Tag Archives: Hospital

Techno and Testing………..

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, , , , , , , , , ,

As I sit in the waiting room for my husband to have his colonoscopy, I am reminded of all the times I’ve been to various hospitals and doctors’ offices for tests of one kind or another as a caregiver.  Sometimes, I think we test like our patients are the next subjects in a high school science experiment.

When my mother-in-law was 86 years old, I took her to her cardiologist for a semi-annual check-up. By that time, she had a pacemaker and was required to have it tested in the office to make sure it was working properly. In the interim, they had sent her home with a machine that she was to use monthly to check the battery and operation of the pacemaker over the telephone. This was hilarious.

Marie had to take out this little box, put two wrist bands on herself, call a phone number, place the phone in an electronic phone cradle at just the right moment,  while holding some gizmo over the pacemaker on her chest, and wait for the buzz to tell her all was well. It sounds simple. But the set-up, the conversation with the technician and the ultimate getting the phone in the cradle at just the right time was a comedy of errors. Phone check-ups had to be by appointment only. I tried to get there on the exact date every month to help her, but some dates were just not possible for me. So after training my mother-in-law, this darling 86 year-old woman who lived alone and had not the slightest relationship with technology, did the best she could. I prayed she could do it, or in the alternative prayed that the pacemaker just worked until the next month.

At this bi-annual visit with her cardiologist, the good news was, her pacemaker was working just fine. Dr. Smarty Pants, however, had no trouble telling us that every month they weren’t getting the best reading, and we would need to do better. You know what I wanted to retort. But instead, I  said, “Okay.”

Marie took it personally and tried to explain how hard she worked to get it right, but by that time we were dismissed on that topic to discuss further things.

Dr. Smarty Pants was concerned that Marie’s chest X-ray showed a slight spot on her lungs. The X-ray had been taken as a standard procedure due to her heart condition and pacemaker. This spot, however seemed new and the doctor was concerned.

“It could be nothing, or it could be a sign of further pathology,” he said to us.

“Well,” I said, “exactly what would you like to do?”

“I think we should do some more tests,” he declared. “I would like to do a CAT scan, or perhaps even an MRI, and then based on those results, we may have to do a biopsy of the lung area to see what we are dealing with. And then, based on that information, well, actually, as soon as we have the results of the CAT Scan or MRI, I would probably send you to a lung specialist as this is not a cardiology issue in any event.”

“So let me get this straight. As her cardiologist, you want to send this 86 year-old woman for a CAT Scan, and MRI, a possible lung biopsy and then off to another specialist, as this isn’t really your bailiwick anyway? Do I understand that correctly?”

“Yes.”

Now my mother-in-law is just sitting there in her paper gown, probably freezing, as it is cold in there and I haven’t even taken my coat off, watching this banter .

“Let me ask you this doctor,” I said pretending I was just seeking information, but wanting to put my hands around his throat while he strangled out an answer if he were lucky enough to survive.

“Tell me a bit more about this spot on the X-ray. Is it big, is it new, what do you suspect it could be?”

“Well, it’s tiny, and we haven’t seen it before. Honestly. Sometimes it could just be a spot or speck of dust on the machine and not pathological at all. But we don’t know that for sure.”

“Okay,” I say incredulous but still pretending to be seeking only information and not the death penalty….for him…..”Let’s just say you find the worst case scenario after all those tests, the biopsies and whatever else you do….then what? My mother-in-law is 86 years old. She has a really nice quality of life. She has heart problems, diabetes, and high blood pressure. What exactly would you do or suggest under those circumstances?”

“Well, truthfully, I probably would just make her comfortable, she’s not really a candidate for surgery or even intensive therapies.”

“Um…hmm.. that’s what I was thinking, Doctor.” Of course, what I was really thinking was: “You’re an idiot.”

“Based on that, Doctor, I think she’s already pretty comfortable so we will pass on further testing and let nature take its course.”

My mother-in-law lived 11 more years, with nary a cough.

“You just have to Laugh…….”

©Cathy Sikorski 2015

“You really don’t have to be young to find a friend in a teddy bear.” -Rachel Newman

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, , , , , ,

I have become sort of immune to authority figures in the world of medicine and insurance. My friends would tell you my immunity started long before caregiving. My older brother, Chip would say I made my self the authority figure right around 5th grade when I would tell my Mom what Chip wanted for lunch. My baby brother Bill would say, “Cathy doesn’t have any problems with authority, as long as she is the authority.”

Okay, fine.

