nothing to worry about. It could have been there for many years, as far as they could tell. The MRI and EEG tests that she had, showed everything was fine and there was no cause for worry. This was all a huge relief. I think my dad, mom and I all took a deep breath after everything that was said and done. Who said God doesn't answer prayers?
But frankly, even if the news was not good tonight, God still answers prayer. Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like it or it's not the answer that we want - but He always answers - one way or the other. When I don't know which way to pray, I will always pray that His will be done. That's the safest way to pray, as there is more power in prayer than we even realize.
Several years ago I heard a sermon preached by a visiting evangelist that I will never forget. There was a group of scientists of whom some believed in God and others didn't, who wanted to measure prayer scientifically. I don't remember exactly how they did it, but they hooked up people to machines that detected the velocity or electrical degree, or the power that they emitted as they prayed their prayers. It was an amazing story, in that the people who were praying for others, the electrical impulses or velocity went off the scale they were measuring. In other words, their prayers measured "off the charts" scientifically and the scientists were all amazed at the degree of power their prayer eminated. They stated that the amount of power that was being projected by a single person's prayer equaled a huge bomb.
So the bottom line is that when we pray, we not only touch the throne of God, we do it with such a large amount of power, that the whole spiritual realm must quake. That's very cool when you think about it.
I believe in the power of prayer and I believe in the One, True, Living God Who answers my prayers. Can I get an amen?
But frankly, even if the news was not good tonight, God still answers prayer. Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like it or it's not the answer that we want - but He always answers - one way or the other. When I don't know which way to pray, I will always pray that His will be done. That's the safest way to pray, as there is more power in prayer than we even realize.
Several years ago I heard a sermon preached by a visiting evangelist that I will never forget. There was a group of scientists of whom some believed in God and others didn't, who wanted to measure prayer scientifically. I don't remember exactly how they did it, but they hooked up people to machines that detected the velocity or electrical degree, or the power that they emitted as they prayed their prayers. It was an amazing story, in that the people who were praying for others, the electrical impulses or velocity went off the scale they were measuring. In other words, their prayers measured "off the charts" scientifically and the scientists were all amazed at the degree of power their prayer eminated. They stated that the amount of power that was being projected by a single person's prayer equaled a huge bomb.
So the bottom line is that when we pray, we not only touch the throne of God, we do it with such a large amount of power, that the whole spiritual realm must quake. That's very cool when you think about it.
I believe in the power of prayer and I believe in the One, True, Living God Who answers my prayers. Can I get an amen?
Monday, August 15, 2011
Feelin' a Little Sick to My Stomach
My mom is still in the hospital and she said tonight that the neurologist wants to talk to us together tomorrow morning. She had an MRI and an EEG today, but the results weren't told to her, so I don't know what to think. I'm somewhat concerned at this point. I feel a little sick to my stomach, as I know I don't deal with this kind of stuff very well. And my father's response is always anger. But I will try to put it in God's hands, just as I heard it preached yesterday morning.
The service was good and the preaching was better. We sang songs we used to sing at Calvary, many, many years ago. It was fun to sing them again - it brought back a lot of memories. There is no drummer or keyboard player, no guitar and the only music are some tambourines. The singers are off key a lot, but it really doesn't matter - the sweet spirit of God was in that little church nonetheless. We prayed for my mom and I felt the power of the Holy Ghost very strong at that time. I left there feeling very content and at peace.
We went to see my mom in the early evening and she looked good and was doing fine. Apparently they found out that it's not a blood spot on her brain, and it also wasn't caused by the Mersa. But what it is, we will find out tomorrow.
I don't understand why hospitals tell you early on what they think it is then change their mind and say it's something else - sometimes over and over again. That is really stupid. When I was very sick about 6 years ago, I ended up in the hospital and at first they said I had congestive heart failure, then they changed that and said I had something else. After running many tests, they finally realized that I had Sepsis - a blood infection. That's a far cry from congestive heart failure. They should just wait until they're sure and then tell you and your loved ones what the problem is. Up until that point, they should just admit that they don't know yet.
