Showing posts with label hospital advocate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital advocate. Show all posts

May 15, 2012

Micro-management or Loving Care... How Do You Tell the Difference?

I am sorry it has been so long since my last post. To say that this has been a hectic and stressful week would be an understatement. The hospitalist agreed to keep my grandmother over the weekend so that she could be re-admitted to her apartment at the ALF on Monday and placed in Hospice Care. I met Monday morning with the Hospice director, the ALF administrator and R.N., and the Hospice R.N./Caseworker. We reviewed the care plan for Mam-ma and agreed that she would do only as much as she fel like doing... and that our goal was to keep her happy and comfortable for the rest of her life.

To say the weekend in the hospital was uneventful would be a lie. For starters, I arrived Saturday morning around 9:00, and the aides said, "She didn't eat much breakfast." I immediately knew why as soon as I saw Mam-ma ... she wasn't wearing her dentures! I told the girls... "She doesn't have in her teeth!" They sheepishly disappeared, and the ward clerk scrambled to find something in the nutrition room that we thought Mam-ma would eat. Then she realized the food cart was right beside the nurses' desk, and Mam-ma's virtually untouched tray was still there. She retrieved it and warmed the scrambled eggs and biscuit in the microwave. I fed Mam-ma, and she ate all of her eggs and half a biscuit with jelly - once we put in her teeth, of course!

I think one of the hardest things for me was that Mam-ma did not know me for several days.  She seemed to recognize me, but when I would ask, "What's my name?" she would shake her head and say, blankly, "I don't know."  Same thing for her own name.  Friday evening, she knew Greg by name... and then my cousin Amanda.  But it was late Sunday evening when I asked again, and she knew my name... and she was able to give her own name on Monday.

Saturday morning, the therapist came to do some exercises, but when she and the nurse lifted Mam-ma from the bed, Mam-ma virtually collapsed in dead weight, and they just sat her in a chair. The therapist, who is a friend whose grandmother is Mam-ma's contemporary, mouthed from behind Mam-ma... "You're doing the right thing" (meaning Hospice). That made me feel more confident in my decision.

Sunday was horrible. Mam-ma required several "brief" changes, and the nurses were always so kind.  But sometimes it was an hour after we rang for help... and that is just too long - even if you are understaffed.  So I had to make a few trips to the desk to remind someone I needed help!

By the time Sunday ended, my grandmother had suffered through several hours of severe gas pains that left her screaming in discomfort. She was unable to eat her dinner, and I discovered that while we were at lunch, Amanda and her dad had come, and Mam-ma had sent them home with some harsh words... she had a messy diaper and was embarrassed, and she told them in some pretty colorful language to go home. So they did. Another cousin came before dinner, and she helped me with Mam-ma for a while... managed to feed her some applesauce... and Mam-ma finally settled down and seemed to stop hurting around 7:30 p.m. I hugged her and promised, "I'll take you home tomorrow." She frowned and said, "Debbie, I'm worried about you.  You're doing too much."  I explained that I was only doing what she needed, and I would be okay.  Later, as I kissed her goodbye, she cried and said, "Oh, Sugar... you've done so much... you are just so precious." I left in tears.

I came home and tearfully told all of this to my husband... who had been there with me for part of the afternoon drama... and he said, "You are overly tired. It will be okay." I was... and it is... but that was a rough day.

Monday, I arrived at the hospital, and the aide met me and said, "She hardly ate anything this morning." I took one look and said, "I can tell you why - she isn't wearing her teeth again!' This was another aide, and she said, "But it was pancakes and scrambled eggs!" I replied, "I don't care... she's not gonna eat without her teeth!" So the nurses ordered another tray and apologized profusely. This is "Nursing 101!" The charge nurse said, "If you were staying another night, I'd make a sign that said 'Be sure to check for her teeth before feeding!'" After meeting Monday morning at the ALF with Hospice and ALF staff, we got Mam-ma settled back in her apartment by late afternoon. No less than six aides, a nurse, and an administrator swarmed the hospital van to greet her when she arrived. That was such a great sight... I knew we were truly home. I spent more than an hour with the Hospice nurse and social worker, filling out paper work and getting things in order. It was another long day.

Mam-ma seemed to do well on Tuesday... a Hospice aide came and bathed her. She has a hospital bed, a wheelchair, bedside toilet, and oxygen if needed. The four days per week that the ALF staff doesn't give her a bath are covered by Hospice aides who come and bathe. Mam-ma was concerned about me "doing too much," so I told her I would stay home on Wednesday and not visit. Honestly, my house was so dirty and messy, and I could not rest until I knew it was in some semblance of order. It never felt so good to clean a bathroom or dust and vacuum! I made potato salad and spaghetti sauce to freeze for quick meals and just basically caught up on things that had been neglected for nearly two weeks.

Thursday, we had a Mother's Day luncheon at the ALF. I had told the administrator that my sister and I would attend - and if Mam-ma could not attend, we would sit with some mother who had no one there to sit with her. When we arrived, Mam-ma had been bathed, and she had on pajamas - even the pants! Her favorite Hospice aide was there, so I didn't question the pajamas... although she had worn hospital gowns up to that point. We asked if she felt like going to the luncheon, thinking she would say no... but she said yes, and she wanted to wear her nicest suit! So the aides dressed her, and off we went.

Looking back, this was a huge mistake. Mam-ma smiled and looked beautiful... and many came to the table to greet her. But she barely ate, and she didn't have a clue about where she was or what was happening. Back in her room, she immediately fell asleep in bed... clothes and all. A short time later, an aide got her up to curl her hair, since she didn't feel like going to the beauty shop for her regular appointment.  This was all just too much for her.

During lunch, the activities director stopped by our table and told us that Mam-ma had come out to the dining room and played BINGO the day before. This was news to me, and I was quite shocked. I knew the nurse had told me she wheeled Mam-ma to the dining room a couple of times... but she had also told me that Mam-ma did not get up for any meals on Wednesday. I'm not sure exactly what she did. But the bottom line was that I realized that the staff had put Mam-ma right back into her old routine and was pushing her to get back to her "old self." I didn't know what to do, but I figured she was pretty close to "hitting the wall."

I was right. Friday morning, the Hospice nurse called me and said, "I've just seen Polly, and she is totally out of it. She cannot stay awake... she is lethargic... I don't know what happened!" I did! I explained how much that Polly had done last week, and the nurse told me that this had to stop. I agreed... but how? She told me that I needed to contact the administrator and discuss this with her... and I did... and we agreed that Mam-ma takes meals in her room, stays in her hospital gown, and only gets up for a little while each day and sits in her recliner - at least for now. She is still in a lot of pain, and only 14 days out from a major surgery at this point. Plus, she is less than 6 months from being 100 years old!!! Because Mam-ma looks so much younger - and generally acts it... and because the staff loves her so and wants her well... they were really working to rehab her back into shape!

