Today was supposed to be a good day. I was prepared for our doctor's visit today. I had a list of questions, and a list of what's gone on since last month's visit. I just knew that today would be great. Boy was I wrong.
I got woke up at 4:00 this morning, for no apparent reason. And then, Donny put his hand in the small of my back and used that hand to push himself up. Talk about painful. He had no clue what he'd done.
Somewhere around 5:00, just as I was falling back asleep, a very pissed off husband came and demanded that I go out to the garage. (The garage is his hangout.) It seems that he had gone in the kitchen, turned on the light, and then turned on the garbage disposal. When there are two people using the living room for a bedroom this is a problem. I guess that Donny wanted me to defend him, but I wouldn't. The whole thing blew up out of proportion and my husband nearly left over it.
As if this doesn't make for a bad enough day, it got worse. We went to the doctor, and I asked my questions. The doctor says that Donny's in the end stage now. He also let us know that our insurance won't pay for a transplant. So there goes my last hope. We started discussing how to make the end better. He won't guess as to how long we've got, but I'm scared. I don't know what we'll do. It seems like life works really hard at kicking us while we're down.
My great-aunt suggested that I write to Montel and see if he'll help. She said that sometimes the talk shows will hook people up with doctors who are willing to do the surgery for free. I don't see how that can work when you have to wait for a liver to become available, but I'm desperate enough to try almost anything.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
High Ideals
I've been thinking about my recent posts. I'm beginning to think that maybe my expectations of nurses are too high. I have a hard time believing that it can't at least partially be me when there's so many bad experiences clumped together. Maybe I just need to make my expectations fit reality better.
I can tell you where I got my expectations from. They come from a hospital in the state of Washington. My husband had gone to visit his daughters and became ill. None of the people that he was staying with realized just how serious it was. I was at home in California, so I was of no help to Donny.
On April 18, 2007 my step-daughter had just gotten home from taking her husband to work and decided to check on her dad, since she was worried about him. She found it hard to get any sort of response from him and decided to take him to ER. She had a friend come help her get him out to the car. When they were in the driveway they noticed that he had turned blue.
The friend that was carrying Donny put him down on the ground. They felt for a pulse and there wasn't one. Donny's oldest daughter keeps up her certification in CPR because she volunteers at a summer camp for handicapped children. She administered CPR until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics (EMTs, whatever they were) took over doing CPR and got Donny breathing again.
I got a call while Donny was still being worked on by the paramedics telling me what had happened so far. It seems like it was no time until the girls were calling me from ER, and yet it seemed to have taken forever. The doctor's said that I needed to come right away, that Donny wasn't going to make it. They said they would try to keep him alive until I got there.
Before I hung up the phone I had a ticket for the next flight up that I had time to get to. (We live 2 hours from the airport.) I arrived in town and went straight to the hospital. He was in ICU by that time, and so I went and sat with him in his room.
The nurse let me know that there were no hard and fast visiting hours, that I could stay as much as I wanted. I chose to stay the night there. By the time that the girls went home the night shift was on. That first night nurse was so patient. He taught me how to read the monitor, so I could see what was happening. He told me what all the equipment was and why Donny needed it. He helped me understand.
Every nurse that we had after that was the same way. The second night that I was there I told the night nurse that if I asked too many questions to just let me know and I'd stop. He told me that there was no such thing as too many questions. Every nurse that Donny had was more than willing to explain what they were doing for him and why. It didn't matter if I had asked the same question before, they explained it again. One nurse looked so proud of me when Donny's youngest daughter asked her a questions about a medicine she was giving him, and I answered. I got it exactly right too.
Not only did the nurses do an outstanding job of explaining things, but they were friendly and professional too. They took the time to talk to me. When I would go to the cafeteria they didn't seem to mind reassuring me that if anything happened they would call my cell. They cared, and it showed.
This is the standard of nursing that I look for now. This is how I think that the ideal nurse should be. Yes, there were moments of frustration, and of miscommunication. But the overall standard was what I described. I don't want perfection, I want caring, understanding, and professionalism. Am I asking too much?
