Parts of the following are a little dark. Don’t try to understand why. Could be because I just listened to a recent This American Life where Julia Sweeney relates her experiences with cancer. Could be because of my various experiences in ministry with death, dying, mental illness and law enforcement. Could be because I had a dad who suggested that amputation was a reasonable treatment for a blister. (Anyone else’s dad do that?) Please know that I love my mother, and humor is my way of coping.
So I got homewith my spiffy, new, not all that butt-ugly shoes that the orthopedic foot specialist had prescribed. (MBTs — they’re really trendy. Got the sandals so they look a little like Tevas). Happy that he said, “Don’t let anyone come near your feet with a knife” — meaning I don’t need foot surgery as a podiatrist had suggested. (Hear that, Dad? Put the sharpener down.) Not terribly happy that he said, “You’re over 40. You’ve entered the second half of your life. Your body is just wearing out.” No one, however, can explain why it’s wearing out so soon or so quickly.
When I walked in the door, Mom was asleep in her recliner. She heard me come in, though, and slowly opened her eyes. “Mmmhhhhsssshhhhrrrrrgggg,” she mumbled. It’s not all that unusual for her speech to be slurred when she first wakes up. I waited. She opened and closed her mouth and blinked her eyes, took a deep breath. “My heart is racing,” she said. This, again, is not a new experience, but it could mean a trip to the hospital. Sigh, there goes my nap.
“What’s it doing?” I asked, the image of cool.
“My pulse was 93 last I checked,” said Mom. I was relieved. Under 100, the folks in the Emergency Room aren’t too alarmed, but I asked anyway, “Do you think you need to go to the Emergency Room?”
“No,” said Mom. “I’m not clammy and nauseous.”
“OK,” I said.
“But my left arm hurts.”
Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. My mind raced. Outwardly, still calm, “Do you think that’s your arthritis?”
“Probably. I don’t know.”
Very calmly, I said, “You do know that pain in your left arm could be a sign of a heart attack.”
“Yeah.”
Me: “Do you need to go to the Emergency Room? What do you want to do?”
Mom: “I took my medicine later than usual because I slept in. Let’s wait a few minutes and see if it kicks in.”
Me: “OK.” It’s a hard thing knowing when it’s time to make decisions for your parents.
About 15 minutes later, Mom got up to go to the bathroom. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit (not entirely sure until she opened the door that that was what she was doing). Do you know how dangerous the bathroom is for people with heart problems? Sure enough, Mom was pale and clammy when she came out and reached for the blood pressure monitor. Her pulse had gone from 93 to 42.
“I think I need to go to the Emergency Room.”
Sigh of relief. “OK, do you want to go by ambulance?” There’s no waiting in the ER if you go by ambulance and there are trained people with drugs and monitors and defibrillators.
“No, I want you to take me.”
“OK.”
“Will you go upstairs and get me some clothes?”
Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. My mother could die because I went upstairs to get her a bra!
The hospital is about 10 minutes away, but it took us twice as long as usual because we had to drive through a school zone right as they were letting out from summer school. When we got to the ER, would Mom let me get a wheelchair? No. But right as we were getting to the triage desk she grabbed my arm as if she were going to pass out. (Don’t get excited. Mom has a flair for the dramatic. She starts to limp as we’re getting to the gate at the airport so they’ll let her pre-board. Never mind that she’s 72 and moves so slowly she could pre-board anyway.) I was still worried and told the triage nurse who was checking someone else in that she was in afib. They checked her pulse. Back up to 93.
Because she was stable, we ended up waiting half an hour before they got her back for an EKG. They ended up not needing to give her any medication to stabilize her heart because it went back into a normal rhythm on its own. I figured they’d let her go home, but they decided to keep her overnight for one test that sounds something like Toblerone and takes 6 to 8 hours to do.
So then I had to call my brother, who is an ER physician. Think Anthony Edwards… with hair.
“Hello? (calm dad voice) Kids, get off the counter,” said DB.
I told him I had to take Mom to the ER, and they were keeping her overnight. He wanted to know the scenario. I told him it was the usual afib, except that she hadn’t looked good when I brought her in, but her heart had gone back into rhythm on its own.
“Then why are they keeping her overnight? They didn’t do anything.”
My brother is in another state. I tried to understand his frustration with being so far away.
DB: “There’s no reason to keep her just for observation with her history. Hospitals are dangerous places.”
Me: “Yeah, I know. They have sick people in them.”
DB: (not impressed with my attempt at humor) “Or she could fall. She doesn’t need to be spending the money to stay overnight.” Can you tell he works for an HMO?
Me: “It doesn’t cost her anything. She has Medicare plus her supplement.”
DB: “She still has a co-pay!” It’s so nice of him not to add to my stress.
Me: “No, she doesn’t.” I explained about the arm thing, and the test that takes 8 hours.
DB: “Well, what we’re doing nowadays is…[technical explanation of test that sounds like Toblerone]“
Me: “That’s what they’re doing.”
He finally told me I had done the right thing and that he’d call in the morning.
Mom and I decided that since she was getting a room, and it had been 4 and a half hours since I brought her in, that I could go on home.
About an hour later, my cell phone rang.
“They haven’t given me my night time medication. They say the pharmacy doesn’t have it. I’ve told them I want to see the doctor, and if they don’t have a room for me, I’m going home!”
Me (calmly): “I will bring you your medication. Is there anything else you need?”
Admittedly, my mom had been waiting in that little room in the ER for more than 5 hours. She knows that happens. She knows there are times when all the hospitals around here are on drive by, and she has spent all night in the ER before because they didn’t have a room. She has decided these days, however, that her time left on this earth is limited, and she’s not going to spend it waiting for doctors.
When I arrived, there was a nurse explaining to Mom about why she was having to wait for a room (she knows all that) and that if she went home, she’d be doing it AMA. She said she understood that, but she didn’t see any reason to stay if no one was going to do anything. I sat with her and began to talk to her about the tests that they said they were going to run, including the one that took 6 to 8 hours.
“If they’re just going to keep me for observation, you can observe me,” Mom said.
Me (calmly and firmly): “I am disabled. I am not capable of observing you right now.” (Sometimes I have to remind her why I moved into her house)
Mom (pouty and petulant): “I’ll take care of myself.”
The nurse returned, and Mom asked about what they were going to do. The nurse had a whole list and said, “There was an abnormality on your EKG.” That was the first we heard of that. Mom agreed to stay in the hospital if they were going to do something.
About 10 minutes later another nurse came in and told her they had a room and the room number.
“I squeaked,” Mom said. “And now they’re greasing my wheel.”
OK. At least she was where she needed to be, and I got to come home.
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It’s bananas.
Seriously. In the excitement of getting Mom to the Emergency Room, I forgot to ask her, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten a banana?”
Bananas are good sources of potassium. When Mom’s potassium is low, her heart gets wacky. This happens when she overdoes it and doesn’t eat her bananas. This has been the case the last 3 times she’s been to hospital. Since she is better able to keep track of medication than her banana intake, Mom left the hospital with a prescription for a potassium supplement.
I had an MRI of my tailbone Friday. Even if it shows nothing abnormal, we’re going to assume this huge pain in the butt is medical, and I will get a cortisone shot.