So I'm getting some dirty looks and have had to go back and reiterate to a few that we are NOT pushing... that "less is more" in this case. But we seem to be getting there, and I do think this is the best thing for my grandmother. I am not willing her to die... nor giving up on her. I am managing her care. There have been times when I have called about something or gotten involved in a detail here or there, and my husband has suggested that perhaps I am micro-managing her care and causing myself undue stress. The Hospice nurse assures me that I am not... that I am simply loving my grandmother and making sure she is taken care of. It's hard to know how to balance this... and what can slide and what is important. I'm in some uncharted territory here (at least for me), and I am doing the best I can.  When I visited today, a new shift of aides was on board, and Mam-ma had been to lunch and was dressed in pajamas again.  So I had to "educate" them on the plan... apparently the word about her care plan did not get to them.

One aide seemed to question my comments... I told her and another aide that the doctors feel that even with therapy, Mam-ma most likely will not walk again, and this aide said, "Oh, I disagree!  They don't know Ms. Polly!"  Maybe not... but I do, and she is almost 100 and 14 days out from a major surgery.  For now, at least, bed rest, meals in her room, and no wheelchair rides is the way to go.  I did consent to letting Mam-ma wear her pajama tops instead of a hospital gown.  She says the gowns "choke me."  So she can wear the tops and a robe when sitting up in her chair... but wrestling on a pair of pajama pants is preposterous for someone in her condition!

I am so thankful for Hospice. I told someone that Hospice is as much for me at this point as it is for Mam-ma. I needed their support and guidance. I needed to know that someone who knew more than I will manage her care and help me with all of the decisions. And I needed someone I could call (besides a family member or friend) who was an expert... and who could be my sounding board.

At this point, we are day-to-day... or is it minute-to-minute?! Things change constantly with my grandmother, and I'm not anticipating anything at this point - good or bad. I'm trying to let things happen, and be prepared for whatever comes next.

Meanwhile, our little Timothy celebrated his 3rd birthday Sunday. We sent lots of wrapped gifts, and he had a big day with his family. We're hoping to hear from him firsthand soon about all of the festivities and get his reaction. I wish we could have been with him for this celebration... but at the same time, I'm so glad he is with his mother right now and not factored into this mix! God knew I couldn't handle both... and He was right!

May 05, 2012

Making Some TOUGH Decisions...

This week has been like a giant roller-coaster ride.  Wednesday - DAY 1 of Post-op, was a painful day.  Mam-ma's pain was never controlled, even with morphine.  Part of the problem was that the nurses got busy, and through a series of circumstances, she did not get any pain medication from 10:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., which caused her pain level to spiral out of control.  Knocking it back down was a daunting task.  She moaned and cried out in pain almost continually - even when she appeared to be dozing.

DAY 2, the pain was not much better, and as Mam-ma began to drink more liquids, I noticed she was not having any output.  I asked about this, and the nurses said, "We changed her at 9:00 a.m."  I asked again.  At 4:00 p.m., I went to the desk and said, "She HAS to be wet... can you please check?"  The nurses came and changed her... and declared her "Just a little damp."  I questioned... how could this be?  She had been drinking... Coke, sweet tea I brought from home, a Miralax "cocktail"... and she had been given TWO doses of Lasix!  No real answer.

When the shift changed at 7:00, I asked the nurses to please check again... surely my grandmother was wet now.  These nurses changed my grandmother, and again she was "barely damp."  However, this time, they noticed that her bladder was distended and tender.  She had told me her "belly" hurt.  The nurses did a scan of some sort that told them Mam-ma had at least 400 cc's of urine in her bladder.  They inserted a catheter, and almost immediately, Mam-ma's pain left, her whole body relaxed, and she has been like a new woman ever since!  Apparently the bladder muscles never woke up after surgery, so her body didn't know to relax and "go!"  I'm still not sure that is corrected completely.

I wish I could say the confusion is clearing.  Mam-ma looked brighter yesterday and has not moaned out in pain since Thursday night - except when they move her in bed or from the bed to a chair.  She still can't tell me my name sometimes - or hers - but she knew my husband yesterday afternoon.  He walked in, and I asked, "Who is this?"  She grinned and said, "GREG!"  Then she knew my cousin Amanda by name.  We thought maybe the anaesthesia was wearing off and she was clearing mentally.

Today, she is back in a fog.  I arrived at 9:00 a.m., and the aides said, "She drank her juice, but she wouldn't eat.  We got a couple of bites down her."  I looked at Mam-ma... she was not wearing her dentures.  I told them, "No wonder she didn't eat... she doesn't have her teeth."  "But she drank her juice!" they countered.  "Yes, but she can't chew without her teeth!"  So I put in her dentures.  The ward clerk retrieved Mam-ma's breakfast tray from the meal tray cart and re-heated her eggs, biscuit and coffee.  Mam-ma ate ALL of her scrambled eggs and half a biscuit with jelly... and she drank half a cup of coffee.  This is the most she has eaten all week. 

I told my husband a couple of days ago, "If I ever have to be hospitalized, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME THERE!"  If you or a loved one has to be hospitalized, be sure you have an advocate.  I have left my grandmother for a few hours... and these are good nurses... but I would not leave her there all day unattended - and I am there for both shifts, so all of the nurses know me.  My name and phone numbers are on the white board, along with the reminder that "Polly is DNR."  One nurse told me, "It is so much faster to pick up the phone by her bed and read your numbers off that board than to go search for her chart and look up your contact info."

Yesterday, given the lack of progress and my grandmother's inability to put her feet on the floor and stand, I asked one of the R.N.s (who calls my grandmother "Aunt Polly" and knows her well) what she thought about the possibility of putting Mam-ma in Hospice care.  Her eyes welled with tears, and she said, "I think that's a wonderful idea."  She said that she would call the Hospice coordinator and get the ball rolling.  I know many of the Hospice staff well.  My brother worked with them as an R.N., and then when he was dying in 1998, they cared for him.  They have cared for other family members since then, and the coordinator attends church with my mom.  They all know Mam-ma Polly well...and love her dearly.

The R.N. friend returned to Mam-ma's room soon to tell me that the coordinator was not in agreement - she wanted us to try therapy at the nursing home first.  I could not see the point in putting Mam-ma through the pain of therapy if every doctor and nurse are telling me she probably won't be able to walk again.  She can already sit in a chair - we don't need to go to the nursing home or get therapy for that!  So after I talked with the coordinator myself, she said if Mam-ma's facility physician would agree to Hospice, she would agree.  The facility physician agreed 100%. 

As it stands now, we will move back to my grandmother's apartment on Monday, where she will be placed on Hospice care.  A hospital bed, wheelchair, oxygen and bedside toilet chair have already been placed in her room.  I have paper work to complete on Monday, and the hospitalist heartily agreed to keep Mam-ma in the hospital until Monday.  Everyone tells me, "You are doing the right thing."  Based on this and how doors have continued to open at every turn, I believe this is the right decision.

This morning, the therapist came in and helped set Mam-ma in a chair (with the assistance from an aide), and she mouthed to me, "You are doing the right thing." Her own grandmother is in her late 90s, and I asked, "What if this were your grandmother?"  She answered without hesitation... "Oh, absolutely, I would do the same thing!" 