I can tell you where I got my expectations from. They come from a hospital in the state of Washington. My husband had gone to visit his daughters and became ill. None of the people that he was staying with realized just how serious it was. I was at home in California, so I was of no help to Donny.
On April 18, 2007 my step-daughter had just gotten home from taking her husband to work and decided to check on her dad, since she was worried about him. She found it hard to get any sort of response from him and decided to take him to ER. She had a friend come help her get him out to the car. When they were in the driveway they noticed that he had turned blue.
The friend that was carrying Donny put him down on the ground. They felt for a pulse and there wasn't one. Donny's oldest daughter keeps up her certification in CPR because she volunteers at a summer camp for handicapped children. She administered CPR until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics (EMTs, whatever they were) took over doing CPR and got Donny breathing again.
I got a call while Donny was still being worked on by the paramedics telling me what had happened so far. It seems like it was no time until the girls were calling me from ER, and yet it seemed to have taken forever. The doctor's said that I needed to come right away, that Donny wasn't going to make it. They said they would try to keep him alive until I got there.
Before I hung up the phone I had a ticket for the next flight up that I had time to get to. (We live 2 hours from the airport.) I arrived in town and went straight to the hospital. He was in ICU by that time, and so I went and sat with him in his room.
The nurse let me know that there were no hard and fast visiting hours, that I could stay as much as I wanted. I chose to stay the night there. By the time that the girls went home the night shift was on. That first night nurse was so patient. He taught me how to read the monitor, so I could see what was happening. He told me what all the equipment was and why Donny needed it. He helped me understand.
Every nurse that we had after that was the same way. The second night that I was there I told the night nurse that if I asked too many questions to just let me know and I'd stop. He told me that there was no such thing as too many questions. Every nurse that Donny had was more than willing to explain what they were doing for him and why. It didn't matter if I had asked the same question before, they explained it again. One nurse looked so proud of me when Donny's youngest daughter asked her a questions about a medicine she was giving him, and I answered. I got it exactly right too.
Not only did the nurses do an outstanding job of explaining things, but they were friendly and professional too. They took the time to talk to me. When I would go to the cafeteria they didn't seem to mind reassuring me that if anything happened they would call my cell. They cared, and it showed.
This is the standard of nursing that I look for now. This is how I think that the ideal nurse should be. Yes, there were moments of frustration, and of miscommunication. But the overall standard was what I described. I don't want perfection, I want caring, understanding, and professionalism. Am I asking too much?
Friday, October 12, 2007
Lessons In Frustration
Early this morning I received a call from the hospital. At first my heart went about three times it's normal speed, but I shouldn't have worried. Donny woke up today and he wanted to know when I'd be there to visit. One of the best calls I've ever gotten. I let the nurse know that I'd be there around 8:30 and we hung up.
I arrived at the hospital when I said I would, parked, and went in. I walked in to his (private) room, only to see some stranger in his bed. So that's when I found a nurse to tell me where my husband was hiding. Apparently he'd been moved and nobody had thought to let me know. Not a big deal, just a minor frustration.
I managed to get there before the doctor did rounds, so I got to talk to her. She said that Donny's ammonia levels were fine, but that she wanted to keep him for another day for observation. We talked a little more, then she left.
A little later I noticed that Donny was spacing out. A previous hospital had said that these were absent seizures brought on by high ammonia levels. But his levels were normal, so I started asking questions. The nurse let me know that the doctor overseeing the resident who was caring for Donny was about to do rounds and that we should ask him.
Dr. B came in and I started discussing a few issues with him. I asked him about the seizures and he said that there were still some after-effects going on in Donny's body. He advised me that once we had kept Donny's ammonia levels normal for three months, if it was still happening, to ask our regular doctor about it. That's when I looked down and noticed that Donny was in the middle of one right then. I pointed it out to Dr. B. After seeing what I was talking about for himself he advised me that Donny should see a neurologist in a couple of weeks. He also let me know that he would call and speak to our regular doctor personally to let him know what was going on. He then said that he'd be discharging Donny that day.
