Before we entered Mom’s room on
the 2nd floor , Dad came out; we exchanged hugs
and general greetings. Dad reiterated that
Mom was “out of it” and to gave us some info on her status…can’t quite remember
all those details.
The room was dim, quiet and smelled
of hospital. Mom was in the second bed,
closest to the window. When I went in
her eyes were closed, she was breathing on her own and she just looked worn out
and disheveled. I went over and rubbed
Mom’s left arm and held her hand. She
opened her eyes and turned her head to look at me. She seemed to have a look of confusion;
hooded eyes, squinting as if thinking “Now who are you again?” I can’t recall major details, only feelings: loss – this is NOT Mom; fright – is she in pain?; inner strength – I
must stay strong to put Mom at ease; anxiety – what am I suppose to do now?
Various medical professionals
told us the quick and dirty of stroke recovery…pretty much a wait-and-see type
of game. No one knows how much damage
was actually done to the brain and which of Mom’s facilities could be affected;
literally only time would tell.
Meanwhile Dad, Paul, Mike and I shuffled around feeling uncomfortable
and scared; trying to figure out what Mom may want or need, trying to remember
what medical professionals were telling us, trying not to be at such a
loss. It was getting late and we all had
had a long day. Immediate decisions were
made; I would spend the night with Mom in her hospital room on the barker
lounger and the boys would head home to get some rest. I was supposed to call if anything
earth-shattering happened. Everyone
would come back in the morning and I would return to Mom and Dad’s to rest
after a barker-lounger-sleepless night.
That first night after the stroke was possibly the longest night of my
life (as I write this I have two children, ages 3 and 5 so that’s saying
something). I was pretty comfortable in
the chair and the nurses and support staff were caring and tolerant of me. I was offered blankets, pillows, juice and
crackers, up to the minute information about Mom’s status, comforting words,
and a couple soft pats on the shoulder. Throughout
the night, anytime Mom moved or made a noise I was silently up and by her side
to assist or to just give her comfort knowing someone was there. It eased my mind in the midst of my turmoil
to think that I may have been a comfort to Mom, but who knows, I could have
been bugging the stuffing out of her.
At some point the sky outside the hospital room window began to
brighten, the boys returned and Mike took me home to Mom and Dad’s. I was so wired that I couldn’t think of
putting my head to a pillow, so I sat at the computer and began typing an email
to our family and friends.
