Part One
On July 12 at 10:15a.m., my mother pivoted in her kitchen. She was reaching to pour some milk into a bowl of cereal. She lost her balance and fell. She heard the bone break when she hit. She was on the floor for over 3 hours. Her faithful yorkie was trapped outside in the garage. Had it not been for the dog groomer arriving that afternoon, she would have been there much longer. Luckily, my mother had unlocked the door that morning. Once Irene, the groomer, got in the house, she got the phone for my mother. My mother called me and said, "I think I've done it this time."

My mother's health problems go back 10 years. She was a critical care nurse supervising a minor surgical procedures department in Oklahoma. She lived alone by choice. She existed on coffee and cigarettes. Her dog was her faithful companion. She complained of a chronic back ache. Her physician of 10 years did nothing. She complained of a cut on her big toe not healing. Her physician did nothing. The pain got so bad that she admitted herself into the psychiatric ward of a local hospital. Finally, somebody noticed her toe was getting worse. It would later be determined that her circulation below the waist was failing. She had an aortic femoral bypass and had graphs installed. During the surgery, the oxygen level to my mother was not monitored. Her retina detached in her right eye and she was blinded. This once proud woman who hoped to go to college when she retired was now without her full sight.

Once out of the hospital, she returned to work. She continued to work in the critical care area and was good with her patients. Several years went by. Winter came and she was out shoveling snow. It seems she could not wait for my husband and me to get there to help. She felt a twinge of pain in her back. This was the beginning of her graphs failing. She waited so long before giving in to the pain this time that upon her admission to the hospital, a walnut sized blood clot was in her left thigh. Surgeons told me she would probably lose the leg. I was 3 months pregnant with my first child and trying to still teach junior high. She came through the restructuring of the graphs but ended up on the ventilator. She had always threatened me that she would haunt me for life if I ever let anyone put her on the ventilator. They gradually weaned her off. Her oxygen levels plummeted. She was losing conciousness. They called me to go to the hospital on a Sunday night. I was her power of attorney. They said I had to sign papers to put her back on the ventilator. She was not aware of her surroundings. I refused. The doctor on call went in and screamed at my mother. He ranted. He raved. Then he came out and said she had come to long enough to agree to go back on the ventilator. I think he lied.

She came through this ordeal and was moving closer to retirement. She was enjoying her grandson. She had pain again. Her physician of many years said it was arthritis. She had burning urination. She had some blood traces in her urine. Her back hurt. By the time she got to a urologist, her left kidney was destroyed. Its level of functioning was less than 20 percent. She had it removed on July 6, 1993. She stroked the night of the surgery. I found her the next morning. Her left side was paralyzed. Her face was slack. She was drooling. The nurses had put her breakfast tray in front of her. They ignored her. Her urologist followed me in the room. He explained that she had stroked. I uttered some profanity and began another vigil at my mother's side. She was moved to a second hospital with a rehab facility. She stroked 2 more times. She bled into her brain. They told me she was dying. She lost her speech. They told me she was dying. She was incontinent. They told me she was dying. She was afraid. They told me she was dying. She came back. This time she was much weaker, more beaten down and less full of hope. She went home to her house, her independence and to what would become her prison. She was now housebound. She was dependent on others. I am a little over a mile away. She was on my mind constantly. We did our own version of meals on wheels. We hired help for doctor's appointments. We tried to include her in family gatherings. Her desperation grew. Her bitterness flourished. Her sense of isolation increased.

Then, she fell. We transported her to one of the nation's top 100 hospitals here in Oklahoma City. She was on a backboard for 2 hours with a fractured left hip. She was in the emergency room with the er physician screaming that the lady in 7 was getting bed sores for over 7 hours before getting to her room. I offered to clean the room. This, according to those present, was the hold up. That and the fact that the nurses were playing telephone tag before and after report.

She had surgery on Saturday, July 13. She came through it okay. She was moved to rehab. They were cold, antagonistic and insensitive. Their motto was to anger is to motivate. They notified me that she needed to go to a skilled care facility. She did not have weight bearing status on her left hip yet and therefore they felt they had done all that they could do. I had less than 72 hours to find a facility. You see, Mercy needed the bed.

Now, 6 weeks later, she has yet to lay down much if any new bone on her fracture. She is in constant pain. She cannot walk. We have hired outside help to come in daily to help with common personal hygiene needs. We got a Stephens Minister from our church. I have notified all her friends and asked for cards. We got her a new roommate. I try to take my 2 sons up at least 3 times a week. My older boy, Eric who is almost 4, started having nightmares about grandma. We backed off on his visits. My mother says the food is no good. She waits for me to get there and then asks for the bedpan. She waits for me to get there and asks for the toothbrush. She calls and wants to know if I can bring fresh fruit from the store. Then she says it is no good. I am the only family she has. My brother left home when he was 18. He never looked back. My husband travels. I have two kids. My youngest is just 4 months old. I feel like I am a thousand years old. I snap at my 4 year old for stupid things. I can't sleep. I either binge or don't eat at all. My left shoulder radiates pain down the left side of my body. Every move I make is tempered by the fact I have to make sure that my mother is okay. I'm tired. New x-rays have been ordered in 2 weeks to see if she is laying down any more bone. If she is, then she can begin to put weight on her left leg. In the meantime, I do her bills. I take care of her house. We had to sell her car. I am afraid of possibly having to sell her house if we exceed her benefit amounts for skilled care facility stays. I wish I would win the lottery. I would use it all to take care of her in her own home. We had to put her dog to sleep. My oldest son still wants to know why Ayla had to go to doggie heaven.

My mother's pain in constant. The depression is like a blanket of darkness which envelopes her soul and her being. She was on Zoloft. They took her off of it. I'm not sure why. She is scared. She cries but refuses to do so in front of me because she says she is my mother. What might have been. What could have been. What can I do? Where can I go from here? I pray sometimes that she would just go to sleep. Then she wouldn't hurt any more. I don't want her to hurt any more. I don't want her to be scared. I want her to be free. I want her to have what could have been. I want her to be what might have been. I still want for my life what could still be. I want to enjoy my family. I want to get rid of the guilt. I want things to be different. I want to sleep free from the demons that dance in my head shouting at me that I could have and should have done more.

Claudia F. Kaestner
Liv4mtns@gnn.com

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