After 20 years in the fast-lane life of Washington, D.C. (the final 10 years I had my own successful political consulting firm), I came home to Ohio for my mom's bladder suspension operation. That was 5 years ago this past April. My dad, who already had two hip replacements, fell while working in the yard while I had mom at the hospital for pre-admission testing. He didn't tell us until the next day (it was bothering him, he confessed and wanted treatment). The three of us sat in an emergency room for most of a day--my mom's birthday (the Saturday before her Monday operation). His leg was broken. Due to his age they decided not to cast it.

Monday came. I had my dad two blocks away at his orthopedic doctor with my brother. Mom's operation didn't go correctly. It was a bloody operation and something happened causing them not to give her blood (she had given her own blood for this need ahead of time). I'm not sure what all happened. I've wondered if she was given too much codeine that evening. She may have been stroking (mini/cluster strokes--one of her problems since). She became, for the first time, completely confused.

It was a long, long, long night (she seemed wired). Fortunately, I had pre-arranged to stay with her at the hospital (a special room) for the duration, so I was at her side every moment, trying to calm her and reassure her. I remember being so unprepared to see my strong as steel, sharp as a tack, mother in that state of mind. I was thrown and afraid. I was afraid (i.e. terrified) she would never be the same again. She never was.

So many things have happened since that day, far too many to write about. Dad is now 90, legally blind, is medicated as borderline for a pacemaker, battles a stomach ulcer, slow and a little unsteady, but able to use a walker and remain a little independent. Mom is fully dependent (too much to list). We have the good days and bad days (you know what I mean).

I am often asked how I can do this. A friend I hadn't talked to in 4 years called this past week. Early in the conversation she asked if I could meet her for lunch one day. "No way!," I laughed (pleasantly--she had no idea what she was asking of me). She quickly suggested, "You should dump your parents in a nice nursing home and get on with your life." My friend lost her mother to cancer 10 years ago (they were very close). I explained that I know each day may be the last day, "how precious this time together is--how I treasure every moment. I can go out to lunch anytime, but I won't be able to do this very long," I said. "I'm not having trouble coping with being here, I'm more concerned about how I'll cope with their deaths when I won't be able to be with them," I added. "Oh," she said. "I see. You're right. I would give anything to have time with my mom." (BINGO!)

As difficult as caretaking is sometimes - caretakers have been given precious time that many people deeply lament NOT getting.

Elaine Hartman (lehdoll@ix.netcom.com)
http://www.netcom.com/~lehdoll/caretaker1.html

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