Wednesday started like any other day, my alarm went off...I hit snooze a few times and eventually forced myself out of bed. Did the usual morning bathroom routine, started getting dressed and heard mom call my name. I stopped because it was so faint I didn’t know if I had actually heard her given that she usually isn’t awake when I leave for work. I stilled my actions and listened, after a brief moment I heard what sounded like vomiting and raced up the stairs. Cricket was in her bed, but mom was doubled over in her chair violently vomiting up green frothy bile and crying. Immediately at her side, I questioned what I could do...what do you need of me? She had trouble talking, but I could make out her faint request for a new container to wretch into. Quickly I collected the needed item and provided it to her, still crying and heaving the words she spoke unmistakable. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, something’s wrong.” She continued throwing up, her sobs loud against my ears and my actions stilled so that I could offer whatever assistance she requested.
With a thundering quickness I emotionally fell to my knees when she whispered “I want to die.”
Words failed me, but actions did not. I searched her purse for the card holding the numbers to the consulting nurse and dialed with intent. After a few moments, I was patched through to a nurse who oddly held the same name as my mother. She directed me to ask specific questions, requested more information and quickly advised that 911 be called stating, “you’re only in your early 70’s, we want you around a lot longer, so I think you really need to go to the ER.” I quickly recognized my mother’s facial expression even as she continued to vomit...she has always been one to minimize her pain/symptoms and has with assurity denied my previous attempts for medical intervention. After hanging up with the consulting nurse, I asked my mother “can I have your permission to call 911?” Normally I would defer to her wishes, but I didn’t even allow her the chance to respond and quickly dialed the number and began speaking with the responder. The report on my end was much the same as the first call, and so too were the associated questions asked of me to relay to my mother. “Ask her to smile, do both sides of her face react the same? Have her raise both her arms straight out and keep them that way, was she able to do that and were her arms the same? Have her repeat the early bird gets the worm, did she say it without slurring or forgetting?” She passed all the tests, but decided to send the paramedics anyway.
It was perhaps 20 minutes from the moment I thought I heard mother call my name to when the paramedics showed up at the house. After more questioning and then a brief discussion where they questioned me about having her take some tylenol and just relax instead of going to the hospital...her responses were more latent, it was becoming clear to everyone that she was losing the battle with her mind. No longer able to answer questions, complete a sentence or identify objects the decision was quickly cemented that she was going with them to the ER. At first I begged them to take her, but was relieved when the choice was no longer in question and they ushered her to the ambulance. It was something I will never erase, hearing her say with urgency “I need...I need...I need…” and yet totally unable to complete one thought. I could see the tears coming down as she struggled to find the words, fought to make herself known but try as she might, coming up empty.
After closing the front door, suddenly finding myself alone I remembered that I had put Cricket in the back bedroom and quickly retrieved the crying dog who was panicked at the loss of mother and the smells of strangers in her territory. I comforted her as best I could, almost tripping on her closeness several times while racing around my apartment to finish getting dressed so I could race to the hospital to be by her side. I finally glanced at my phone while leaving the house and noticed a text from my mother’s number, “I.” For the next 24 hours, that text would haunt me because I feared it would be the last text I would ever get from her. While sitting in the ER, I looked at the time stamp of that text, and noticed it was around the time I heard her call my name and then something shifted inside me. Hitting me like a freight train, mom wasn’t able to call out my name...but I swear I heard her...at the very moment her text reached my phone, that was still set on silent. My mind reeling, I excused myself to the nearest bathroom and broke into hysterical sobs.
From the moment I reached her bedside in the ER, to the moment they wheeled her out of the room and up to the neurological floor...time went in fitz and sparks. Sometimes passing so agonizingly slow that even the clock hands seemed trapped in tar...and then other times passing like a blur of motions convoluted by loud alarms, occasional intercom notifications and mom’s seemingly never ending retching sounds. For a time, nurses were arriving en masse taking blood, putting in tubes, the room a flutter with activity and then it all slowed to a trickle. It took several rounds of pain and anti-nausea medications to finally provide my mother with a few moments of relief but her condition did not improve. And if I’m being honest, neither did mine. I busied myself providing updates to the extended family that mother is close with, reaching out to a few of my trusted coworkers and my Earp family on twitter in an effort to keep my mind from totally unraveling.
As the hours unfolded, medical folks would come in and out either checking her vitals, asking me how she was doing or taking her to other areas of the ER for testing. She could no longer answer yes or no questions, she would repeat statements as though she were answering new questions and I kept myself from drowning until the time came where she was asked by one of the doctors while pointing at me, “do you know your daughters name?” Suddenly the waves crashed over my head like being driven and churned by a hurricane and my world went dark. The hands on the clock stopped moving, the alarms became muted by the overwhelmingly crushing depths of the panic rising within me. She couldn’t tell them my name. I stifled a sob, grateful for the mask that hid my facial expression and diverted my eyes to the foot of her bed.
Keep it together Deb. She needs you.
Time kept passing, and the more I tried to force the ‘what ifs’ and ‘what nows’ further from my mind, the more I felt the swirl of panic nipping at my feet like angry little dogs trying to pull me down to the ground. I took solace in the fact that mother had finally succumbed to sleep and stopped throwing up...I felt enormous sorrow while looking at my mother knowing she had been vomiting for more than 6 hours and then feeling the pull of guilt as I realized she had been battling this alone for 4 hours before I joined the fight. Her respirations dropped low often and I was encouraged to remind her to take deep breaths so that the alarms wouldn’t wake her, and I did just that every time her numbers dipped. I stood silent guard while placing gentle kisses to the top of her head and stroking her shoulders...learning what actions would calm her while not waking her enough to bring the pain back to mind.
At one point I remember leaving her room, leaning my back against the wall, finally letting the sobs overtake my body as I slid down the wall. I felt so heavy, so lost, so alone. A passing nurse stopped to check on me and offered the obligatory tissues to me, which I gladly took. Only after clearing my head and drying my eyes did I return to my mother’s side. I refused to show my mother any evidence of how terrified I was at what I had seen unfold before me. She would need me to be strong, to be a steady hand and I’d be damned if I failed my mission. It wasn’t until I reached my car in the parking garage that I shattered into pieces. The rest of the night, I vacillated between panic and worry as I thought about how hard it must be for mother to be alone in the hospital and not be able to communicate her needs. Then I mentally chastised myself because I feel certain there must have been something I could have done to better help her. It took me almost 5 hours of calling the nurses station to get any information about her condition but what I did get, gave me no peace of mind.
Sleep danced around me all night but never once held my hand, I was worried about what life would be like now...how would I be able to afford in home care for her? How severe is the damage in her brain and what now? The most amazing thing happened the next morning, a little after 7am my phone rang despite it being on silent and low and behold, there was mom on the other end. Not only had she figured out how to use the phone, she was able to remember that she had to dial 9 to get an outside line. That was the first moment, I think I really felt like I could breathe.
While things are still in limbo as to what exactly is going on with her, we’ve ruled out stroke and heart attack, but more tests beget more tests and now she finds herself in a speciality hospital while they take a closer look at her neck pulmonary veins for blockages. The best news of course is that I can visit her now, and by all means I will take that any day of week. The house has been empty, my vision has been black and white and the silence here is deafening. I’m a little less panicked now, but I can still feel the madness just under the surface.
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