Saturday 08-21-2010

Saturday 08-21-2010

I took my last prednisone for this cycle of chemotherapy yesterday morning. My ankles are still swollen but hopefully not for much longer. I don't feel too bad today, just a little tired. Looking forward to tomorrow.

**

Today we went to see my mother at the nursing home. She fell last week (see previous entry) and broke her right arm. Since she can't take care of herself, she's gone to the home to heal up and get the help she needs for daily living.


After she heals, the plan is for rehab and then to get her back home.

Here's the story:

Jori is nice enough to watch our kids so we can visit my mom. It's strange to be without both of our kids on the ride over. It's about 30 miles and Julie and I are anxious to see my mom, but a little bit apprehensive as well.

50+ years ago the nursing Home was the site of the Harris Hospital, although the original building is long gone. Some of my older brothers and sisters were born there. At some point a new hospital was built across town (so long ago that its replacement is going up now) and the Harris became the Mendota Lutheran Home. It has grown and grown and grown since then. It now takes up almost an entire city block.

My father's mother lived there for some time before her death. She died there in 1978... or 1979. I had seen her there shortly before she died. That was the last time before today that I had been in the building. 31 or 32 years ago.... where did the time go? And I moved away in about 1981 or so.

We enter the building and Julie's first comment is about how clean and nice it is. Thank God (Lutherans, God, get it?) for that. We ask directions and find out we came in the wrong entrance and have to traipse through the entire, sprawling complex to find her. There are residents sitting in common areas, some asleep, some conversing. We are directed to a room with a Dorothy C, but the last name on the door is wrong... someone else stops to help and finally we find her room.

When we enter, my mom is sleeping in her bed. There is a bruise on the right side of her face from when she fell and it makes both Julie and I cringe. Her arm is in a sling and she has a call button strapped to her blouse. We look around the room. Spacious, spartan, and clean. She has a roommate but she's not in the room now. Mom wakes up.

We both say hello and I give her a kiss. We give her a flower we stopped to buy for her on the way.

Her shoulder is bothering her and she's on painkillers, which have her somewhat confused. She asks about Austin and Tessa and others family members. We have a nice talk and I think she's happy to see us. She asks how my treatment is going.

After a while, she has us page an aide to help her go to the washroom. When the aide opens the door to the washroom she finds mom's roommate tending to some business. Eventually mom uses the washroom. The aide brings her back to her bed. The aide asks if mom will have a tray or eat with the others as it's just about lunch time. Mom's not sure. She asks who's sponsoring the dinner.

A short time later, the aide wheels her to the dining room as grace is said over the PA system. We follow behind. Her table has 2 other ladies and one familiar looking man. As they are waiting to be served, I speak with mom's dinner guests while Julie talks with my mom.

My mom seems uncomfortable. Out of her element. Not in her own dining room. Not in control. This is new to her but given time I'm sure she'll adjust. She has some work ahead of her to get back on her feet. Socializing with other residents would help her pass the time.

Suddenly it occurs to me. "Are you Paul S?" I ask. His eyes light up. "Yes, I am!" "I used to play basketball with your daughter Denise in your driveway" I tell him. Denise S schooled me (and every one else I knew) when it came to basketball. She was what we called a tomboy in my day, and she definitely had game. The S'es had THE best driveway/backboard setup in the neighborhood, Paul had seen to that.

We talk about Denise and his other children, where they are and what they're doing. Paul (where are my manners? I should call him Mr. S) and his family had lived 2 blocks from us when I was growing up. I always remembered him as a quiet, nearly silent, man, with an ever present smile on his face. And there's no mistaking the face or the smile, even 40 odd years later.

One of the other ladies turns out to be the other Dorothy C, whose room we'd mistaken for my mom's. She asks if I played baseball. I tell her that was my brother Dave. I was a good spectator, that was about it (anyone picking up on a theme here? I was NO GOOD at sports!).

Her son is Dan, she says. I remember him, a legendary cross country runner when I was about 15 or so. This was before the running craze started, really. This guy ran and ran and ran and ran. He'd run past our house. Then two hours later you'd be on the other side of town and you'd see him, still running. This was all the time. He never seemed to stop running.

"Dan had to get a metal plate put in his foot".

OK, so maybe now he's stopped running.

The other lady is Lois, my mother's cousin. Always friendly and outgoing, she outlived 2 husbands. She rattles off chapter and verse where each of her children are and what they're doing. Now legally blind, she seems well adjusted nonetheless.

One of the wait staff asks if we are going to stay to eat. Lois tells us it's only $5.50 a plate and it's delicious. We opt out. I tell them that it was like old home week but that we have to be going. We say goodbye and depart.

I imagine this is how my mom felt when she dropped me off for my first day of Kindergarten.

In 1963.