I'll never forget the doctor who I had when I was pregnant with Leah. During delivery, it went very wrong and they had to call in a specialist and then he was able to deliver Leah. My doctor, as he was wheeling me to the recovery room, actually apologized to me, that he had me pushing too early. He admitted that he was wrong and admitted that the baby could have brain damage because of that. That doctor's character spoke volumes to me and I will always remember his honesty. How many times can one say that about any human being, much less a doctor?
Well, it's early but it's time for bed. I'm exhausted as usual, physically and emotionally. But that's ok. God always gives me the strength for a brand new day.
The service was good and the preaching was better. We sang songs we used to sing at Calvary, many, many years ago. It was fun to sing them again - it brought back a lot of memories. There is no drummer or keyboard player, no guitar and the only music are some tambourines. The singers are off key a lot, but it really doesn't matter - the sweet spirit of God was in that little church nonetheless. We prayed for my mom and I felt the power of the Holy Ghost very strong at that time. I left there feeling very content and at peace.
We went to see my mom in the early evening and she looked good and was doing fine. Apparently they found out that it's not a blood spot on her brain, and it also wasn't caused by the Mersa. But what it is, we will find out tomorrow.
I don't understand why hospitals tell you early on what they think it is then change their mind and say it's something else - sometimes over and over again. That is really stupid. When I was very sick about 6 years ago, I ended up in the hospital and at first they said I had congestive heart failure, then they changed that and said I had something else. After running many tests, they finally realized that I had Sepsis - a blood infection. That's a far cry from congestive heart failure. They should just wait until they're sure and then tell you and your loved ones what the problem is. Up until that point, they should just admit that they don't know yet.
I'll never forget the doctor who I had when I was pregnant with Leah. During delivery, it went very wrong and they had to call in a specialist and then he was able to deliver Leah. My doctor, as he was wheeling me to the recovery room, actually apologized to me, that he had me pushing too early. He admitted that he was wrong and admitted that the baby could have brain damage because of that. That doctor's character spoke volumes to me and I will always remember his honesty. How many times can one say that about any human being, much less a doctor?
Well, it's early but it's time for bed. I'm exhausted as usual, physically and emotionally. But that's ok. God always gives me the strength for a brand new day.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
A Sign of a Greater Problem
Well, I guess my mom's dizziness was a sign of a greater problem, or so the doctors think. This morning, my mom was so dizzy that she couldn't sit up in bed and so I called 911 again. This time, the guys that came out took my mom into the hospital by the stretcher. When they picked her up, she groaned because she was so dizzy. I'm not sure if that hurt her or just made her feel weird, but they took her into the hospital about 9:30. I unfortunately had a physical therapy appt at 9:45 and I didn't know what to do because I missed my first appt with Linda, the physical therapist. So I called them and told them that I was running late and expained what was happening. I also called Danny and he came down to the hospital as well. I took my dad to the ER and dropped him off to be with my mom and I went to the physical therapist. I came in there kind of frantic, kind of antsy and feeling guilty that I just left my mom in the ER, but by the time I left, I felt very relaxed and "centered" - a term we used to say back in the 70's. Maybe people still say that today, I don't know.
In any case, I went to the hospital after my appt and Danny was there with my dad. I went in to see my mom and she was fine, feeling ok, but they did a cat scan on her brain and they saw a blood spot in the back of her brain. They don't know what it is or what it's doing there, so they admitted her to do more tests later today and tomorrow. It's probably what is making her dizzy, but the question is why and where did it come from?
Danny left to take my dad home because my dad can only deal with this for a short time, and then he went home, and I stayed with my mom for awhile. They gave her some lunch and she seemed fine talking to me. Her birthday is tomorrow and my dad and I were going to take her out for dinner, and so she was telling the nursing staff that they had to have a birthday party for her now. They really didn't understand my mom's sense of humor - well, very few people do - as sometimes she says and does strange and out-of-place things. It's just her and it's always been her, although she's gotten much worse since being sick. And I think it's because she's never received this much attention before. Whatever the reason, if she was worried, she covered it up by her acting silly.
