The morning from hell

I hadn't been up long and only had one cup of coffee in me when Dad announced that we needed to check on Mom, assist her to the potty, get her breakfast ready, and perpare for the visit with the Home Health nurses. So we go back to the bedroom and discover that Mom has already gone to the potty. 2, not just 1. In the bed. In her nightclothes. Leaking out all over the toweling underneath her as well as the sheets and blankets. In fact, she somehow managed to get it all over both of her hands, smeared everywhere.

Cleaning up this sort of job would normally be a nightmare. However, Mom's horrendous attitude made it much, much worse. She was not in her right mind, refused to believe that she had pooped in the bed, was mortified that we were trying to expose her body by taking her clothes off, and fighting us every step of the way. For instance, when I tried to lift her foot off the bed a couple of inches so I could slide her pajama bottoms off, she was firmly pushing her foot downward, grinding it into the bed to try to prevent my succcess. My parents jointly taught my brother and me not to curse — even mild expletives such as "Darn!" were prohibited in the household — but this morning, multiple, "Damn!"s were issuing from my mother's mouth, much to my surprise. Somehow, though all of her fighting and cursing, we managed to wrestle her pajama bottoms off her, remove the heavily-soiled disposable underware, and clean up her front-side the best we could.

When my father tried to get her to roll over so he could clean her backside, she snarled, "Damn you!" at him with intent that dripped of poison. At one point, she even threatened to kick him so hard it would cripple him again if he touched her. We finally reached an impasse and could get no further with her. I quietly pulled Dad out of the room and told him that we were not going to be able to handle this situation ourselves, and reminded him that the Home Health professionals would know better how to handle it. It was still about an hour before they were scheduled to arrive, and I hated leaving my own mother to wallow in her mess, but we had no choice under the circumstances. I knew that my mother wasn't in her right mind that morning, but her behavior and words hurt just the same.

I met the Home Health nurses on the front porch and apprised them of the situation inside, with much apology. They assured me it was okay and that they would deal with it. At first, Mom was as nasty with them as she had been with Dad and me, but she began to calm down when they started working with her. They finished cleaning up the front of her body and managed to get her rolled over onto her side. She started to get nasty again when they began wiping the poop off her bottom and asked what they thought they were doing. The head nurse calmly told her they were wiping the poop. Mom flatly stated that the poop wasn't hers. The nurse asked her whose poop she thought it was. Mom said it must be "that other woman's poop," making a reference to the other nurse that was in the room. The nurse assured Mom that it needed to be cleaned off, wherever it came from. So, Mom finally began to cooperate. I had clean sheets handy, as well as clean pillowcases, pajamas, a fresh pair of disposable underwear, clean toweling to put underneath Mom, and a clean blanket. The nurses got Mom off the bed so I could change the linens, then got her situated again.

The head nurse instructed her junior to check Mom's vitals (blood pressure, pulse rate, temperature, and oxygen level) and nodded to me to leave the room. She followed and we sat down in the den with Dad, who was sitting quietly in his recliner, arms folded across his chest, obviously deep in thought.

The nurse stated the obvious, that this sort of situation could not continue, and that we needed to seek more intensive care for Mom. Her recommendation was short-term, in-home Hospice care, providing that the doctor approved. She said that the Hospice care would provide for someone to visit five days a week on a regular basis, rather than the two or three days that Home Health professionals would be able to visit. Dad said that we would think about it and let her know. Late in the afternoon, the nurse called and said that the doctor approved her recommendation of Hospice assistance and Dad's decision was the only thing remaining. Had the decision been left to me, I would have agreed immediately.  *sigh*



You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."
That is how I am beginning to feel here, dealing with layer-upon-layer of issues...  







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