About 20 minutes later we were told that an EEG had been ordered and we had to wait for it before Donny could be discharged. I'm not sure how it happened, but we went from being told to wait a few months to being told let's deal with this today. It has me wondering what my doctor said. He doesn't pussy foot around about stuff though. That's one reason that I love him so much.
Donny's EEG was completed around 1:30. According to what the doctor and the nurse told us, that meant Donny was ready to be discharged. Somewhere around 3:00 the respiratory therapist came in to check his breathing, by this time the resident and another doctor had been by(at different times) to see him. We were telling her that we were expecting him to be discharged any time now. A few minutes later the therapist came back and let us know that there wasn't anything in his chart about discharge, and so we might not need to be packing up yet.
This was when I went in search of his nurse. I found her sitting at one of the computers used for charting near the nurse's station. Dr. B just happened to be sitting right there too. I walked over and asked whether or not Donny was being discharged. Once I let them know what I had been told, Dr. B got up and made sure that his part of things was done.
We waited and we waited, still, no discharge. We asked the nurse, and she didn't really answer us, and then she left the room. Call lights started getting ignored. It really felt like we were getting the brush-off.
At a little after 5:00 a new patient was brought in for the other bed in Donny's room. The nurse told us that she had to get him admitted and then she would do Donny's discharge. At 6:00 the nurse was headed over to the other bed and told us in passing that she wouldn't be able to Donny's discharge, and we would have to wait for the night shift.
The new patient's wife is a retired nurse. She worked for Catholic Care West in Ventura County for 30 years before she retired. She commented that the wait was unreasonable. But we couldn't get anything done. This lady was rather upset at the lack of care that was given by the nurses. It makes me feel better knowing that I'm not the only one that finds them lacking.
Fortunately I have all of Donny's meds here at home, because the only pharmacy that we're covered for closed at 6:00, and you couldn't drop off prescriptions after 5:00. They're closed for the weekend.
At 8:45 p.m. Donny was discharged from the hospital. I believe that the very first thing that his night nurse did was discharge him. I've never been so glad to get home in my life.
I arrived at the hospital when I said I would, parked, and went in. I walked in to his (private) room, only to see some stranger in his bed. So that's when I found a nurse to tell me where my husband was hiding. Apparently he'd been moved and nobody had thought to let me know. Not a big deal, just a minor frustration.
I managed to get there before the doctor did rounds, so I got to talk to her. She said that Donny's ammonia levels were fine, but that she wanted to keep him for another day for observation. We talked a little more, then she left.
A little later I noticed that Donny was spacing out. A previous hospital had said that these were absent seizures brought on by high ammonia levels. But his levels were normal, so I started asking questions. The nurse let me know that the doctor overseeing the resident who was caring for Donny was about to do rounds and that we should ask him.
Dr. B came in and I started discussing a few issues with him. I asked him about the seizures and he said that there were still some after-effects going on in Donny's body. He advised me that once we had kept Donny's ammonia levels normal for three months, if it was still happening, to ask our regular doctor about it. That's when I looked down and noticed that Donny was in the middle of one right then. I pointed it out to Dr. B. After seeing what I was talking about for himself he advised me that Donny should see a neurologist in a couple of weeks. He also let me know that he would call and speak to our regular doctor personally to let him know what was going on. He then said that he'd be discharging Donny that day.
About 20 minutes later we were told that an EEG had been ordered and we had to wait for it before Donny could be discharged. I'm not sure how it happened, but we went from being told to wait a few months to being told let's deal with this today. It has me wondering what my doctor said. He doesn't pussy foot around about stuff though. That's one reason that I love him so much.