Mam-ma Polly - November 2009
A few have questioned me, or hung their heads at the mention of Hospice and said, "I'm so sorry."  But I just smile at them.  Today, my grandmother is exactly 6 months from her 100th birthday.  I have two goals for her for the rest of her days on this earth:  1) to be comfortable, and 2) to be happy.  The best shot she has of accomplishing this is to go back to her apartment at Southridge ALF and be among staff who love her and her many friends.  No more sorrow, no more pain.  My sister works the weekend nights at Southridge as a nurses' aide, so she will be there to keep an eye on Mam-ma, adding another layer of comfort for both of us.

Was this an easy decision?  Absolutely not!  I told the Hospice coordinator, "You know that my family is not eager to expedite things for Mam-ma."  She replied, "Of all the people in the world, I know that you are all the last people who would do this!" 

According to http://www.longtermcarelink.net/, "Hospice is a range of health and comfort care services that are delivered to patients who are nearing the end of life. In most cases, these patients have refused or otherwise are ineligible for receiving curative measures such as surgeries or advanced medical treatments. They are expected to live for 6 months or less after their admission to hospice care. The foremost consideration in hospice delivery is providing increased comfort care services."

As a friend who visited Mam-ma yesterday said, "People need to realize that Hospice care is not an immediate death sentence!"  We love my grandmother... this was a hard decision... but I believe it is the best for her. I don't know how long Mam-ma has left, but I want each day to count - and be a good one - as much as possible at this stage.

As I fed Mam-ma this morning, I thought once again of the many times in recent months that I have fed Timothy.  For someone who has never actually been a mother, I have certainly done my share of "mothering" in recent years - at both ends of the spectrum.  At the same time, one of the physical therapists who came in the other day was talking about how so many of their patients trip over small dogs or cats at home and fall.  I told her that my 86-year-old mother-in-law keeps dogs, and we worry about this happening to her.


The therapist said, "So in addition to your grandmother, you check on your mother-in-law?"  I told her yes, and until recently, we were helping to care for our 2-year-old great-nephew.  She replied, "WOW!  Your life is so RICH!  That's wonderful!"  I certainly don't hear that very often!  But she is right!  In so many ways, we are rich - and blessed - to have been given this opportunity... even with its challenges, rough patches, and tough decisions.  With God's grace, we're keeping all the balls in the air and making good choices...and I pray that this continues.

May 03, 2012

And So We Wait...

The call I have dreaded, yet halfway expected, came Monday evening around 11:15, when the RN for the ALF notified me that Mam-ma Polly had fallen in her room, and her w lords to the aide on duty were, "I think my hip is broken."  An ambulance had been summoned, and the nurse said, "We're not moving her until the EMTs arrive, and they will do the minimum necessary to get her on a gurney and transport her."  She told me they hoped it was only a deep bruise, and we would return to the ALF and start therapy.  However, if it were broken, we were looking at immediate transport to Little Rock to another hospital.  "So gas up your car and get ready," she admonished me.

We arrived in the ER, where my favorite attending physician and nurse were on duty... answered prayer #1.  Dr. Bottorff took one look at her and said, "I'd be willing to bet it's broken - one leg appears to be much shorter than the other.  He was right... and the x-ray he showed me was astounding.  Mam-ma snapped her femur just below the ball and socket, leaving a sharp shard pointing downward, and jutting her femur (which resembled a spear) up above her hip ball and socket.  Thankfully, there is a surgeon on staff, and the ER staff admitted her to the hospital and placed her leg in traction to hopefully pull the leg bone back down into place and give her some relief.

We discussed the options, and the surgeon and hospitalist both told me that surgery was the only option... and they felt that Mam-ma was physically a good candidate.  To let her lie and heal without surgery would be risky, painful, and basically not an option.  So Monday afternoon around 3:30, Mam-ma was wheeled to the OR, where the leg was repositioned, and a rod was inserted and screwed into her leg near the hip ball and the knee.


Since then, we have been working on controlling her pain and getting her up; however, she has only sat up twice since surgery, and she cannot "walk" at all... cannot even move her "good" leg with prompting.  I am not certain at this point how much longer we will be in the hospital... the nurses say through this weekend... today's hospitalist just said she would go to the skilled care nursing facility as soon as tomorrow.  He was very pessimistic about her walking and recovering.  He did say IF her mind is clear (it is - or was) and she was mobile before (she was), she has a better chance of recovering... but he was still not encouraging.

The surgeon admonished me that "in the next three years, the fatality rate for hip surgery is as high as 50%, due to complications."  As one dear friend - and Hospice nurse - told me on Tuesday morning, "this may be the beginning of the end."  The worst is watching Mam-ma suffer.  She cries out almost constantly in pain.  Yet when you ask, "Are you hurting?" she replies, "No!"  However, the furrowed brow and her cries from her "sleep" belie this.

Meanwhile, my sister and I have been hospital sitting.  My husband was with me for the ER portion and much of the next day, and he is tremendous support.  I have already gained a reputation as a "bulldog" at the nurses' desk... one that doesn't bother me in the least.  I am looking out for my Mam-ma, and I will never apologize for that.  We have wonderful nursing care; however, things happen, and already I have been reminded how important it is to have someone overseeing things at all times.  We have not stayed with my grandmother overnight, but we have tucked her in each evening, and I am about two minutes from the hospital, with phone numbers and other info posted on her white board.  I don't know what lies ahead when we transfer to the skilled care facility.  I figure I am going to have to do a lot of monitoring... but also a lot of trusting.  I must remember to pace myself.  Thankfully, I have lots of loving folks who will remind me of this!

The nurses are gently telling us that Mam-ma probably won't get out of bed much, based on the "progress" these two days... that we most likely are looking at a permanent move to skilled care nursing, with possible "sit-up" sessions in a bedside chair or for the toilet. We know this is out of our hands... and beyond our control... but we know that Someone is completely in charge, and we are trusting His outcome. And so we wait.

March 12, 2012

Learning to Let Go...a Difficult "Life Lesson"

My mother pointed out an article in the Sunday edition of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that was reprinted from the Washington Post.  Written by hospital internist Craig Bowron, the article dealt with our efforts to prolong life... often at the expense of the very ones we vowed to protect and nurture.  We have a difficult time of letting go.  To read this insightful article in its entirety, click here.  I share below an excerpt I found particularly profound.

    This physical and emotional distance becomes obvious as we make decisions that accompany life’s end. Suffering is like a fire: Those who sit closest feel the most heat; a picture of a fire gives off no warmth. That’s why it’s typically the son or daughter who has been physically closest to an elderly parent’s pain who is the most willing to let go. Sometimes an estranged family member is “flying in next week to get all this straightened out.” This is usually the person who knows the least about her struggling parent’s health; she’ll have problems bringing her white horse as carry-on luggage. This person may think she is being driven by compassion, but a good deal of what got her on the plane was the guilt and regret of living far away and having not done any of the heavy lifting in caring for her parent.
    With unrealistic expectations of our ability to prolong life, with death as an unfamiliar and unnatural event, and without a realistic, tactile sense of how much a worn-out elderly patient is suffering, it’s easy for patients and families to keep insisting on more tests, more medications, more procedures.

    Doing something often feels better than doing nothing. Inaction feeds the sense of guilt-ridden ineptness family members already feel as they ask themselves, “Why can’t I do more for this person I love so much?”

