In the Nursing Home

Image by Tonyç via FlickrIn the Nursing Home: Yesterday my mother moved from the hospital to a skilled nursing facility, also known as "the nursing home." The place she's at is a very good facility, with a great reputation. But, of course, this is what she has always feared, and what I have always dreaded. For someone as independent and stubborn as my mother, it's like putting a wild animal in a cage. This morning, I learned that during her first night there, she threw a table (and broke it); she threw a water pitcher at an aide; she has been "verbally abusive"; and she is refusing to take her medication.

While I was standing at the nursing station hearing about all this, I could see her sitting in a lounge, by herself, still in her pajamas. She was leaning down, with her hands doing something near her feet. I walked over and said "good morning." She was happy to see me, and said she had had a horrible night. She said that she was afraid that the world had ended... she wanted me to take her out of there, to see her dogs (she only has one dog)... Her leg was bleeding, near her ankle; it looked as if she had run into something... I told her I loved her, and that I'd be back later, and I kissed her, and left. One of the nurses had come over, and was working on cleaning up and bandaging her leg. She told me to go on to work, and to let them take care of her.

Just under two weeks ago, she was living in her own house with her dog. She wasn't living her life the way I would have wanted her to (she had no friends, was at war with her neighbors, did not really eat properly, and would not let anyone other than me come into her house to help her), but it was her life, and she had always gone her own way, and to hell with what anybody thought about it. I had always hoped that she would one day just have a merciful, and fatal, fast heart attack, so that we would never have to face this whole nursing home question. I am so very sorry it didn't happen that way.