Donny's EEG was completed around 1:30. According to what the doctor and the nurse told us, that meant Donny was ready to be discharged. Somewhere around 3:00 the respiratory therapist came in to check his breathing, by this time the resident and another doctor had been by(at different times) to see him. We were telling her that we were expecting him to be discharged any time now. A few minutes later the therapist came back and let us know that there wasn't anything in his chart about discharge, and so we might not need to be packing up yet.
This was when I went in search of his nurse. I found her sitting at one of the computers used for charting near the nurse's station. Dr. B just happened to be sitting right there too. I walked over and asked whether or not Donny was being discharged. Once I let them know what I had been told, Dr. B got up and made sure that his part of things was done.
We waited and we waited, still, no discharge. We asked the nurse, and she didn't really answer us, and then she left the room. Call lights started getting ignored. It really felt like we were getting the brush-off.
At a little after 5:00 a new patient was brought in for the other bed in Donny's room. The nurse told us that she had to get him admitted and then she would do Donny's discharge. At 6:00 the nurse was headed over to the other bed and told us in passing that she wouldn't be able to Donny's discharge, and we would have to wait for the night shift.
The new patient's wife is a retired nurse. She worked for Catholic Care West in Ventura County for 30 years before she retired. She commented that the wait was unreasonable. But we couldn't get anything done. This lady was rather upset at the lack of care that was given by the nurses. It makes me feel better knowing that I'm not the only one that finds them lacking.
Fortunately I have all of Donny's meds here at home, because the only pharmacy that we're covered for closed at 6:00, and you couldn't drop off prescriptions after 5:00. They're closed for the weekend.
At 8:45 p.m. Donny was discharged from the hospital. I believe that the very first thing that his night nurse did was discharge him. I've never been so glad to get home in my life.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
More Hospital Stuff
I went by and checked on Donny today. When I walked into his room it reeked. It was so bad I was gagging. Apparently, the enema worked really well. It looked like they were set up to bathe him, so I waited for the nurse to come in. After about 5 minutes I decided that looks could be deceiving, and maybe I should make sure that his nurse knew there was a problem. The only hitch in this plan was that I had no idea who his nurse was.
So I stood in his doorway hoping to catch a nurse running by and ask for the nurse who's name was on his dry erase board. After a couple of minutes the charge nurse noticed me and came over to see if I needed something. I explained the situation to her and let her know that I just wanted to be sure that his nurse knew. She found the nurse and told her.
About 30 minutes later his nurse came in to check on him. By this time I was needing to leave since I had just stopped in between doctor's appointments. I talked to her for a minute and then she said that she was going to be bathing him now. She walked out of the room and I stood there and waited about 5 more minutes. I finally tracked her down in the hallway to ask a couple more questions that I had thought of. To be fair, she wasn't goofing off. I firmly believe that she was busy that whole time.
The problem I'm having is this. My husband had to lay in his own filth for AT LEAST a half hour. It may have been longer, but that's how long I witnessed it for. Now, I realize that you only want to change him once, and I know that you're busy, but what about him? Would you like to be put in restraints, sedated, and then left to lie in your own filth for a half hour? There has to be some sort of middle ground here. Wouldn't putting him on a bag be more humane?
I truly do understand the nurse's position here, but I want to cry at what I see Donny going through. I know he'll remember this, he always remembers what happened after the fact. And I know he was awake, because he looked at me. In fact, he gave me the most pitiful look ever, and there was nothing that I could do for him. For the next 6 months it's going to be next to impossible to get him to go to the hospital, no matter how bad he needs it, this will affect him that much. Isn't there some way we could improve this situation?
So I stood in his doorway hoping to catch a nurse running by and ask for the nurse who's name was on his dry erase board. After a couple of minutes the charge nurse noticed me and came over to see if I needed something. I explained the situation to her and let her know that I just wanted to be sure that his nurse knew. She found the nurse and told her.
About 30 minutes later his nurse came in to check on him. By this time I was needing to leave since I had just stopped in between doctor's appointments. I talked to her for a minute and then she said that she was going to be bathing him now. She walked out of the room and I stood there and waited about 5 more minutes. I finally tracked her down in the hallway to ask a couple more questions that I had thought of. To be fair, she wasn't goofing off. I firmly believe that she was busy that whole time.