    Opting to try all forms of medical treatment and procedures to assuage this guilt is also emotional life insurance: When their loved one does die, family members can tell themselves, “We did everything we could for Mom.” In my experience, this is a stronger inclination than the equally valid (and perhaps more honest) admission that “we sure put Dad through the wringer those last few months.”

    At a certain stage of life, aggressive medical treatment can become sanctioned torture. When a case such as this comes along, nurses, physicians and therapists sometimes feel conflicted and immoral. We’ve committed ourselves to relieving suffering, not causing it. A retired nurse once wrote to me: “I am so glad I don’t have to hurt old people any more.”  ©2012 Craig Bowron via The Washington Post
I found so much of this familiar.  Don't many of us know that "white knight" relative who wants to breeze in and "fix" everything?  We primary caregivers have all experienced the "helpful" friend or relative who thinks we should be paying attention to details we have already deemed unimportant in the overall scheme of things.  And yes, some of us who are closest to our elders can see what my grandmother sees... that "they's worse things than dying."

A couple of days ago, I was talking with one of my dearest friends, and I said, "I am amazed at how far my grandmother has come since her illness and fall at Christmas time."  She replied, "Don't you mean how far she has declined?"  "No," I explained... "I mean how much she has bounced back and improved.  She is walking and moving well.  She is probably as clear mentally as she was before the fall - even though she still is not all that clear - and she is incredibly healthy for a woman halfway through her 100th year!"

Mam-ma Polly and Timothy in late
November 2011, just days before
she was hospitalized for six days. 
Given all of this, I am extremely reluctant to agree to any "routine" medical tests, medication changes, or anything else that upsets her apple cart.  My mother and a few others have been quite upset with her lately for taking her walks outdoors.  Mom is so afraid she will fall on the sidewalks.  She keeps telling Mam-ma... "You have vast hallways to walk indoors... why do you need to get outside?"  Mam-ma's answer... "I need fresh air."  I get that... and if she falls happily walking outside in the warm spring sunshine, so be it. 

This weekend, a fellow resident who is still mobile spoke to my mother at church about "really getting after" my grandmother for walking across the street from her ALF to visit a friend who is in the nursing home.  My mother had already admonished Mam-ma not to make this trip.  Mam-ma has not mentioned it to me.  Honestly, I am fine with it.  My grandmother is at a stage in life where she has very little that gives her a purpose.  If visiting her fellow Sunday School member friend and offering encouragement gives them both a lift, who am I to say she can't make that walk.  Is it rife with potential pitfalls and dangers?  Sure it is!  Is there a chance she could fall and hurt herself seriously... face a length hospital stay or worse?  Absolutely!  Is it worth these risks?  I believe so.

My mother's cousin, who is 88 and has a litany of ailments, is dying. He was placed in Hospice care last week.  It took his companion of almost a decade a long time to come to the conclusion that he had already drawn... he was dying.  She kept insisting, "He can't die... I can't live without him!"  He insisted, "I don't have much longer."  And with virtually no quality of life remaining, he shouldn't have to. 
 
So last week, he raised his hand and said "No!" to more tests, needles, poking and prodding.  No more medications.  No more procedures to drain fluid that is building up around his vital organs.  Nothing but a reasonably comfortable bed in his own home, with his own television and people who love him to watch and wait.  He told me Sunday, "It won't be long now."  I told him that was fine... I would see him on "the other side."  He and I had agreed a few days ago that we are both okay with this.

I told my dear cousin what I would tell my grandmother or anyone else in this position... you don't have to stick around for anything or anyone who is here.  You have fought well... lived well... and now it's time for your big party.  Rest, relax, drift off to sleep and let the angels carry you to heaven when God has your mansion ready.  Hug your wife, my dad, and a few others for me... and save me a seat!


The longer my grandmother lives and the more time I spend in the presence of elderly people who are being somewhat artificially kept on this planet, the more convinced I am that Dr. Bowron has it right when he quotes the nurse who said, "I'm so glad I don't have to hurt old people any more."  There is no shame in recognizing that sometimes, we go too far.  In certain instances, we do more than is necessary... and we fail to recognize when enough is enough.  I pray that God would grant me wisdom to stop short of this... in the lives of those for whom I am caregiving - and that the same dignity would be afforded me if/when I reach this stage of life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, I do think my grandmother is still having little mini-strokes, and in the effort to provide information of the "you-just-described-what-is-happening-in-my-world" variety, I share the following:

My grandmother had company recently - cousins from another state who drove over for the day to visit with her, bring her KFC (her favorite), and maybe play a game or two of dominoes.  The night before they arrived, Mam-ma phoned me, upset... she was worried about how she was going to get ready for her company.  I was in bed with the flu - and she knew this.  I told her that she didn't have to do anything to get ready - her room was clean... they could go to one of the common areas and eat their meal and play dominoes... everything was set. 

After a long difficult conversation, I was able to determine through the brief words and a few tears that Mam-ma was worrying about how she would "clean up the mess" after the company left.  I finally said, "Mam-ma!  We're talking a couple of boxes and a sack from KFC!  There won't be a mess.  Besides, those girls would never leave you with trash and expect you to clean up after they were here."  What can I say?  Maybe it was the flu talking.  I was probably too curt.  But she sniffled and said, "Well... okay."

The company came and went, and the day afterward, Mam-ma called again... asking how I was feeling.  I was still sick and in bed... the flu really took it's toll on me, and that is never a good thought for Mam-ma!  I asked how her visit went, and she told me, "Terrible!"  She proceeded to cry and tell me she had grown tired and asked the company to leave, and she just felt awful about doing so.  I assured her that they probably were not offended... they had only planned to stay a few hours.  She was not convinced.


I spoke with the cousins later, and they said they had a wonderful time.  They arrived around noon and stayed until approximately 3:30 p.m.  They ate KFC... visited... and walked all over the ALF.  Mam-ma really showed them around.  They told me was talkative, but apparently she never suggested playing dominoes.  One of the cousins told me, "Polly started nodding off around 3:30, and we were needing to leave anyway, so we told her we thought we should head for home."  They were clueless that Mam-ma felt she had insulted them... in fact, leaving had been their idea - and they felt they had all had a wonderful visit. 

I am quite certain that Mam-ma enjoyed the day.  I am also quite certain that she had a mini-stroke that probably began the night before when she called and was worried about clean-up.  The nurse told me a few days later that she mentioned to Mam-ma, "I hear you had company over the weekend," and Mam-ma did not remember the cousins had been here.  She has never mentioned their visit to me again... and I have not mentioned it to her.  This is the pattern of the mini-strokes... confusion, even agitation and a sense that things are all awry, followed by extreme fatigue, maybe a little more confusion... and then the forgetfulness.  It's as if none of it ever happened.  Or... as in the case of a convoluted phone call a month or so ago, she will remember that something happened - and she was not herself - but she can't put it all together.

