Mom’s Quick Response

FYI – Before I begin my blog this month, I want to apologize that I did not publish an October blog. The reason for this was that my 93-year-old mother fell, fracturing both of her femurs, the largest bones in the body. She required surgery and I was in Kearney, Nebraska with her at the time that I generally publish my blog. I know each of my readers will understand and I thank you for that. My mother came through the surgery well and is now residing at my sister’s home and doing much better than we had imagined. For this month’s blog, I wanted to share a bit more about Mom’s experience this last month. I will call this blog:

Mom’s Quick Response

Life can change in the blink of an eye, or in my mother’s case – in the second it takes to fall. One second standing upright in the dining room of the assisted living facility where she lives, the next second lying face down on the floor, excruciating pain in both legs.

Once the devastating diagnosis was made at the local hospital, Mom took her first helicopter ride (which she wishes she could remember) to Kearney where surgery was performed. The three of us children were with her; well, at least as close as the parking lot. We are so grateful that during this Covid-19 pandemic the Good Samaritan facility allowed at least one of us to be with her, as some facilities do not allow even that. Mom is close to being deaf, even with her hearing aids – another reason we would have been especially distraught had someone not been able to be with her. Having the most medical knowledge of the three of us, I was chosen to be the one that would meet with the surgeon after the surgery was completed.

We all knew the risks of putting our 93-year-old mother under anesthesia, but in this case there really was no other option. Without stabilizing the complete fractures of these two large bones, pain control would have been impossible, not to mention the chance of walking again.

We were relieved to find out that Mom’s vitals had remained stable throughout surgery and she was now in the recovery area. We took a deep breath and relaxed a bit, but we were far from being out of the woods yet. Dr. Wright likened putting Mom’s “old” bones back together as being similar to securing Styrofoam balls together with a toothpick. She would be on strict non-weight bearing status for at least eight weeks. This in itself could set her up for pneumonia, bedsores, and blood clots.

Mom, like 37.4% of those over the age of 90, has dementia. Her most prevalent symptom is short-term memory loss. Because of this we more often visit about things that she’s been a part of in the past rather than what she had to eat for dinner or who might have visited her yesterday.

As I sat beside Mom’s bed in the hospital, I would listen to nurses, PA’s, and practitioners come in to examine Mom. They would generally start with questions to assess her level of dementia at that particular time. Questions like: do you know who the president is, do you know what day it is, do you know where you are. Mom did better than I expected with these questions but one question always stumped her. When the first person to ask her what year it was, she paused for a good minute, then looked at me, smiled, and said, “They want to know what year it is.” Leaning down, I loudly said into her left ear, “Try 2020, Mom.”

“Grandpa Harley’s car license number!” she exclaimed without hesitation. I stared at Mom. Wow…I thought…amazing. Grandpa Harley (Mom’s father-in-law) had died over forty years ago and hadn’t driven a car for years before that.

Later on that day, a PA came in to see Mom. He began running through a gamut of questions similar to the ones the NP had asked that morning. He too, ended the questioning with, “Ruth, do you know what year it is?”

Mom paused again, turning her head toward me with raised eyebrows. I leaned over next to her ear and shouted, “What was Grandpa Harley’s car license number, Mom?”

“2020,” she said, again without hesitation.

I looked at the PA and grinned, “See,” I said, “you just don’t ask the right question.”

As I’ve mentioned before, I write my blogs to keep a family history for future generations and to often share a hope in Christ. What I have gleaned from this experience is that only God knows the time he will call us home. When it’s not our time, we don’t go – even when we are 93 years-old and having surgery. He’s in control and I’m happy to give it to Him because He does a much better job than I would.

Thanks for tagging along on my family adventures and until next month….keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.