The problem I'm having is this. My husband had to lay in his own filth for AT LEAST a half hour. It may have been longer, but that's how long I witnessed it for. Now, I realize that you only want to change him once, and I know that you're busy, but what about him? Would you like to be put in restraints, sedated, and then left to lie in your own filth for a half hour? There has to be some sort of middle ground here. Wouldn't putting him on a bag be more humane?
I truly do understand the nurse's position here, but I want to cry at what I see Donny going through. I know he'll remember this, he always remembers what happened after the fact. And I know he was awake, because he looked at me. In fact, he gave me the most pitiful look ever, and there was nothing that I could do for him. For the next 6 months it's going to be next to impossible to get him to go to the hospital, no matter how bad he needs it, this will affect him that much. Isn't there some way we could improve this situation?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
What a day!
Today was nowhere near what I had hoped for. I thought that I'd get up, take my time getting ready, and then go to work. And then this afternoon I'd take my grandma to her appointment with the Orthopedic Surgeon. Boy was I wrong!
I knew I was screwed when I tried to wake Donny for his meds. He was hard to wake, and very uncooperative. I tried to give him his meds, but he shook his head like a little boy and said, "I'm done!" There was no getting anything in him.
I started off trying to get him out of bed. He went into the bathroom and insisted that he was sleeping. I got him out of there, but he went the wrong way down the hall. After a lot of hard work I managed to get him in the car. I buckled him up and it was off to the hospital for us.
I pull up in front of ER and run in for a wheelchair. I then opened his door, unbuckled him, and asked him to get in the wheelchair. He got out of the car, but would not sit down. I finally gave the chair to the next people who pulled up.
After pacing in front of ER for a while I finally got Donny into the ER. But again, he wouldn't sit down anywhere. Finally the security guard asked me to take him outside so that he didn't get the other people in the waiting room riled up. So I let him go out, and I stayed inside to check him in. And the pacing outside of ER continued. After a while he did finally go in and sit down on his own. That's when I finally got a chance to park the car.
We waited for a little bit and then triage called Donny up, but he wasn't about to go anywhere. So I went and let the triage nurse know what was going on. He was really nice and agreed to come help me. We got Donny to move about 10 feet, and then he was done cooperating. The nurse finally called for help, and Donny was forced to cooperate.
As we headed back towards a bed I started counting people. It had taken 3 security guards, 1 law enforcement officer, and 2 or 3 nurses to get him to go. They held his arms behind his back and made him walk to a bed. I couldn't help but wonder if that's what's meant by the term "frogwalk". It took 5 big men to pin Donny down and put him in restraints.
After all was said and done, it was just what I expected. His ammonia level was 216. So my husband is in the hospital, in restraints and sedated.
I did finally go to work, about 8:00 tonight I went in. I got done what absolutely couldn't wait another day, and then I came home. It's been a long day. The only bright spot was coming home to my mom being out of the hospital. It was good to see her again. I've missed our time together.
I knew I was screwed when I tried to wake Donny for his meds. He was hard to wake, and very uncooperative. I tried to give him his meds, but he shook his head like a little boy and said, "I'm done!" There was no getting anything in him.
I started off trying to get him out of bed. He went into the bathroom and insisted that he was sleeping. I got him out of there, but he went the wrong way down the hall. After a lot of hard work I managed to get him in the car. I buckled him up and it was off to the hospital for us.
I pull up in front of ER and run in for a wheelchair. I then opened his door, unbuckled him, and asked him to get in the wheelchair. He got out of the car, but would not sit down. I finally gave the chair to the next people who pulled up.
After pacing in front of ER for a while I finally got Donny into the ER. But again, he wouldn't sit down anywhere. Finally the security guard asked me to take him outside so that he didn't get the other people in the waiting room riled up. So I let him go out, and I stayed inside to check him in. And the pacing outside of ER continued. After a while he did finally go in and sit down on his own. That's when I finally got a chance to park the car.
