My mom fell last Saturday at 10 p.m.
We called the EMTs after my dad and I clearly could not get her up. My dad, who’s 89, stayed home while I drove to meet my mom, who’s 86, in the Emergency Room. When I was finally allowed to see her in the ER an hour later, a team of doctors and nurses greeted me. “Your mother is having a heart attack,” the attending ER doctor said. “Does she want an angioplasty?”
For the next hour, my mom and I talked out the question the health care team posed. My mom doesn’t have a history of heart problems and it seemed she only fell. She didn’t complain of chest pains and seemed only in distress from the fall. The staff had asked my mom prior to my arrival about her wishes and if she wanted the angioplasty. “Ask my daughter when she gets here,” my mom replied.
The cardiologist was very calm and kind as he described the procedure, discussed the risks and answered our questions. At midnight, I called my brother to have him listen as the cardiologist went through the procedure and risks again for us. After listening again, I shared that I thought we should decline. My mom agreed. My brother agreed. The cardiologist shared he would have made a similar decision for his mother.
Before leaving, the cardiologist offered to get my mom something to eat and drink. “I would love toast and tea,” she said. Her weariness, though, won over having something to eat and drink.
I then waited with my mom to be assigned and transferred to hospital room. I did what I could to stay awake, including following Olympic coverage on my phone. My mom regularly woke up to tell me to go home. At about 1 p.m., she woke up to ask me to order clothes for her on Amazon. Her new pants arrived on Monday, the day she returned home from the hospital.
Finally, at 3:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, I gave in and told my mom I would see her later. About 10 minutes after I left, the staff transported my mom to a room. Her charge nurse called me at 6 a.m. to let me know my mom’s room number and that she was resting comfortably. “I can order breakfast for her. What would she like?” she asked. “Toast, tea and scrambled eggs,” I said.
At 8 a.m., my mom called to tell me she was fine. “I’m eating my toast and scrambled eggs. It’s so good,” she said. “I hope I can get another cup of tea. That first cup was sooo good.”
Our ability to fulfill our caree’s littler wishes, like toast, tea and scrambled eggs, matter, too. It’s important for us to remember that. We make the little wishes happen every day which helps us make those big decisions about treatment wishes. We know because we listen and pay attention every day. It’s our amazing expertise.
What’s your expertise about your caree’s wishes?
(Image by Thanks for your Like • donations welcome from Pixabay)
Resources
You deserve an opportunity to tell your story to another who truly believes in the value of hearing it. I’d love to be your empathetic listener. Learn more and schedule your free two sessions with me.
Please join us on August 17, 18 and 19 at 1 p.m. ET for “Reflections on Caregiving During the Pandemic.” On August 17 and 18, family caregivers will join one-hour panel discussions to share their experiences during the pandemic. On August 19, we’ll convene for an hour to talk out solutions. RSVP.
Our Beginning Again Retreat will take place on August 6. Join us as you recover from your caree’s death and transition into what’s next. RSVP.
Create your Respite In Place, a space to call your own, with us on August 10 at 1 p.m. ET. RSVP.
Get our free resource, My Daily Healing Plan, to take care of your grief for your losses during and after your caregiving experience.