Amazing Woman
“Manor Care missed
call & voicemail,” I saw as I picked up my phone to log my weight lifting
results into the Crossfit App on my phone.
There was also a missed call and voicemail from Michelle. My heart sank and my mind told me something
serious happened if both the home and Michelle called me. I ran into the bathroom at the gym to listen. “Michael, this is Carol calling from Manor
Care. Your mother fell tonight and
appears to have hit her head on her nightstand.
Please call me back as soon as possible.” The message was different from the usual, she fell but she got right back up and kept
going and we’re monitoring her and there’s nothing to worry about and call us
back if you WANT to, message. I didn’t
even listen to Michelle’s message, which I later learned had nothing to do with
Gram’s fall. I called Manor Care back
instead. Carol told me that they found
Gram lying on the floor in her room with a big gash on her forehead that was
bleeding. According to Carol, it looked
like she hit the nightstand. They had a
call into Dr. Benz to see if he wanted to send her for a CT scan of her
head. “Ok,” I said. “Call me back as soon as you hear from the
doctor. I’m on my way.” I left the gym.
When Carol called me back to tell me that Dr. Benz did want
to send her to Passavant for a scan, I was already on my way over. “We’re calling the ambulance now,” Carol
said. “I can ride with her in the ambulance,
right?” I asked. I heard Carol turn from
the phone and ask her colleagues. “No,
family members cannot,” I heard them say.
“No,” Carol said, repeating what they said, not knowing that I had heard
the background conversation. I could
feel my frustration build; exasperated by my own fear and sadness, I’m
sure. This could be it, I thought as I drove. At this
point, anytime could be the last. I
was afraid of what I would find when I got there. Was she
in pain? I wondered. Even though,
she doesn’t seem to feel pain and rarely complains of any, I hate to imagine
her hurting. She seems so helpless in
her current state. She needs me there to speak for her; to take care of her, I
thought. I felt myself getting
defensive. My job is to protect Gram and
ensure she’s safe and that she doesn’t get scared and freak out. I take that very seriously. It’s what she did for me as a kid. Therefore, I needed to be in that
ambulance. Furthermore, I’m her Power of
Attorney and make all of her medical decisions.
I always get frustrated when medical people insist on asking her a bunch
of questions. She can’t even understand
them, let alone answer them. I always
feel like that’s humiliating to her and I want to protect her from that
humiliation. (I’m sure, in reality, the
humiliation is my own projection of how I feel about it FOR her. It’s unlikely Gram feels that way.)
When I walked in, Gram was sitting in the wheelchair in
front of the nurse’s station, like she would any other day. She was by all accounts, her normal
self. She was talking gibberish and her
hands were flailing about as they do when she gets on a “rant.” Several of the staff members were waiting for
me when I arrived and they were all sincerely concerned about Gram. It’s touching how so many of the staff
members there love her. And I know they
do, because I observe how they interact with Gram. What I see they couldn’t fake; no way. “I hope she’s ok,” Carol said lovingly. “Me, too,” “Me, too,” others echoed. “She looks fine to me,” I say. “She’s amazing!” I exclaim; “Amazing!” “She sure is!”
There have been so many others over the years – at Elmcroft
and Manor Care- that have fallen and within a couple weeks died. They broke a hip or some other bone, suddenly
got Pneumonia and died. I was always
surprised when I’d inquire about someone who I was accustomed to seeing around
a lot and I’d find out they fell and subsequently passed, all within a couple weeks’
time. Gram IS amazing. She falls at least a couple times a month. Most aren’t serious. She falls on her ass or rolls out of the
wheelchair. In most cases, she gets up,
mumbles some expletives, such as “Goddammit,” “Shit,” or “Son-of-a-bitch,” and
she goes about her business.
In fact, I’ve had conversations with Manor Care in the past
about Gram’s safety in such matters.
They’ve tried putting her in a rocker wheelchair that prevents her from
getting up. She spun herself in circles
trying to get out of it. I couldn’t bear
the thought of her tied down in any way.
