Look Out! Helter Skelter

 

"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide. Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride. Till I get to the bottom…"

I quote these lyric because I'm a huge Beatles fan.  Topping that Paul McCartney is performing not 15 miles away from my home and I'm not going.  One, because it's too damned expensive (love you Paul, but I don't have the cash) and two, because I'm exhausted.  It is because of that, despite the fact that my teen son suddenly said he wanted to go see Paul (could he have spoken up any sooner?), that I am about to crash and not spend a mountain of cash to see my idol.

They lyrics to the song though could describe the last 24 hours (give or take) in my life.

It starts off with the call that I received from the palliative care social worker yesterday afternoon with concerns about my mom's lack of eating.  There is real concern with her calorie count.  I arrange to have the next day off to go down to the hospital to try and get her to eat breakfast.  It is also arranged for me to do a video call with her that evening to try and get her to eat dinner.

The evening call is an utter flop.  My mom doesn't really open her eyes.  She doesn't see or hear me well (not due to technology).  I plead with her to try and eat.  I beg her to drink so that she gets back her strength.  She is incredibly lethargic and only says she'll try.  Then she seemingly goes back to sleep.

This morning, I got up at my regular time to walk, but then hurried to get on the road.  The sky was overcast and it started to pour as I headed south. There was heavy rain and lightning all the way down (so loud that I couldn't enjoy the podcast I had put on.)  However, when I arrived at the hospital just after 8, the rain had pretty much stopped.  (And the parking garage is pretty full.)

I checked in and went to her (new) room.  I had thought she was alone in the room, but turns out she did have a roommate in this smaller room.  She was fast asleep and though I tried to gently wake her, she did not stir.  When a nurse came in to prop her up a bit, she made some noise of discomfort, but did not wake. Nor did she wake when the doctor came in, along this a group of about 4 residents to check on her.

Since I had come on the advice the palliative care social worker, I called her and left a message that I was there.  Then I waited, holding my mom's hand and stroking her cheek; neither of which provoked any response.

Just after nine, the social worker and the palliative care doctor came up.  We sat in the room and discussed my mother.  They wanted to get a better feel for who she was.  I tried to be an open book on all things.  We spoke for a quite a while.  Despite our conversation and all that was going on with her roommate (doctors and nurses coming in and out), my mother did not really stir.  I have to say at this point, while I was glad I come and was reassured by speaking to the physician and social worker, I was feeling like I failing at my assigned task to getting her to eat.  When she did move a little, I would go to her side, but she would not seem to wake.

We had been talking for a good 20-30 minutes when my mother coughed herself to consciousness.  I use that term and not awake for a reason. She was speaking, but her eyes were still (mostly) closed and the conversation she was having with an unseen person (I'm guessing that her comments were aimed at my dad) made some sense (she seemed to be annoyed about not having breakfast ready and the laundry started) there was also quite a bit of nonsensical babbling that I was unable to decipher. I tried to get some clarity and keep her calm, but was not able to achieve this.  When she would settle down, I would go sit back and down and try and talk with the palliative team.  When she started talking again, I would get up.

It was another 20 minutes or so before she really woke.  The three of us stood by her bed and spoke to her.  She was appalled at the fact that it was 10:30 (there was an analog clock on the wall which she could obviously see and understand) and that she hadn't prepared or eaten breakfast.  She agitated and needed to get up to start her day.  She kept trying to get up and I told her she couldn't because she was in the hospital.  This did not go over well with her.  She seemed to have difficulty understanding that she was not at home.  She kept hearing voices (the roommate and the staff) and I tried to explain it to her.  The palliative team and I tried to get her to eat, but she was very picky (even more so than my son!)  The juice was thick (because it had a thickener in it to aid in her swallowing), it was not Tropicana and was not served in a real glass.  The eggs were cold (they had been brought out just after 8 and now it was after 10:30).  When the social worker suggested re-heating them, she balked.  Within an hour she went from being in a deep sleep to being very animated and opinionated.  And very loud.  She was sharing her thoughts and views (often with extreme sarcasm) in powerful voice.  During the next hour or so, she answer questions (often resulting in long stories) and did manage to get some applesauce down (not prepared as she would have liked it which launched into a long dialog into how hard it was to feed her family of three [my father, myself and her] due to likes/dislikes and allergies.)

The palliative team eventually left (they had been there for nearly 2 hours) and the nurse came in to check on my mom and give her some medication.  The pill was too large; even cut in half she didn't think she would be able to swallow it, so it was crushed into some applesauce, which brought us back to the diatribe on the taste and quality of food at the hospital.  

By now it was nearly noon and the nurse was going to change my mother (she was very unhappy that she had gotten applesauce on her gown), so I decided it was time to take a break and go see my father.  I promised my mother I would be back.

I did a quick Wawa run (because I hadn't eaten all day) and headed to my parents' house.  I did my best to present a clear picture of what my mother's health was.  That I had been unable to rouse her, but when she did wake she was not necessarily coherent, but alert.  I warned him that she had no filter and spoke with no censure.  Her speech could be hurtful and he and their caregiver needed to be aware of that and to try and not take it personally.  I think (hope) I was able to paint a clear picture of what to expect.  That life with my mom would be a roller coaster ride; not day by day, but hour by hour.

When I returned to the hospital, two nurses were changing my mom.  Her demeanor had changed somewhat.  She apologized to both nurses for being a difficult patient.  She was aware that she was in the hospital.  I think they had tried to get her to eat some lunch (without much luck) but said someone had actually given her a can of ginger ale and allowed her to open it and drink it.  (I hope that's true).  She asked for the cup of ice cream that had been left on her tray.  She ate it all, even though she said that the hospital had managed to ruin even ice cream.  She talked with the staff in the room and myself in a pleasant manner (which had been absent before) and I encouraged her to talk, which she did.  It is obvious that the past is clearer in her mind than the present, so that is what I encouraged her to talk about.  Although she could not remember names of some people, she did remember very clearly a trip we had taken to California over 50 years ago.  She was eager to talk to some of her friends on the phone (I texted several to tell them that it would be good to call after 3) and her room "observer" (see https://bfthsboringblog.blogspot.com/2022/06/exhausting-emotional-rollercoaster.html which explains this a bit) told her he would help her answer the phone.  When I left just before three, she was in good spirits.

The 6+ hours I spent with my mom WERE Helter Skelter.  "'I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you. Tell me, tell me, tell me, come on tell me the answer" describes how I feel and what I saw in my mother.  And Helter Skelter is exhausting to see and to live.

If you're at the McCartney concert tonight (or were, depending on when you read this), when (if?) he sings "Helter Skelter" think of me and know that as my mom continues to climb to the top of the slide, I'm trying to be prepared for the ride.