Last week, Mam-ma called twice.  For the woman who used to call several times a day, two times in one week is now a lot... and there is a lot of silence and struggle to find words when she does call.  The first call came at 9:00 p.m., and she asked (remember, this took several minutes to accomplish)... "Do you still have light bulbs?"  I determined that the bulb in Mam-ma's bedside lamp had burned out when she said, "Oh... I've turned on my bathroom light... maybe that will help."  I suggested she have an aide get the bulb from her other bedside lamp and swap them for the night.  She agreed to that.  I asked, "Are you okay otherwise?"  She replied, "Well, I'm just all shook up."  I (stupidly) asked, "What's got you 'shook up?'"  She answered, "Well, my light bulb in my lamp isn't working."  I reminded her to call an aide to exchange the bulbs... and she said she would.  I went to visit the next day (and take more incandescent bulbs I had rounded up from my own lamps - she will not use the new energy-efficient variety!), and she had done what I suggested.

A couple of nights later, Mam-ma phoned.  My husband looked at the clock - 6:45.  He knew immediately why she was calling.  It took several minutes to confirm that she was unable to locate "Wheel of Fortune."  It's March... the SEC college basketball tournament was in action, and the local station was broadcasting the games instead of regular programming.  I tried to explain that "Wheel of Fortune" would not be on that night - nor the next night.  "No!" she said, "I'm a lookin' at Ole Miss and Tennessee."  Exactly!

Mam-ma kept saying, "You don't understand!"  Finally, she got out, "Well!  Where is ABC?"  I told her again, "ABC is not on your TV right now because the ball tournament is being broadcast.  You will have to watch another channel tonight and tomorrow night.  I'm sorry."  "Oh... okay," she said, in a disappointed tone.  Honestly, I was just glad to hear her television blaring in the background - for the first few weeks of January, she never turned it on.  This tells me how much improvement she has made in the last month or so.

So while my grandmother is well enough to walk across the street and visit a sick friend at the nursing home, she may not remember that she went... nor be able to say more than three words to her when she gets there.  She still has trouble conversing, and on any given day, she may have a little mini-stroke.  She has become more "clingy" when I go - reaching out to pull me close for a second or third hug... crying and saying, "I've just missed you so bad," even though I visited two days prior.  The general decline continues.  She very well might fall and hurt herself badly while walking outside... and I might be making my next posts from her hospital bedside. 

But I am beyond trying to stifle any efforts she makes to stay active and engaged, short of her suggestion that she might like to drive a car one more time!  That, I think, is where I draw the line!

December 27, 2011

The Sights and Sounds of Christmas Shouldn't Include Blood and Sirens

The Christmas Eve meal was pretty well prepared and in the oven. We were planning to eat at 3:30 p.m. My mother-in-law arrived early, and she visited with my husband as I finished up with last-minute kitchen preparations. I glanced at the clock – 2:10 p.m. My mother and her sister were to pick up my grandmother at her assisted living facility at 2:00, so they should be arriving any minute. I glanced up and saw Mom’s Jeep pull into our driveway, and I told my husband, “Mom is here with Mam-ma.” He and his mother started for the door to greet them, as I searched for something in the pantry. Then I heard my mother scream for my husband to come quickly. My grandmother had fallen. I rushed outside to see her lying lifeless on the driveway. We thought she had had a stroke. My husband rushed to call 911 as I hurried toward my Mam-ma. That’s when I saw the pool of blood forming under her head and trailing down our driveway.

In a panic, I ran inside and told Greg that Mam-ma was bleeding. He told me to get a rag and apply pressure to her wound. I ran inside and got a wet rag. Looking back, I don't know why I thought it had to be wet, but in my panic, I ran the rag under the faucet to dampen it! I knelt beside Mam-ma and pressed it tightly to her head. Her eyes were fixed, her mouth was open, and she was totally unresponsive. I thought she was dead.

I applied pressure, and asked, "Mam-ma, can you hear me?" A few seconds later, she said, "Yeah." We covered her with blankets. Thankfully the temperature had risen into the fifties and the day was sunny, so the concrete driveway was cold, but dry. As I applied pressure, the blood soaked through the rag and poured on to the concrete underneath. Greg brought me even more rags, as the pool of blood continued to grow on the concrete. We kept assuring everyone that head wounds bleed a lot and often look worse than they are. But since we didn't dare move Mam-ma to look, we had no clue exactly where she was wounded... or how bad it truly was.

The ambulance arrived after about 10 minutes, and my grandmother was placed on a back-board and fitted with a cervical collar. She was transported to the hospital emergency room, which is maybe two minutes from our house. A few hours later, CT-scans indicated no internal head or neck injuries. Once the bandages were removed and everything was cleaned, only a small puncture wound inside a larger hematoma sat behind her right ear. The only pain she complained of was from the back stabilization board. The ER staff said that this necessary precaution is "one of the worst things we do to people." She begged me, "Please, please... get me off this thing." But I was unable to do so until the results of the scans were read. I would guess she was strapped down about two hours.

When we could see that this was going to take a while, my husband came to the ER and sat with my grandmother, while I hurried home and finished heating our Christmas dinner and got it on the table for everyone. I ate with my family - Mom, her sister, my mother-in-law, my sister and her husband - knowing it might be my only chance to eat for the rest of the night. Then I returned to the ER and traded places with my husband. By this time, the doctor had given her a shot of something called Nubain for pain.

Greg said he asked Mam-ma, "Are you hurting?" and she said she was not. But when the doctor came in, he asked her if she was in pain, and she said "Yes." So he promptly ordered pain medication and gave her 5 mg of Nubain. He also wrote a prescription for pain medication for the next 2 days and said we needed to hurry to Wal-Mart to get the prescription filled, because the pharmacy would close early on Christmas Eve. It was now about 5:30 p.m.

This prescription should have been a "red flag," but in our shock and confusion, we didn't think to question it, so Greg headed to Wal-Mart to get the medication. Meanwhile, the doctor prepared to discharge my grandmother, declaring that he had “no medical reason” to keep her.

I could not believe it... and I tried to plead my case with him... Wasn’t it enough that she was 99 years old and had just had such a nasty fall? Didn’t her high blood pressure and her “loopiness” from the pain medication he had just administered qualify her to stay? Could he not consider that she was dismissed from a six-day hospital stay only 12 days earlier? He insisted his hands were tied.

The assisted living facility was contacted, and the nurse said they were understaffed and they could not perform “neuro” checks every 2 hours, as prescribed. I did not feel my grandmother was steady enough to stay in her apartment alone anyway.

The doctor suggested perhaps Mam-ma could stay with a family member. I just looked at him and said, "She fell trying to get into my house. Do you really think that's a good idea?" He agreed this was not a great option, but he said he was just trying to offer me some possible solutions. His final suggestion was, “I guess you could take her to apartment and stay with her there overnight.” I just walked away from the desk.

I was at my wits’ end. I didn’t know what to do. I called my husband and told him this while he waited at Wal-Mart. He was not a happy camper, but he told me the choice was ultimtately mine. I told him I guessed we would have to pray hard and take our chances in my grandmother’s apartment. Greg suggested I call my mom and relay all of this information to her and see what she thought. I looked up and saw a sign beside a door where I was standing. It said “Chapel.”

I stepped inside the chapel to call my mom, and as we talked, I started to fall apart. I looked at plaques that hung on the wall. They were scriptures, and the first thing I saw was Philippians 4:6-7..."Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Then I read Lamentations 3:22-23..."Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."...followed by Psalm 23, and finally... Jeremiah 29:11..."For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." All scriptures are from the New International Version (NIV).

