What to do until the doctor comes.

  Actually, nothing.
 
       Mom's long term care insurance turned out to be not so long-term...actually 24 months.  So, it was decision time.  She couldn't rehab;  she didn't qualify for skilled nursing.  So, home we came.

       I came up with a list.  Things we need:
             1.  a doctor
             2 through 100.  Help
Oddly enough, finding a doctor was relatively easy.   I worried because, if you don't already know this,  many physicians groups will not take medicare patients.  That can be a huge issue.  But if you have a good friend who is a hospice nurse (and I do; love you, Caroline), you find that there are services out there.  I found a service that (gasp) makes house calls.  Yes, it can be pricey.  But balanced against the problem of getting Mom to and from an office, waiting eons to be seen, dealing with associated travel issues, it was worth every penny.  Mom's doctor  was her advocate.  He made it clear that his priority was her needs, her health.  He was a listener.   That was an enormous bonus.

      Help, well there's help and than there's help.  

Changes

      My mother changed gradually.  I mostly ignored the warning signs, so to me, it was like I woke up one day and I was suddenly "in charge."  In retrospect, she had become more and more dependent on me for any decision.  Of course that did not mean that she accepted with grace.  Second guessing was a fact of my existence.  

     She was afraid for me to leave the house. (Never mind, leave the country.)  She thought I spent too much money.  (I do.)  She thought my friends were "fast."  (Well, not as fast as they used to be.)  It was a balancing act for sure.  The Diva gene came to the forefront.  But, after a hospital stay, she ended up in a rehabilitation unit with the hope that she would gain some strength.  But, whether she was unable or just unwilling, that was not so successful.  I was afraid for her to come home.  we ended up in an assisted living facility that was willing to continue some physical therapy.  Happy days, right?

   I learned quickly that I had made two mistakes:  1) I bought her a cell phone;  2) I put my number on speed dial.  I also realized that no matter how nice the facility, no matter how competent the staff, it is absolutely necessary to be present and involved in the life there.  Yes, I drove over there at 4 in the morning in response to mother's call.  Remember that Diva thing?  Yes, I took a call, sitting on a tour bus in Portugal from a furious Frances.  I had neglected to leave her money to go to Yogurt Mountain.   (I didn't know that she wanted to GO to Yogurt Mountain.)   But, as she told me later, my son stepped in and gave her 100$. "And, he said that I don't even have to pay him back."

     The point in all this, for those of you who may be looking forward to this experience is this.
          1)  It is a fact.  If everyone lives long enough, the child becomes the parent.
          2) Whether Mom (or Dad) is living in the same house or in a facility, it is imperative that you
               are present.
          3)  Patience is a virtue.  Her fear is real, don't dismiss it.  This is the hardest.
          4)  And finally,   you cannot delegate love and concern

Look Back

   In 2003, I realized that my formidable mother was losing some of her power.  Like her own mother, she was seeing the onslaught of macular degeneration.  I knew that the car keys had to go.  The problem was the yellow streak down my back.  Being an only child has both perks and pitfalls, the biggest of the latter being that there was no-one to put in then line of fire.  It was summer, so with my usual decisiveness, I decided to go visit a friend at the beach.  The inevitable phone call came from my son.

        "Mom, you know that fence at Dr. Heros' office? Well, you own a piece of it."  Yes, mom had been taking her sister-in-law to the dentist and had hit the gas instead of the brake.  He  felt very guilty ratting out his grandmother, but he also was not going to be the bad guy here either.  

   "What are you going to do?" 

     A fence post (a steel one) had  taken out the windshield.  Their plan was to get it repaired before I found out.   So at 4 A.M.  the next morning I started the 10 hour drive home, hoping to grow a backbone on the way.   All it took was one look at the car.

     "Interesting new look for the car.  Where are your keys."  Three days later, I sold the car.  

      Not one to take things lying down, Mother made sure that I understood that if she couldn't drive, then I would have to do it.   The passive aggressive campaign was on.   One high point, or low point depending on your perspective,  was a trip to Dillard's for shoes.   Mom had tried on every possible pair and had decided on  style and color.  As we waited, an elderly lady, quite obviously older than mom, walked by, pausing to speak to mom.   As she walked away, mom, said. "I'll bet SHE drove HERSELF here."  I replied, "She probably did.  And I'll bet she doesn't realize that her blouse is wrong side out either."

      Enough said.