Our Phoenix

in

Mom seems to have overcome the hip fracture and is now walking quite well (with walker when she remembers it) and pain free.  Her pneumonia appears to have abated after three rounds of increasing strength levels of antibiotics. Consequently the coughing is less and lordy be...the voice is emerging.  No more whispering for Hazel.  Though the words occasionally croak out, conversing with Mom is easier, and it must be less frustrating for her as well. Swallowing is improving, too. The swallowing therapist observed Mom and me at coffee yesterday as Mom sipped the thickened coffee, ate raspberries, and drank UNthickened water--a test of the swallowing/coughing connection.  Though Mom coughed with the unthickened water, she was able to keep it under control.  This morning the two will be eating a "regular" breakfast together (eggs and a bit of toast?) and if she observes improvement, the therapist will perhaps move Mom's food texture and drink consistency back into the "normal" range.

PT?  Well, after meeting with the head gal, it appears that Mom's goals are less daunting than I'd anticipated:

  • bathroom use without assistance
  • ability to dress with assistance
  • be more independent--rise and use walker to move at will
  • remember to push off with arms when standing from bed or chair
  • move into and out of chair with ease
  • carry things (as in coffee cup)
  • move to bath room and shower with assistance

So there it is...most of these Mom's nearly mastered.  When she does, she'll be cleared to move.  And that leads to our next question--move where?

Were Mom's head clearer, no doubt she'd be back at her apartment.  Yet she's immersed in such a routine of care at rehab that yesterday as she looked across the parking lot at the apartment complex, she pointed and asked," What's that over there?"

I was a bit puzzled, since the building in question had previously been so obvious to her as the one that held her apartment. "Well, that's Bancroft Creek," I said, intentionally leaving out where your apartment is located.

 "Oh?" she said.

"Yes," I answered, "They're apartments."

"Well," she responded, "where am I?"

"Right now you're in rehab."

"I am?" she asked.

"Yep, you broke your hip and are learning to walk here."  She looked at me a bit incredulous.

The sunny apartment at Bancroft Creek is a favorite spot for all of us.  Its south-facing windows overlook a creek, deer often wander about, and an open window can allow the breeze (a breath of fresh air) into the apartment.  Move out of that space?  Seriously?

I think we all know that, were Mom to return to the apartment, the environment would be comforting with Mom's furniture about her, though a degree of adjustment would be needed for that comfort to return.  But what we fear is that it isn't the safest place for her--"well-checks" occur only several times a day.  Were Mom to need assistance, she would not remember to push the help button located on her wrist.

And it's becoming more obvious to me that a regular room with Mom's own furniture in it within the care facility would eventually feel comforting as well.  A routine would be established, Mom would be surrounded by a caring staff, etc.  BUT what gnaws at me is the light, the view, the very breath within the room.

I plan to speak with the staff today or next week about possibilities.  I want to see what a room is like, understand specifically what type of care, PT, etc. might be available.

There are still times when the old Hazel emerges.  One minute she's amazed that she's not in her apartment (but rather at rehab), and the next she's in the role of mother, giving advice:

As usual, Mom's and my conversations during our afternoons together often end up concerning what's for dinner at the Johnson's.  Yesterday was no different, and when I mentioned I was preparing a pot roast, Mom asked, "What time is it?"  "Nearly 4:00," I said.  She looked at me and urged, "Well, you'd better get to it then."!!!  Had to laugh as I shook my head and scooted out the door.