I’m bossy and pushy when I need to be.

But sometimes I am surprised by the far-reaching influence of my bossiness.

I was grilling the nurse in the hospital about the details of my brother-in-law’s discharge. What day were they thinking? What kind of meds would he need when they sent him home? Did they know I had a 24 hour notice rule, so that I could set up his at-home caregivers? Would they call the insurance company to confirm the need for ambulance transport since my brother-in-law was non-ambulatory?  Would the case manager call me so that I could give her the time of day that transport would work best for the caregivers as well as his meal time at his facility?

My brother-in-law was so used to this diatribe, that every once in a while he would chime in with a: “Yeah, when can I get out of here!” emphatic remark. He liked looking bossy, too.

His hospital roommate, a kind and gentle Teddy Bear of man, whose family had quietly visited with him just a few hours earlier and had now left, was patiently listening to all of this. We had exchanged greetings earlier. He was very soft spoken. Even his young grandchildren were very quiet and respectful. He didn’t have his television blaring, like my brother-in-law usually does.  He didn’t pull his curtain shut or ask for privacy. He didn’t call his own nurse for any assistance during this time. But he was clearly awake, aware and watching all this broo-ha-ha.  He seemed to be taking it in with great interest, but just stayed calm and quiet.

After I had hashed out all the details that I needed to make the exit from the hospital as smooth as possible for my brother-in-law, I noticed that his roommate called the nurse over to the side of his bed. She very graciously went over and asked if she could help. Before he could say another word, she cautioned him that she was not his nurse, but if she could help she would.

He looked at us, and then looked up at her with pleading eyes and said ever so softly: “I, too, was wondering when I could get out of here and go home.” Then he looked at me, and I swear there was a twinkle in his eye  that was a dash of courage, but still a Teddy Bear, asking for his own reprieve. I’m pretty sure he winked back when I gave him the thumbs up!

“You just have to Laugh…………”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

What makes the Hottentot so hot? Courage….the Cowardly Lion.

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

So I have to prepare a story about courage for a story slam. This may or may not be it.

I think my Mom is one of the most courageous people I know.  She had 5 kids all under the age of 10, and was pregnant with her 6th when my Army helicopter Dad died in a crash. Along with my Nana, she raised six pretty terrific kids (I can say that, I’m the middle child).The problem arises when she mixes her courage with a bit of the crazy.

As you may know, she is a big help to me in my caregiving duties. She is a nurse and was

This pic never gets old!
This pic never gets old!

often  called upon to help me with nonagenarians. She is in charge of all the meds for my brother-in-law. So this lady has got it together.

She gives great advice, except to herself. A few years ago, my mom and my brother Chip, decided to take a trip to Canada. My Mom has had a cabin there since 1972. It’s very rustic. The cabin is nestled next to a little lake. Years ago, my Mom and stepfather, and any other rustic thinking person, would go there all summer long for fishing, wildlife, nature, no electricity, no running water.  The kind of place I would not set foot in.

For the past 5 years or so, my Mom goes only occasionally. She still manages to find people who actually want to go there, but the boat dock is rotted, the trail to the lake is overgrown with weeds, she no longer has a garden the size of the Louvre, and so it’s just a short trip for a few days with those escaping technology or their spouses.

This time Mom and Chip went to check out the new floor that my brothers and brother-in-law had installed. They drove 8 hours from home. They were there approximately 45 minutes, when my Mom tripped on the lip created by the new floor and promptly broke her arm. See, she knew she broke it because she’s a nurse. That and the crack that sounded the minute she hit the floor.

My mother insisted that my brother get back in the car and drive her home 8 hours with that throbbing arm and nasty seat belt, so that she could go to a hospital near home. Now as the one who was probably going to be her temporary caregiver, that was great for me. As someone who tests the limits of courage and common sense. this 83 year old grandmother should have had some sense knocked into her before she hit the floor.

Courage or Crazy…………you be the judge. In any case………..

By the way…that picture IS  the  actual cabin. I made my Mom email it to me….THAT is the next story!

“You just have to Laugh………..”

Cathy Sikorski ©2014

 

 

Pizza, Pizza……………

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

Arising at 4 A.M. to get to my brother-in-law’s apartment before the ambulance transport so that I could quickly give him his medications before surgery, as archly instructed by the hospital staff, may have fuzzed up my mind. I’m pretty certain this was the conversation I overheard while watching and waiting for three hours before they took him into surgery:

Nurse on phone: “Yes, those were the instructions. Yes, no food or drink after 8:00 P.M.  last night.  Well, I will have to call the doctor and see if they still want  you to come in.”