I know Gram. She would hate
that. Therefore, I offered to sign some
sort of waiver – to absolve Manor Care of responsibility if Gram falls and dies
as a result. I know she’d rather take
her chances- even if that meant falling and potentially dying – rather than be
tied down. That would be cramping her
style and totally out of character for the person she always was and is.
Thank God for my sister, Michelle. She, too, gives me strength. I called her immediately as I was driving
over to the home. She calmly asked if I
wanted her to meet me at the hospital. “Yes. Thank you.”
Michelle is always there when I need her. She offers support and she is the voice of
reason during those times that I get emotional and/or crazy. I’m so grateful for her.
The ambulance ride was fine.
I expected Gram to be scared and therefore difficult in getting onto the
stretcher and then into the wagon. She
was perfectly calm and cooperative. In
fact, her vitals were probably better than mine: blood pressure 140/80, temperature 98.6. There was an older man who drove the
ambulance and a younger guy and girl who rode in the back with me. When they first arrived to pick Gram up, I,
being in my defensive stance, demanded, “Just so you know, I am her Power of
Attorney. I make all of her medical
decisions because she can’t. And I will be riding with her in the
ambulance!” I had to apologize later for
acting like such an arrogant dick. “It’s
completely fine, the guy said, it’s good that you care so much.” They, themselves, were amazed at Gram’s resilience
for her age. “So she was last in the
hospital in September of 2011?” the young man asked. “Yes,” I replied. “That’s when she was supposed to die and was
put here to do so.” “Really?” he said,
surprised. “Yes, and that was over 3
years ago!” I exclaimed.” He continued, “This
is her first trip to the hospital since then.
That never happens to a nursing home patient, especially someone her
age!” “I know,” I said, “And she’s been
on hospice twice and discharged, too. She’s
an amazing woman.”
When the doctor came into to examine Gram, I inquired about
the purpose of this CT scan. I learned
that they were checking for bleeding in the brain as well as any additional
injuries to the head or neck. I further
questioned the doctor because I was trying to understand what the treatment
options would be. He informed me that if
there was bleeding, we could do two things.
First we could opt for surgery in which they would drill a hole in her
skull and fix the source of the bleeding.
Secondly, we could do nothing. He
said that in some cases, nothing ever comes of it. In other cases, the patient dies. “Is it a painful way to die?” I asked. “It can be,” he replied. I told him that the surgery option would not
happen for sure. “Let’s just get the
test done and go from there,” he said. I
agreed. He put some type of “glue” on
the gash on Gram’s forehead where she had the golf-ball sized lump and left the
room.
We spend 3 hours in the ER.
Gram slept a little at first.
When she came back from the test, though, she was awake, talkative and
raring to go. Michelle and I had a nice
conversation while waiting for the test results and occasionally Gram would
interject her own conversation – mostly gibberish. She was so pleasant. Even though I was scared, I very much enjoyed
spending the time with both of them.
The doctor came in to tell us that the results of the CT
scan were fine; that there was no bleeding or injury to the head or neck. The only abnormality was the significant
brain shrinkage that is characteristic of Dementia. A huge sigh of relief ensued. Michelle and I asked if we could take Gram
back in her car instead of waiting for a wheelchair van (which could take
hours). The doctor said we could as long
as we felt we could handle getting her in and out of the car. We did.
Gram was very impatient while we waited for Michelle to pull her car up
to the entrance. She was then hesitant
to get into the car, until Michelle got in first. I guess she felt it was ok then.
When we arrived back at Manor Care, I was touched to see a
wheelchair in the lobby with a sign that said, For Gram Berberich, Michael. How kind of them to make sure to bring
a wheelchair upstairs for us. Of course,
Michelle and I completely missed it at first and “stole” someone else’s
wheelchair that was left at the door. We’d
use it just to get Gram downstairs then bring it back. When we saw the one with the note, we got Gram
up and plopped her down in that one and made our way.
Downstairs, her “fan club” was waiting for
her as we wheeled toward the nurse’s station – several nurses and aides, who
were anxiously awaiting her return and so happy to see that she was ok. Gram was ready for them, too. She was looking for the “party.” We surmised that she would probably be up
most of the night. She was.
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