Sleeping 9/5/15
I could see three residents were lounging outside today as I drove in--two of them, including Mom, were dozing. Though the day was warm and humid, most residents don't seem to mind the heat and if possible, like to be outside. Some, like Mom, like to walk if they can. A year ago she'd been walking around the healthcare complex. Her goal was four times around, and she figured that was about a mile. With her ever-present CD player and headset, sunglasses, and hat, Mom was a fixture in the late afternoon as she navigated the winding sidewalk. But that was before the fall, before the aging process began overtaking her more rapidly. Her fall last November broke her sacrum, and she spent around 10 days in the hospital and 8 weeks in rehab. She remembers little of that time, and I'm so thankful, since those weeks were painful weeks--extremely painful. Initially just lying with her head raised in the hospital bed was excruciating, and because the biggest fear was the onset of pneumonia, Mom was forced to sit upright in a chair. I had to leave the room as Mom pleaded, "Oh please, oh please," indicating she wanted to be flat on her back again in bed. It seemed cruel to place her in that chair, and to listen to her cries was nearly more than I could take. But our daughter Sarah, a PA who deals with issues such as Mom was having, said, "Mom, Oma won't remember any of this anyway. She needs to be upright a bit and she won't remember the pain."
How right Sarah was. As Mom and I drank coffee today, the memory of having had that pain is gone. Though she does remember being in rehab, she's forgotten some of the tougher days, and for that, I'm so thankful. As I looked at her today at the table with coffee cup in hand, I reminded her of the day at rehab when I rejoiced in the fact she was sitting with one knee over the other--a position that was painfree, one that indicated she was healing. For a 92-year-old to bounce back from such a fall was quite an accomplishment--one that personifies her feistiness.
But now the fog of aging is overtaking her with increasing density. To be sure, her memory is failing, but now her physicality is taking a rather dramatic nosedive. The slow gait, the panting breaths, the long naps...the aging. Yet, how wonderful it's painfree.
One of the staff took me aside today and shared that Mom had been in bed asleep at 7:30 last night. I told her that didn't surprise me and that I thought she'd gone to bed in the past without even eating dinner. The staff member seemed rather surprised I wasn't more startled, I think, but I told her I thought Mom was following aging's natural process and sleeping more. "How nice you're able to be on this journey with her," the gal said. And I guess that's what this is--a journey. I hope when I'm on that journey, I have someone nearby to hold my hand, as I hold Mom's.