My mother insisted that she would stay with my grandmother at her apartment, and I reluctantly agreed. I knew that I was physically stronger and more able to manage Mam-ma, but neither of us had any business handling a 99-year-old injured woman who was spaced out on pain meds. Then I said a prayer before I left the chapel and asked God to handle this… to take my worries and fretting and give me peace about this situation.

When I stepped back into my grandmother’s exam room, I was visibly upset… and so was the charge nurse who had been treating my grandmother. I am not sure she hadn't been crying, too. Her face was red and she was sniffling. She had spent an hour cleaning Mam-ma's head wound, and I have to say, every single staff member - including the attending physician - was absolutely wonderful with Mam-ma. I expressed again my concerns and frustration… and the nurse agreed that I was right to be concerned. Then she asked which doctor my grandmother had seen when she was hospitalized earlier in the month.

I told the nurse name of my grandmother’s last hospitalist, and she said, “He’s on duty all weekend. I can ask the ER doctor to call him if you want and see if he will admit your grandmother - at least overnight.” She didn’t make any promises, but it was worth a shot. Of course I wanted her to ask! I thanked her for doing this, and she left to talk with the attending physician. A few minutes later, she returned to tell me that the attending had indeed agreed to call the hospitalist, who had agreed admit my grandmother for overnight observation.

I cannot tell you the overwhelming peace and relief that flooded me when the nurse offered to talk with the doctors. I cannot begin to express how I felt when she returned to tell me that the hospitalist had agreed. I was so grateful to God for working out what I could not… and for directing me into that chapel for a few minutes. There, as I read those scripture passages, God gave me what I needed… hope, peace, reassurance that He was in control… and love overflowing.

Orders were written, and Mam-ma was wheeled upstairs by the charge nurse. I continued to thank her for being there - for helping me - for caring. She said, "My hands were tied until you asked..." It was then that I realized... I had to ask to speak to the hospitalist. Since Mam-ma's primary care physician is the nursing home staff doctor (and practicies in another city and does not have admitting privileges at our local hospital), we had to find someone who had treated her and could vouch for the necessity of admitting her. Once I recognized her hospitalist's name on the white board, we had a chance!

Upstairs, the nurses on the floor - some of them childhood friends, and all of them good "new" friends from 2 weeks ago - jumped up and began to get Mam-ma settled. To a nurse, they were appalled that there had been any question about admitting my grandmother. One dear LPN said, "Were you supposed to pour her into your car after this shot of Nubain?" For the record, this is not a necessarily bad pain medication - the concern was my grandmothers size and age - and the dosage administered.

Every time they stood Mam-ma up or moved her in the least, she vomited. The nurses agreed to watch her and hold off on giving anti-nausea medication, in case the sickness was related to the head injury. Mam-ma was settled in bed by about 7:00, but she seemed restless. She kept saying, "Debbie, you go on home." I decided she might rest better if I left, so I returned to my family gathering for a while.

When everyone had eaten and visited, we declared our "Christmas" over and done, and all of the family members went home around 8:30 p.m.. I returned to the hospital to sit with Mam-ma for a while. The LPN asked me, "What are you going to do... are you staying?" I asked her if she felt it was necessary, and she said, "No... but I want your phone number written on the white board." I placed my contact information on the white board and reminded the nurses I was less than 2 minutes away any hour of the night or day. I also reminded them that my grandmother is a DNR - Do Not Rescusitate - patient. Be sure you remind the staff of this, if you have such directives as a DNR and/or Living Will. Apparently it does not always transfer on the records!

I sat with Mam-ma until about 10:00 p.m., kissed her goodnight, and returned home. Christmas morning, I was back about 9:30 a.m. - the nurses had said the doctor would make rounds by 10:00, they hoped. And he was pretty well right on time. Before he even examined her, he said, "We'll monitor her today, and maybe she can go back to her apartment tomorrow." I was thrilled by this news. But at the same time, I had to ask myself... how did we so quickly get from "We have no medical reason to keep her," to monitoring her for two nights in the hospital? The only answer I have is the grace of God and His divine countenance to put the right nurses - and this hospitalist - in the key places Christmas Eve.

Amazingly, Mam-ma is doing very well. She was dismissed to return to her apartment the day after Christmas, and we had her back in her own bed by about 1:00 p.m. The hospitalist told me that this will be mostly a "behavior modification" issue... helping my grandmother remember to ask for help when getting up for the bathroom, to go to meals, etc. In talking to my mom and her sister, we have determined that Mam-ma got out of Mom's car under her own steam and did not wait on Mom to come around and help her.

While Mom got the walker from the back of her Jeep, Mam-ma got out, closed her door, and was inching along the side of the vehicle. Mom's sister, who is probably 4'10" and about 85 lbs., saw Mam-ma wobble and tried to grab her coat. She says she quickly realized if she hung onto the coat, she would be pulled down atop my grandmother... so she let go. We are assuming that Mam-ma's blood pressure dips when she first stands, and she must wait and count to 5 before taking a step... giving her body time to catch up. We think this explains the other 2 falls, both of which occurred when she bent over or turned too quickly while standing.

The nurses at the hospital admonished me that Mam-ma was going home as a "full one-person assist" when getting up for anything. She is weaker than ever now. In talking with the nurses at the ALF, we agreed that she truly doesn't remember to call for help... and she doesn't mind well, to boot! So the R.N. and I both talked to Mam-ma about calling for help. I asked Mam-ma, "What are you supposed to do when you need to get up?" "Call for help," she answered. I told her that was right and asked, "Where is your 'call button'?" She answered, "I don't know." I reminded her it was in the chest pocket of her pajamas.

The R.N. printed ten signs that remind Mam-ma to call for help before getting up. She taped them all over Mam-ma's apartment - the walls, every door and drawer, and above her bed. Even as she did this, Mam-ma started to get up out of bed unassisted. "This is good," I thought... "she will see first-hand how Mam-ma does." We reminded Mam-ma to call for help, and she said, "Well, y'all was both here." We agreed, but after the nurse helped Mam-ma to the bathroom, she turned her back for a few seconds, and Mam-ma was trying to stand on her own. She said, "I can see that this will not work."

I asked what else could be done besides 10 signs on the walls and doors, and she said, "I'm going to talk to the aides right now and order room checks every 30 minutes. If that isn't enough, I will put an alarm under her bed." Somehow, I have a feeling we will have that alarm before the week is over. The nurse said surely if an aide came in every 30 minutes and tried to second-guess what Mam-ma might need - bathroom break, something to drink, etc. - we could prevent her getting up unattended. We are all shocked that nothing was broken in this latest fall, and we are so worried that she will break something the next time.

Meanwhile, the ALF nurse shed some light on why the ER attending physician was so reluctant to admit my grandmother. Medicare has tightened the reins on admits and discharges and what they will cover. It is possible that this doctor felt that the hospital would not be reimbursed for Mam-ma's stay, because it occurred within 30 days of her last visit. The nurse told me, "I could have easily given you a dozen or more viable reasons to admit your grandmother," but apparently this doctor chose to go strictly "by the book." I want to give him the benefit of the doubt... but I'm struggling, given her age, high blood pressure (193/118) and her general condition.