It would take them "several hours" to find a bed on one of the floors for her, so I decided to leave. Later I found out that they put her in a restricted area in case of the Mersa that some of the doctors are claiming is the reason for the blood spot. Others are saying it's something else. I came home, went into the pool, then took a long nap - I was exhausted - emotionally and physically. My dad woke me up because he was hungry and wanted to eat, so I got up and fixed him and me dinner. I think watching movies and tv is my dad's escape of reality. All of this is wearing on my dad as well. He was always the one who needed to be taken care of, now my mom is in that position and he doesn't really know how to handle this.
After dinner, I watched a movie with my dad and he narrated it as we watched it, as he had seen it before. This is his way of dealing with the situation with my mom. I know he is concerned about what they found and doesn't know how to express his feelings or talk about them. Neither of them do. That's really sad to me, as I learned that a long time ago when I was in the hospital, and I think it is a very important thing to know how to do.
But there is something that I find incredibly hard to do and always have. That is, telling my parents how much or even, that I love them. I can tell friends, my kids, the neighbor down the street or Mr. Magoo - but I can't seem to get it out of my mouth to either of my parents. When I do say it, it sounds very forced (which it is), and it creates a very awkward situation. My father has never been able to say this (until very recently) to me or my brothers or my kids. My mom will say it often but for some unknown reason, it's very difficult for me to say this back to her. Sometimes, it's even difficult for me to look into her eyes. I don't understand it. It makes me very uncomfortable, but I have to push past my comfort zone and do this more and more, especially now. Why else would I be down here?
In any case, I went to the hospital after my appt and Danny was there with my dad. I went in to see my mom and she was fine, feeling ok, but they did a cat scan on her brain and they saw a blood spot in the back of her brain. They don't know what it is or what it's doing there, so they admitted her to do more tests later today and tomorrow. It's probably what is making her dizzy, but the question is why and where did it come from?
Danny left to take my dad home because my dad can only deal with this for a short time, and then he went home, and I stayed with my mom for awhile. They gave her some lunch and she seemed fine talking to me. Her birthday is tomorrow and my dad and I were going to take her out for dinner, and so she was telling the nursing staff that they had to have a birthday party for her now. They really didn't understand my mom's sense of humor - well, very few people do - as sometimes she says and does strange and out-of-place things. It's just her and it's always been her, although she's gotten much worse since being sick. And I think it's because she's never received this much attention before. Whatever the reason, if she was worried, she covered it up by her acting silly.
It would take them "several hours" to find a bed on one of the floors for her, so I decided to leave. Later I found out that they put her in a restricted area in case of the Mersa that some of the doctors are claiming is the reason for the blood spot. Others are saying it's something else. I came home, went into the pool, then took a long nap - I was exhausted - emotionally and physically. My dad woke me up because he was hungry and wanted to eat, so I got up and fixed him and me dinner. I think watching movies and tv is my dad's escape of reality. All of this is wearing on my dad as well. He was always the one who needed to be taken care of, now my mom is in that position and he doesn't really know how to handle this.
After dinner, I watched a movie with my dad and he narrated it as we watched it, as he had seen it before. This is his way of dealing with the situation with my mom. I know he is concerned about what they found and doesn't know how to express his feelings or talk about them. Neither of them do. That's really sad to me, as I learned that a long time ago when I was in the hospital, and I think it is a very important thing to know how to do.
But there is something that I find incredibly hard to do and always have. That is, telling my parents how much or even, that I love them. I can tell friends, my kids, the neighbor down the street or Mr. Magoo - but I can't seem to get it out of my mouth to either of my parents. When I do say it, it sounds very forced (which it is), and it creates a very awkward situation. My father has never been able to say this (until very recently) to me or my brothers or my kids. My mom will say it often but for some unknown reason, it's very difficult for me to say this back to her. Sometimes, it's even difficult for me to look into her eyes. I don't understand it. It makes me very uncomfortable, but I have to push past my comfort zone and do this more and more, especially now. Why else would I be down here?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)