Nurse on phone to Doctor:  “Your surgery for 8 AM just called. She wanted to know if she should still come in if she had pizza for breakfast.”

Nurse back on phone to patient: “The doctor says he wants you to still come in. You won’t be his first surgery, but he wants you to come in and see if he can fit you in. What? What’s that? Okay. Well, I will inform the doctor of that, but you still need to come in.”

Take with Pills in AM
Take with Pills in AM

Nurse to any other nurse who will listen: “So she just told me that she also took some opiates and some alcohol this morning too. I don’t know if that was while she was waiting for me to get back to her, or if  she forgot to tell me the first time.”

A different nurse to my brother-in-law, who has a rash around his lips from no liquid for  the last 15 hours, is starving, and has a second nurse stabbing him all over the place trying to get the IV line in so they can administer drugs to make him happy: “Your surgery has just been moved up, lucky for you the first patient had pizza.”

“Oh yeah,” says my brother-in-law, “I was feeling all kinds of lucky today.”

To their credit, not one nurse ever violated HIPPA by revealing the name of the pizza-eating, opiate-taking, breakfast-of-champions alcohol-drinking patient who cleared the way for everyone to move up the line.

“You just have to Laugh…..”

©2014 Cathy Sikorski

 

 

 

“What do women want? Shoes.” Mimi Pond

Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

In honor of what would have been my mother-in-law’s 98th birthday, a shoe story comes to mind.

About 2 years ago, Marie got very, very ill. She was in intensive care for a few weeks. Between an infection in her big toe and dangerously low body temperature, she was in a precarious place. The conversation vacillated between surgery to remove her toe, foot or part of her leg and just seeing how she would fare at 96 years old.  (I know, when does this get funny?)

She miraculously recovered with the help of a ‘bear hug’ which is like super groovy bubble wrap that keeps you warm and brings up your body temp. And in other news, her toe took care of itself by just falling off. I know, it’s gross and horrible, but it was just the tip and the infection was then completely out of her system.

Because walking was kind of weird now, Marie had to wear special surgical shoes and regain control of her balance. She was hustled home from the hospital with peculiar shoes and instructions for physical therapy.

Her first day home, I visited her during therapy and she was quite agile and perky. I returned the next day and since it was a weekend, there was no therapy. Sitting in her  chair, she was wearing her favorite sneakers.

“Oh, no, no, Marie, that will not do,” I said.  “You need to wear the other shoes until your foot is healed and you can walk properly.”

“What other shoes?” she said. “These are my shoes.”

I wasn’t born  yesterday. In five minutes, I was hauling out the ugly, black orthopedic surgical shoes that were somehow conveniently stuffed way in the back of her closet behind suitcases and Depends packages, I displayed to her the offending footwear.

“This is what you need to wear while your foot heals.”

“Ugh,” she muttered.

Two days later, I moseyed back to the therapy room and there she ambled in the ugly shoes, but her pristine sneakers sat lovingly next to the walker waiting to be put back on Cinderella’s pining feet.

The therapist took me aside.

“She insisted on wearing her real shoes, except in therapy. It’s really not good for healing or balance. Maybe you can talk to her.”

I devised a different plan. Whilst she meandered all around the therapy room, I snatched the glass slippers like an ugly step-sister and hid them deep in the therapy room closet.

I was well versed in diversion by now and spirited her so quickly to lunch after therapy that she forgot about those sneakers. After lunch we strolled outside and then I settled her in her favorite chair for a post-repast siesta.

For the next four weeks, every time I visited Marie, she asked me the same question:

“Where did Rachel put my shoes?”

Rachel is my daughter. She had been known to play a practical joke or two on Grandma over the years. When she was a youngster, Rachel would steal Grandma’s refrigerator magnets and return them a few weeks later. One time she asked Grandma if it was ok to ‘look’ at  Grandma’s costume jewelry. That Easter, Grandma admired her own necklace around Rachel’s neck. However, at the time of this shoe incident, Rachel was firmly ensconced in graduate school in Ireland.

“Rachel, did not take your shoes, Marie. You have to wear these other ones to get better.”

“Yes, she did. Tell her I want them back.”

Simultaneously with her complete recovery, Rachel came home for a visit. When she came to see Grandma, there she was holding the shoes out like Prince Charming. What the heck….whatever works when you’re a  caregiver.

“You just have to Laugh….”