The ALF nurse was also less than pleased that a woman weighing 113 lbs was given such a strong dose of pain medication - and a "take-home" prescription for Hydrocodone. She could not understand why someone with a history of falls would be prescribed narcotic pain medication and dismissed. I don't get it, either... and my grandmother will never see the Hydrocodone!

I feel that the staff at the ALF is doing everything possible to help me keep my grandmother safe. Physical therapy will begin later this week to strenghten her physically and cognitively. The goal is to get Mam-ma up on her feet again... with the help of a walker, of course. I asked the hospitalist if he could order a wheelchair for her, but he explained to me that this needs to be a last resort - and he does not want her in a wheelchair 24/7, because her skin tissue can deteriorate from sitting, and she would be at risk for infection. I am so glad this guy is so thorough. That had not occurred to me... and some doctors would have said, "Sure!" and written this order, just to placate me.

From what I have been reading, part of the new Medicare initiatives involves encouraging hospitals to do a better job of treating the patients while they are there... AND sending the proper care directives home with them to prevent a return stay and better rehabilitate the patient. I understand this completely, and for the most part, I've observed more detailed discharge directives for my grandmother. MY JOB is to follow through on these and make sure they are all communicated properly and nothing falls through the cracks!

As we left the hospital, I told one of the nurses, "I learned several new things this trip." She replied... "You will learn new things every time you come. It's not always things you would wish to know, but you will be better for it." What did I learn this time?

  1. Do not be afraid to advocate for your patient. I told more than one nurse, "I know you are sick and tired of looking up at the desk and seeing me standing there to ask you something." More than once, I was told, "If you don't advocate for your grandmother, nobody will. Do not ever back down or hesitate. We understand completely."
  2. Do not be afraid to question or challenge the medical staff. Now I know to ask to speak to the hospitalist if we are in the ER. Had my grandmother's doctor been one who had hospital admitting priviliges, I would have asked for him/her. But now I know to ASK! Question medications... What is this?... Why is it being given?

    My grandmother will often say one thing one minute and another the next, as in "No, I don't hurt anywhere," followed by "I hurt all over." And because we are not sure which is true, I would rather she be given something for pain on the off chance she really was hurting. But you still should know exactly what is being administered, what procedures are being performed, what the ramifications are of these... and WHY they are being done.
  3. This was not a new revelation, but I need to remind you that the medical staff does not know your loved one like you do. On Mam-ma's last visit, the doctors kept wanting to tinker with her blood pressure medications, because one day her BP would be extremely high, and the next it would be very low. I explained that she has done this for years now... several days of high blood pressure, followed by a day or two where it bottomed and she could barely move. Once they understood that this is "just Polly," they left the medications alone and let her body level out on its own.
I also made a point to "prove" to several nurses just how poorly Mam-ma follows instructions. While making sure she was safe and didn't fall and hurt herself, I let more than one nurse see how she gets ahead of you and will not wait for assistance. It didn't take long for them to get the necessary alarms and precautions in place.

Finally, I have been monitoring my grandmother's weight gain. When my mom and I visited a few days before Christmas, Mam-ma's ankles were swollen again - and I was alarmed. I questioned this and was told, "She's only gained seven pounds - but she is eating well." I pursued this and got the nurses to understand that "a pound a day" is too much weight gain... and it was not from eating well! Now the ankles are once again little and bony, and the hospitalist and I made sure that orders transferred that no more than a 3-lb. weight gain is acceptable. And I will be checking!

I was prepared to lose my grandmother on our driveway Christmas Eve. I felt God’s peace and calm there in a way I cannot begin to describe. But I am grateful that He chose to wait for another place and time for this inevitable event.

Meanwhile, I am reminded once again that God is in control… that I am His, and He blankets me with His love, grace and peace. I am also reminded of His perfect timing. Our little Timothy returned to live with his mother on December 3rd after being with us and my sister for nearly 4 months. Mam-ma entered the hospital on December 6th. I had little time to grieve the departure of Timmy. At the same time, I was so thankful that I was not trying to balance his care with that of my grandmother.

I had been pretty sad about celebrating Christmas without our babies. After all, the joy and excitement of children truly "makes" the holiday. But one of my first thoughts as I sat on the driveway holding Mam-ma's head and watching the pool of blood increase was... "I am so glad Timothy is not here watching this!" I have no doubt that my husband and other family members would have helped me care for the baby while I bounced back and forth to the hospital and ALF. But I thank God that he put Timmy back with his mom, where I am confident he is safe and happy... and I can concentrate on my grandmother. It's her "season" now. The other benefit is that I can truly rest and rejuvenate when I am not with her, instead of having to immediately focus on the care of a toddler.

I do not know what lies ahead. I felt quite certain another fall was imminent... I just didn't know it would happen like it did. Christmas Day as my mother sat beside my grandmother's hospital bed, Mam-ma told her, "I wish I had died." I know she is so ready... and I am trusting God and His timing. I am resting when I can, and talking to Timothy on the phone every few days. In a somewhat weary voice, his mother told us Christmas night, "Timothy was so excited about Christmas that he would not go to bed last night, so we opened gifts at 1:30 a.m. He finally conked out about 3:30 and slept until noon!" Imagine if I had come home to THAT! The best blessing of my Christmas Day came when that little guy said, "I opened presents, Aunt Debbie and Uncle Greg!" God gave Him a happy, "normal" family Christmas... and that in itself was my best Christmas gift.

I hope your holidays were less eventful. I pray that you find a good balance in the coming year, and that you trust God to meet your needs. Trust Him to work things out even when you cannot see a solution. Believe that He will give you the right questions to ask... and the perfect answers, as well. I know it's a little late, but Merry Christmas!

December 12, 2011

What do Six Days, Five Doctors and Fifteen Pounds Have in Common?

The answer to this question can be answered in two words... Mam-ma Polly! 

When Timothy went back to his mother in Texas, Greg asked me, "What will you do with your spare time?"  It didn't take him long to get an answer!   Tuesday, December 6th, the nurse at Southridge phoned me at 4:00 p.m. to tell me that Mam-ma's blood pressure was high.  She said "I am going to give her the five o'clock blood pressure pill now and check her again in an hour, when it has time to work.  If she still has a high reading, I told her she has to go to the ER."  A little before 6:00 .m., the nurse phoned and said, "It's not as high, but it's still up there, and I think she should go to the ER.  She doesn't have any chest pain, but this reading is too high."  The top number had dropped from 167 to 142.  I don't know what the bottom number was, but it had been 104, I think, at 4:00 p.m.

So I gathered my purse and jacket and headed to Southridge to get Mam-ma. The nurse would have called an ambulance if I'd asked, but I figured I could get her there faster, and she seemed well enough to get in and out of the car.  It was "spitting snow," but we didn't have far to travel - less than 2 miles.  I drove Mam-ma to the ER, and I helped her get inside.  There were a few patients, but not many, and we were in an exam room by 6:30 p.m.  Her blood pressure now was something like 198/112, which didn't surprise me... but it stayed that high the rest of the evening.  The doctor assured me she was not having a stroke or a heart attack, but when asked, she did say she had shortness of breath.