We waited for a little bit and then triage called Donny up, but he wasn't about to go anywhere. So I went and let the triage nurse know what was going on. He was really nice and agreed to come help me. We got Donny to move about 10 feet, and then he was done cooperating. The nurse finally called for help, and Donny was forced to cooperate.
As we headed back towards a bed I started counting people. It had taken 3 security guards, 1 law enforcement officer, and 2 or 3 nurses to get him to go. They held his arms behind his back and made him walk to a bed. I couldn't help but wonder if that's what's meant by the term "frogwalk". It took 5 big men to pin Donny down and put him in restraints.
After all was said and done, it was just what I expected. His ammonia level was 216. So my husband is in the hospital, in restraints and sedated.
I did finally go to work, about 8:00 tonight I went in. I got done what absolutely couldn't wait another day, and then I came home. It's been a long day. The only bright spot was coming home to my mom being out of the hospital. It was good to see her again. I've missed our time together.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Ammonia Levels and Psych Meds
There are times that I wish our doctor lived with us. This evening Donny started acting like his ammonia levels were elevated. I know for a fact that he took his lactulose, I watched him drink it. The dosage must not be right.
The problem is, by the time we go see the doctor he'll be fine. That leaves me looking like an overreacting wife when I insist that his mental status was altered. The only thing that I have going for me is the fact that the doctor knows me, and trusts me. Hopefully he'll believe me when I describe what's going on.
With any luck there will be a change in meds. I'm hoping that the altered mental status isn't a permanent thing. If it is then there may come a time that I can't care for Donny at home. I hate the thought, but just today was bad enough to make me wonder what to do.
On the bright side, my mom might get to come home in the next day or two. She's doing much better, but she started a new medication and they want to monitor her on it for a couple days to see how it's going.
New meds are always scary. At one point my mom was on so many psych meds that she was a zombie. For two years she barely qualified as being alive, and she had no quality of life. My mom, who's always been the out going, lively one, was doing nothing but sit there and stare out in space or lay in bed and stare out in space.
When my sister decided that she'd had enough, it took two paper grocery bags to carry my mom's meds. A really great doctor helped us get her off of almost everything, but we're now a little leery of new meds. The good thing is that my mom has a great medical doctor (finally) who will take a look at what she's been given and help us understand it. And we know that never again will we allow one med to be prescribed on top of another to the point that it gets out of control. It may have taken a while, but we've learned to ask questions.
The problem is, by the time we go see the doctor he'll be fine. That leaves me looking like an overreacting wife when I insist that his mental status was altered. The only thing that I have going for me is the fact that the doctor knows me, and trusts me. Hopefully he'll believe me when I describe what's going on.
With any luck there will be a change in meds. I'm hoping that the altered mental status isn't a permanent thing. If it is then there may come a time that I can't care for Donny at home. I hate the thought, but just today was bad enough to make me wonder what to do.
On the bright side, my mom might get to come home in the next day or two. She's doing much better, but she started a new medication and they want to monitor her on it for a couple days to see how it's going.
New meds are always scary. At one point my mom was on so many psych meds that she was a zombie. For two years she barely qualified as being alive, and she had no quality of life. My mom, who's always been the out going, lively one, was doing nothing but sit there and stare out in space or lay in bed and stare out in space.
When my sister decided that she'd had enough, it took two paper grocery bags to carry my mom's meds. A really great doctor helped us get her off of almost everything, but we're now a little leery of new meds. The good thing is that my mom has a great medical doctor (finally) who will take a look at what she's been given and help us understand it. And we know that never again will we allow one med to be prescribed on top of another to the point that it gets out of control. It may have taken a while, but we've learned to ask questions.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Friday Night Entertainment
Have you ever noticed that there's nothing good on TV on Friday nights? And if you're broke there's not a whole lot to do. Which leaves me with some very boring Friday nights. That's why I developed my own Friday night entertainment.
