My 91 year old Mama has been really wobbly this past week and has fallen numerous times despite being required to use her walker. Mostly, she has sustained skin tears on her elbows though a fall two days ago led to significant pain to her right ribs. Last night, she fell again, cutting the back of her head. It bought her a trip to the same ER that I had just vacated a few weeks ago.
I’ve just spent the night with her in that ER. Her initial care went fairly quickly when we did get evaluated. Her head scan was normal. Her head laceration stapled but multiple rib fractures and decreased kidney function put the kibosh on going home. We’ve waited all night to be admitted to a room.
In the meantime, her confusion has ramped up to a comically cosmic level. The repetitive questions linger only momentarily in the air before we revisit them. Every few minutes her mind resets and she’s ready once again to get up and move on. She can’t understand why we aren’t leaving; why it is taking so long; why nobody is coming in to tell us what is happening: Where are we? Why are we? Which one of us is sick? Her irritation with me and, mine with her, circles around us as we both descend further into sleep deprivation.
Then there’s her IV. Its flow is dependent on a straight arm yet she has an almost pathological need to clasp her hands together across her belly. This breaks up our confusing question parade every few minutes by the less than musical bleep of the IV pump and the compelling repositioning of her bent arm. “Why does she need to keep it straight?” She adds to our endless queries. When she does fall asleep, she wakes herself up talking in her sleep.
To add to the circus, the IV fluid causes us to rise every half hour to use the bedside commode. A commode that has been jerry rigged so that the basin beneath it does not fit properly. This, in due time, causes it to fall to the floor splattering its contents hither and yon. Really!? The IV also serves to prove the ‘poor kidney function’ theory null and void, pun intended.
When at last she rests, I put my head down on the side rail to close my own eyes. A second later, she wakes up and says with surprise, “Oh are we in the same place? I must have slept through the whole night!”
The side rail on which I have hung my head is shaking with my cry laughing as we start the revolving questions, yet again.
It has only been 12 hours. How much longer could it possibly be?
Fearfully and wonderfully made,
Anne in the ER
October 17, 2022
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 