The doctor ordered an EKG, a chest x-ray, blood work, and a urinalysis.  Sometime around 11:00 p.m., he said the x-ray showed fluid around the heart and a little in the lungs.  His diagnosis was mild CHF (congestive heart failure), and he said, "I'm going to give her IV Lasix and admit her.  She will need a catheter so she doesn't have to get up... we don't want to risk a fall."  I really liked the ER staff... especially this doctor, who we have seen before. He seemed to totally "get" Mam-ma - the fact that she is 99, and how delicate the balance is in her system.  I was quite surprised at how swollen her legs were.  She has had swollen ankles off and on for six months, but now her calves and even her knees were swollen.  The calves were red and shiny and looked like bratwursts that would burst if you stuck them with a pin!


Mam-ma's wonderful nurse got the catheter in and collected 400 ccs of urine.  Then she started the IV Lasix.  By the time we took Mam-ma upstairs to a room, it was midnight - and there was another 1300 ccs of urine in the bag.  The ER doctor said, "She is in incredibly good health for someone 99 years old, and we want to get her back to that and keep her there."  It looked like we were on the way.

By the time I left the hospital, it was just after midnight, and over 2" of heavy, wet snow had fallen... and it was still coming down hard.  Fortunately we live less than five minutes from the hospital, so I did not have trouble getting home - once I got all the snow scraped off my car windows!

I was back early the next morning to wait for the hospitalist.  I had been told they were on duty from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., and I didn't want to miss this doctor.  He arrived somewhere around noon, due to icy roads, the nurses said.  I did like Dr. Quintinar, and he said Mam-ma was doing well - progressing.  About 3300 ccs of fluid had been collected.  Dr. Quintinar told me that he would not be back this week... his associate would see us on Thursday.

We did see a new doctor on Thursday - I was there at 10:00 a.m. - Dr. Lewis arrived around noon and started making rounds, getting to Mam-ma's room around 1:30.  He said he was ordering oxygen, and Mam-ma would have to wear it permanently to help with breathing.  No oxygen was ordered, and the next day, I asked him, "What about the oxygen?"  "Oh, yes... " he answered... "Oxygen... we will have to see if she qualifies for it."  This meant a test to see how she walked up and down the hall with and without oxygen.  The nurses said she did great... she did not need oxygen. 

Each day, the doctor would say, "Maybe tomorrow you can go home."  Mam-ma got daily physical therapy, which included walks in the hallways.  On Saturday, we saw a very kind Dr. Ruiz, who was quite intrigued with Mam-ma.  He gently stroked her face and hair and was very attentive and thorough.  He said, "You can go home Sunday or Monday."  Mam-ma told him, "You've disappointed me... I want to go home today!"  He replied, "Home is a wonderful place to be... but for now, this is your home."  He told me that the numbers were trending downward, but Mam-ma still had a little CHF. Also on Saturday, Mam-ma developed a little bit of a problem with getting to the bathroom in time.  I think it was probably all of the green veggies she had been eating all week... it seemed nearly every meal included a hefty serving of broccoli or mixed vegetables with broccoli.  Mam-ma told me, "I just LOVE broccoli!" which was news to me!

Sunday, we saw Dr. Konero.  If you have lost count, that's five doctors, counting the ER doc.  He ordered a stool sample to evaluate the bathroom issue before he would agree to dismiss Mam-ma.  This morning, all the stars aligned, and we got discharge orders.  Along the way, one doctor doubled one of Mam-ma's blood pressure medications.  Another came along and cut the other BP medication in half.  One discontinued her Lasix altogether after she lost almost 10,000 ccs of fluid and about 15 lbs... another reinstated it. 

In the end, we went back to Southridge with tiny ankles and a slender face and tummy... and the exact same medications and dosages we arrived with last week!  Dr. Konero said that Mam-ma seemed to be regulated on these dosages, and he ordered a daily weighing to monitor the fluids and a daily check of her blood pressure to determine whether or not she should get her Lasix pill.  As I helped her dress, she said, "These pajamas are gonna be too tight."  I told her, "I bet they aren't now!"  As they buttoned with room to spare, I added... "That's what losing 15 pounds will do for you!  I was reminded of all the times in the last months/years I have dressed Timothy as I helped Mam-ma into her pajamas and robe.

A nurse wheeled Mam-ma downstairs to the building entrance, where my wonderful husband had brought the car and parked it for us.  He helped us get her in the car, and two aides met us at Southridge with a wheelchair and got Mam-ma into her room and settled into bed.  She sank into her pillows and was almost instantly dozing.  I asked if her bed felt good, and she said, "Heavens, yes!"

So hopefully we will have a few days of quiet, rest, and recovery.  The RN at Southridge said she would order physical therapy for Mam-ma to help her regain her strength.  I am so, so grateful that Mam-ma is at the ALF and could return to such care and attention.  Had she been living at home alone, I am not sure what would have happened when she was discharged.  I know she was in no shape today to return to a home to live alone.

This afternoon, I counted my blessings and marveled at God's timing.  He allowed me time with Timothy before his return to Texas - time without having to dash back and forth to a hospital to check on Mam-ma Polly.  When Timmy left, God gave me a couple of days to collect myself - and finish our Christmas decorating.  Thankfully, while spending big chunks of each day at the hospital, I was not having to worry about Timothy - or leave him at home with Greg.  And now, I will hopefully have time to get things ready for Christmas - and Mam-ma will have time to regain her strength so that she can celebrate with us.  I even found time while sitting at the hospital to get all of our Christmas cards signed and addressed!

The one caveat I would offer about this week's experience was how CRUCIAL it is that you stay with a loved one who is in the hospital.  It was not necessary for me to stay with Mam-ma 24/7... due in large part to the fact that this is a very small town, and I literally grew up with many of her nurses and therapists - some of whom refer to her as "Aunt Polly" - so I trusted them to look after her in my absence.  But even with that, I did have to make several trips to the nurses' desk to ask for things she needed, and to check on lab reports, etc.  And I spent a great deal of time sitting and waiting for a doctor to make rounds. 

Had I not been there to get the reports, I would not have known that the changes in medications were being made... that one doctor said he was ordering oxygen and then apparently forgot.  I am not sure the order to weigh Mam-ma daily at Southridge would have ever made it onto her discharge papers if I had not stepped to the nurses' desk Saturday night and asked about it.

At the end of the day, things fall through the cracks, even with the best medical staff in the world.  I really, really liked the nursing staff.  I actually liked every single hospitalist and felt comfortable with each of them.  They were attentive and took plenty of time to listen to my concerns and answer my questions.  And this was important, because Mam-ma can barely get her thoughts together these days, so she would not have remembered anything the doctors told her.  And when they asked her questions most days, she would look at me in frustration and say, "Debbie, you tell him."

So please do not leave your loved ones unattended in the hospital for more than a short nap or perhaps at night when you are certain they are settled and ready to sleep.  Too much happens... too many details can slip through the cracks. You would want someone to be there for you... do the same for your loved ones.  "Hospital sitting" is the most tiring activity in the world.  But it is also one of the most important when someone you know and love has to stay there.

When I left Mam-ma's apartment at Southridge today, I begged her to please call an aide for help before she got up for anything in the next few days.  I told her, "The last thing in the world we want to have to do is go back to the hospital!"  And I meant every word!