Every week on Friday night I will take somebody to be admitted to the hospital. Last week it was my husband. He got out Tuesday, so I needed something to do today. And if you ask my mom she'll tell you that's why she's in the hospital right now.
The truth of the matter is that she's not doing well and we couldn't keep her safe at home anymore. Does it make me a bad daughter to be relieved to put her in the hospital? I hate the thought that I might get too busy and my mom wind up dead when she's at home.
This isn't how I always felt about this. I still remember the first time we had to put mom in a psych hospital.
I was 13 years old. Mom had been having a hard time for a while, but we were helping her through it. I was proud of my ability to get her back when she was lost in a flashback. I liked being able to help.
But mom just got worse. She started hallucinating. We came home one day to find all our dishes smashed on the kitchen floor and mom sitting on the counter. She thought that there were snakes trying to get her. It became routine that I'd have to check under her bed for snakes before she'd get up.
My dad finally decided that we just couldn't care for my mom at home anymore, and he found a psych hospital she could go to. It was about 2 hours away, but it dealt with her issues. So we packed up her stuff, hopped in the van and set out.
We got there and my parents had a lot of paperwork to do. My sister and I were to wait in the waiting room until they were done. I sometimes wonder if I looked as scared as I felt.
Somebody from the hospital staff came and took my sister and I on a tour of the grounds and hospital. They explained things to us to the best of their ability. It helped some.
Mom was finally checked in and we went to help her settle in to her room. That's when we discovered that a lot of the things we had packed to comfort her weren't allowed. And thus began the lessons in how to pack for a psych hospital. My sister and now are able to pack a bag that passes the strictest tests.
Eventually we had to say goodbye. Debbie and I didn't want to, because we still didn't see how somebody who didn't love our mom could provide better care than we could. But our protests didn't change things, and we finally said goodbye.
On the way home I cried and cried. I was heartbroken. I cried so long and hard that I made myself vomit. And then I cried some more.
My, how times have changed.
Every week on Friday night I will take somebody to be admitted to the hospital. Last week it was my husband. He got out Tuesday, so I needed something to do today. And if you ask my mom she'll tell you that's why she's in the hospital right now.
The truth of the matter is that she's not doing well and we couldn't keep her safe at home anymore. Does it make me a bad daughter to be relieved to put her in the hospital? I hate the thought that I might get too busy and my mom wind up dead when she's at home.
This isn't how I always felt about this. I still remember the first time we had to put mom in a psych hospital.
I was 13 years old. Mom had been having a hard time for a while, but we were helping her through it. I was proud of my ability to get her back when she was lost in a flashback. I liked being able to help.
But mom just got worse. She started hallucinating. We came home one day to find all our dishes smashed on the kitchen floor and mom sitting on the counter. She thought that there were snakes trying to get her. It became routine that I'd have to check under her bed for snakes before she'd get up.
My dad finally decided that we just couldn't care for my mom at home anymore, and he found a psych hospital she could go to. It was about 2 hours away, but it dealt with her issues. So we packed up her stuff, hopped in the van and set out.
We got there and my parents had a lot of paperwork to do. My sister and I were to wait in the waiting room until they were done. I sometimes wonder if I looked as scared as I felt.
Somebody from the hospital staff came and took my sister and I on a tour of the grounds and hospital. They explained things to us to the best of their ability. It helped some.
Mom was finally checked in and we went to help her settle in to her room. That's when we discovered that a lot of the things we had packed to comfort her weren't allowed. And thus began the lessons in how to pack for a psych hospital. My sister and now are able to pack a bag that passes the strictest tests.
Eventually we had to say goodbye. Debbie and I didn't want to, because we still didn't see how somebody who didn't love our mom could provide better care than we could. But our protests didn't change things, and we finally said goodbye.
On the way home I cried and cried. I was heartbroken. I cried so long and hard that I made myself vomit. And then I cried some more.
My, how times have changed.
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