"We think she has had a stroke. Do you want to send her to the hospital?" No, I don't want her sent to the hospital again. That's where we went the last time this happened and after they had stuck her 14 times trying to get in the IV, I had to leave the room. And all of that for the Dr to tell me that she had suffered yet another TIA, and even though this one didn't take her life, each one was like the rumbling of a volcano before the big eruption. So we had another rumbling. This one struck her right side causing her right leg and arm to flop around uselessly. No grip and no support to stand well.
I made the decision to stay with her that night. She moaned constantly. "Mom, where does it hurt?" She complains of pain in her left rib area. During the wee hours of the morning she calls for her mom. I tell her that her mom is in heaven. This is an unbelievable revelation.
"Why can't I feel my arm?"
Because you've had a stroke.
"Why can't I remember that?"
Because a few years ago you suffered a virus that took your memory.
"How long have I been out of it?"
Four years.
"Where's my family?" I begin with myself and my siblings then tell her about Dad then to all of her relatives who have died. We move on to the grandchildren and their children. "You said Bob died 10 years ago but I've been out of it for 4 years. Why can't I remember Bob dying?" What's this? Are we having a lucid conversation after years of repetitious story-telling? I sleep a total of 3 interrupted hours.
The next morning X-rays were taken to see if there was some breakage. The X-rays come back that afternoon saying all is well.
My blessed husband stays with Mom while I go home in the early afternoon to try to sleep. I try, but I only get 3 hours. When I return, Deke goes home to prepare to teach my adult Sunday School class in the morning. Mom and I begin another night together. I drag the sofa cushion onto the floor and sleep in my clothes again. The moaning starts at 10:00PM. At midnight-thirty, she screams, "Something's in bed with me!" I soon figure out that it's her paralyzed arm. There's no feeling in it. She continues in her agitated state, and then I hear her say, "OH, help me. I want to do the right thing."
"What is it Mom?" She has to use the commode. Fortunately, the nurses had brought in a portable unit. I pull the nurse's call cord and an hour later we have Mom in bed again.
"Why can't I feel my arm? What's wrong with my leg? Where are you, Mom? I want my mom."
The next morning we all come to the conclusion that she can no longer stay in assisted living. However, we'll keep this room on the chance that physical therapy will bring her around. We begin the paperwork, and by 3:00PM everything is ready to take Mom to "the other side." I look around her room for what may be the last time and am amazed that tears well up in my eyes. We pass 5 or 6 residents playing cards, but I can hardly see them through my tears. We pass through the double doors into the regular nursing home side and my heart falls. It's not carpeted, it's not homey, it's not bright nor cheery. I push Mom in the wheelchair into her new room and am greeted by the blasting of her roommate's TV. The curtain is drawn between the beds, much like hospital rooms of old. It takes me about 2 minutes to put her clothes in her closet and arrange her toiletries. The orderly brings in Mom's platform rocker and we get her situated. She starts rocking. Her eyes are closed and she has that perpetual smile on her face. I sit opposite her in the wheelchair with tears running down my face. I try to stop, but it feels like that feeling when I dropped off my kids for the first day of school. But this is my mom, and we've switched rolls.
The only thing that sustains me is the conversation I had with the Lord just after Mom had her stroke. I was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror when I said out loud, "Lord, help me. I don't know what to do."
It was that still small voice that said to me, "Yes, you do."
I answered, "I do?"
Quite clearly He said, "Trust Me." I almost laughed out loud. Why, that's so simple. Of course that's what I need to do. I don't need to know "the plan." I need to trust Him. So I'll follow the Jones family verse that has taken us through at least 2 generations: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight."