Cathy Sikorski

 

 

 

Driving….your friends crazy

Brain Injury, Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

You know how you always think you’re smarter than every one else? Especially if you’re a caregiver. Mostly because you are reminded on a daily basis that you are at least thinking harder than most everyone you come in contact with.

A smart person with a person who thinks she's smart
A smart person with a person who thinks she’s smart

And yet, there are those days, where  you are reminded that even you, Superhuman Caregiver can be the dope.

When my friend was felled with a traumatic brain injury, her friends rallied around to make sure she went to all necessary doctor appointments. One does not traumatize the brain without adding things like, broken bones, sprains, strains, cuts, bruises and vision problems in with the mix. Driving yourself is out.

I really hate driving in the city. It used to scare me.  Admittedly, once you’ve driven into and out of the big city a million times, you hate it for different reasons. But a traumatic brain injury and it’s accompaniments require big city, good hospitals.

I volunteered to be the driver, so long as another friend would go along for navigation, walking to the door, or whatever else would be required.

The first time we went, the directions led us to a parking lot a thousand miles away from the building we needed. The second time we went, we found the super secret parking lot right at the back door. The third time we went we couldn’t remember how to get to the super secret parking lot. The fourth time, well this is what happened.

We pre-planned so that we could once again find the super secret parking lot. When we got to the highway exit for the hospital, it was closed. We took the next exit and ended up about 52 blocks away from our destination. Undaunted, I drove down those numbered streets until we reached the magic number….34th Street. Whereupon we came upon a busted water main break flooding the entire block north, south, east and west.

Appointment time was getting ever closer, as we sat in snarled traffic wondering what to do, I concocted a brilliant idea.

“Get out!” I said to my injured friend and my trusty sidekick helper.

They just looked at me, like I was Noah kicking them out of the boat.

“No, seriously, get out and start walking. It’s only four blocks. I’ll park anywhere I can and find you, and then I’ll go get the car when we are done at the doctor.”

They hop out into six inches of fast flowing water and jump over as much of it as they can. Tonto, the sidekick holding on to the patient hoping against hope that she doesn’t fall over and drown both of them.

I sat there for another five minutes, traffic finally starts to break and I drive around in circles. Miraculously and quite by accident I ended up at the super secret parking lot.

When Tonto and the patient enter the lobby, drenched from the knees down, there I was comfortably and dryly, waiting for them.

Hard to believe they asked me to drive again.

“You just have to Laugh……”

Cathy Sikorski

It’s not the size of the Ship……

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

A ‘side effect’ of Multiple Sclerosis can be a myriad of urinary tract infections. If left unfound for even a day or two, these infections can turn ugly very quickly. In the old and infirm any nurse (do not translate doctor, only nurse) can tell you that a UTI can make the patient seem crazy, terroristic, and downright demented. Once the infection is under control, your loved one returns as if they were on an amnesiac’s vacation.

Caregivers who experience this more than once are always prepared and at the first hint of trouble, we get a urine sample, a doctor’s appointment, an antibiotic, or whatever it takes to stave off the impending doom.

And………………you make sure, as a caregiver, that no one steps on your toes, whilst trying to prevent a UTI.

After spending three consecutive Friday nights in the ER due to UTI infection, even my brother-in-law doesn’t allow any shenanigans when it comes to prevention. The one thing that can cause a UTI faster than you can say ‘UTI’ is a Foley catheter. This is an internal catheter, not to be confused with a Texas catheter which is the big ol’ nice name for a condom catheter.  Oh, those Texans, anything big and manly belongs to them.

One fine Wednesday night, my brother-in-law spikes a blood sugar that Willy Wonka would be proud of and must high tail it back to the hospital. This spike, sure enough, signifies an infection. His white count is higher than Mount Everest and his behavior is actually still normal. Yay….we caught it in time.

Hooked up to IV antibiotics, treated for a few other annoying maladies, and complaining about hospital food tells me that recovery is just around the corner, with one tiny (or he would have you believe extra-large) exception. They don’t have his size catheter in the hospital. Really. They don’t have his size catheter in the hospital. Because every single man in the entire tri-county area is one size fits all. And girls, you thought size mattered.

I make a hasty trip to my brother-in-law’s apartment to snatch from his personal Texas catheter supply. As we entered his hospital room, my husband said to my brother-in-law:

“No worries, man, we have brought the ‘hombre grande’ catheters you ordered.”

And even though I can believe almost anything any more, three days later, I had a suspicion and grabbed a fresh supply of catheters to take to him. I eavesdrop through his hospital door as they are changing his sheets.

“You aren’t using my catheters,” said my brother-in-law, “these don’t fit.”

“Yes we are,” said the aide,” I think the nurse is getting a Foley catheter, so we don’t have to change the sheets so much.”

“No, no, no.” I heard him say. “I have UTI’s and a Foley is not for me.”

I burst through the door, like Cathwoman :

“I bring the correct catheters!” Sort of Shakesperean and Marvel comics at the same time. “There will be no Foleys, these are the ones that fit.”

As she leaves the room, with a weird expression on her face, I checked the supply of his private catheters in his room. Nope, they have replaced them all with the wrong size.

You have to be on guard….and…………..

“You just have to Laugh……………..”

Cathy Sikorski

 

A discussion with John Hancock……

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , ,

One day a letter came from John Hancock (not the real one, I’m pretty sure he died a while ago) stating that my brother-in-law had a small long term care insurance policy in effect left over from his employment.

Every little bit helps.

So I called John Hancock to see how we could begin using the benefits, as he clearly qualifies based on the policy I had them send to me for review.

“Hello? I would like to file a claim for long term care benefits.”

“Ok, I need to ask a few questions,” said the nice polite young lady from John Hancock.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am his sister-in-law and his Power of Attorney.”

“Well, ok, you need to send us a copy of the POA.”

“Yes, I can do that, in the meantime can you send me the application for benefits.”

“Yes, I will send it to his address.”

At that point, I noticed that they had the wrong zip code for his address.

“I see you have the correct street address, but the wrong zip code. Can you correct that before you send it?”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I can’t change anything of his until you send me the POA.”

“But if you send it out, it will go to the wrong place.”

“Oh, yes, I see that. Well, would you like me to send the documents to your address?”

I pause for just a nano second, because experience has told me not to interrupt the ridiculous if it is in my favor.

“Yeah, sure, send it directly to me.”

I gave her my address.

“Now will you be filing that within one week?” she asked me.

“Well, he’s in the hospital for a few days, and may go to a nursing home for rehab or he may come directly  home and rehab there, ” I told her.

“Oh, well then you have to call back and request the forms after he gets home.”

“But it’s long term care insurance,” I said, “either way he will be under long term care.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t send the forms until he’s home.”

“So,” I say through tears…..of laughter, “you can’t send the forms for long term care until he’s home and not in long term care. And then you can send it to my address until I get you  a copy of the POA to correct his address.”

“Yes!” she says brightly, that’s exactly correct!”080

You just have to Laugh…..”

Cathy Sikorski

Three times is the charm…I don’t think so….

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

I have spent the last three Friday nights in the hospital emergency room. My brother-in-law has been suffering from pressure wounds, what we lay people would call “bed sores”. Since I’m no nurse and refuse to look at the area between his “gluteal crack and scrotum”, I had no idea it was getting worse, even with care.

On the advice of his home nurse I called the ambulance. My big mistake was I didn’t immediately call 911. You can’t just call the ambulance and say, no one is going to die in the next 10 minutes, so could you come over here and transport?. No, you must call 911 and make it as urgent as possible. Okay, I was a theater major, I can make an emergency if you need me to.

The second Friday night in the ER was because, they sent him home from the hospital too soon even though I begged them to keep him. Within 2 days of his going home and having home nurses and caregivers, and inventors of creative ways to make his wheelchair a place to sit without more bed sores, he was in pain with a draining wound and starting a fever. Five days of IV antibiotics later, they sent him home again.

The very first day the visiting nurse appeared she asked me why he wasn’t sent to rehab. Hmm, good question.

That same night, the third Friday night, he started acting a little ‘off’ around dinner time and within 2 hours, I got a call that he was exhibiting bizarre behavior. This had happened once before when he had a massive infection. I gave the home caregiver the pleasure of calling 911 and using her theatrics to get an ambulance poste haste (that’s acting talk for hurry up, someone’s sick but isn’t going to die in 10 minutes).

And this is where it gets crazy.

The first half hour in the ER, he’s got two technicians on either side of him with his arms out trying like hell to get a drop of blood out of him. He looks like a crucifixion. The entire time he’s saying in a monotone: “Ow.”

Like a hundred times: “Ow.”

“Where does it hurt?” I ask him.

“Everywhere,” he says.

That exact conversation continues for the next three hours.

After two hours of “Ow”, they tell me he’s third on the list for a CT-Scan. He starts to get a little crazy now. He’s thrashing around and my Mom and I are holding down his arms because he has IV lines in his hands and we don’t want him to accidentally rip them out. He’s already been crucified once.

Then he gets louder and now he’s saying: ” I can’t” and “Oh please” and “Ow” and we try to reassure him. He is thrashing and fighting pretty wildly now.  I have asked for a pain pill and I’m just about to pull a “Terms of Endearment” Shirley MacLaine mother of all hissy fits, when the nurse comes in with the CT-Scan tech behind her. She tries to give L a pain pill, but he won’t swallow water. The CT Scan guy disappears figuring he ain’t goin’ anywhere till he calms down, and then the Nurse high tails it all around the ER looking for CT guy to get his ass back here and take L for a scan.

Somehow they successfully scan him. NOW because all tests of urgency have been done, and there is no concern that a pain killer IV will harm him, the Nurse hunts down the doctor….who we still have not seen or talked to…..and comes in with some miracle drug that knocks him right the hell out in 60 seconds flat.

It is now almost 2 A.M. We have been there for more than 3 hours. He is finally resting, calm and not in any obvious distress. We go out to the Nurses’ station to see if they have any sense to confirm that he will be admitted. I answer all their questions. One of the doctors says let’s go back to his room so I can see if I have any more questions. I’m thinking she wants some HIPPA privacy rather than discussing this in the open hallway.

My mom and I walk into his room. He is resting so comfortably that we both let out a huge sigh of relief.

What is the first thing this doctor does?

She gently goes over to his bedside, looks down at him, puts her hand on his shoulder, shakes the hell out of him, pulls his eyelids up and yells: ” L! CAN YOU HEAR ME? L! CAN YOU OPEN YOUR EYES?”

My mom and I just look at each other and go “Ow” and walk out of the room……good luck with that Dr. Nutjob.

 

You just have to Laugh………..

Cathy Sikorski

Lions and tigers and Bear Hugs…Oh my……

Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

Caregiver’s often feel like they have been cast in a Stephen King movie, and no one told them. A scare a day is not an unlikely scenario. One of our scares with my mother-in-law was when she got dramatically ill for unknown reasons. Even though in her 90’s, all her blood work, scans, and any test they could think of continued to come back negative. But she became pretty much unresponsive, landed in intensive care, and her body temp dropped to 90 degrees.

They put a huge piece of bubble wrap around her like a blanket and had a machine pumping hot air into the bubble wrap to try and get her temp to come up from it’s dangerously low hovering place.  They called this contraption, “the bear hug.” I kinda wanted to take one home. It looked so cozy and comfy and you could pop it for fun.

Even though Mom wasn’t really conversant, she would continuously shake her head back and forth and push “the bear hug” off of her and put her arm over top of the bubble wrap ,so that she wasn’t under the heat. Just like anyone would who was too warm under the covers. Whoever was visiting had to constantly put her back under the “bear hug” and hope for the best.

After the gazillion tests, the medical team decided that she was likely suffering from an infection that was coming from her toe. They discussed taking her toe, her foot, or even half her leg. I put my foot down (oh yeah, pun totally intended). I wanted to wait as long as possible before they would do anything like that. I just couldn’t see trying to train my mother-in-law how to walk or use a wheelchair with that kind of disability at her age.

The “bear hug” did it’s loving job, and she was moved out of ICU. Just as the doctor came in to look at the offending infected toe, it fell off right in his hand. Ack! Really, I was there with my teenage daughter. I wanted to yell, “cut!” to stop this horror film I was in, but I was afraid what they might do next.

So we were able to take Mom home in a few days, but she had to wear special surgical shoes to protect the injured foot until it healed. She was in assisted living. They would get her dressed and get her to meals. But as soon as she got back from breakfast, she would change out of those surgical shoes and into her sneakers.

This went on for a day or two and finally, I told the physical therapist to hide her shoes. Oh my God! My mother-in-law, the sweetest, kindest, gentlest soul went crazy looking for her shoes. She was absolutely convinced that my daughter was the culprit and I should  get her to confess and get those shoes back immediately. This was not completely unfounded as my daughter would occasionally take Grandma’s jewelry or refrigerator magnets as a joke when she was younger. But my daughter was 500 miles away in college, and there was no convincing Grandma that that made a bit of difference.

This battle went on for weeks, until the therapist gave the ok to return to real shoes. When the magic shoes finally reappeared, my mother-in-law said, “Well, finally your daughter has given me back my shoes!” Guess she felt like she was in a Stephen King movie.

You just have to Laugh…….

Cathy Sikorski