Its been two days since my mom was discharged from the rehabilitation hospital.
She came to my home with a lot of physical issues.
I was/am completely unprepared. I was sent home with too few supplies for her needs and the instructions which seemed easy...(as it turns out) are not....well, not to me anyway. Mom is patient as I try to navigate my way through this new stage in both our lives.
It's been two days and nothing that I learned about the procedure to take care of her particular problem has worked. I have had two nurses come in to assess and start the process of help coming in to care for her and give her therapy.
I feel guilty, because I feel completely inept, and because there are moments that I want to run and keep on running. Its that fight or flight thing. I have taken care of her for so long (15years) since she moved near me and now when I need to really keep it together… I find myself falling apart. I have trouble catching my breath and I feel heartburn in my throat…is that a thing? But thats what it feels like. Last night I started to have a panic attack. I had a few growing up…but for the last few years I have had a resurgence of them; not many, but enough. I went to my husband and he talked me through it. I brush it away thinking how utterly pathetic I am when my mom is facing the fight of her life.
“Get your act together Jo, stop your wah wah cryin’. You have a job to do…now do it.
Today another nurse came and promised to bring tomorrow some supplies that my mom needs desperately. I feel like I’m turning into Blanche Dubois from A Street Car Named Desire.. “Depending on the kindness of strangers.” I’m completely dependent on others right now…on their expertise, kindness and compassion. And my mom is dependent on me to make the right decisions for her.
It feels like when I had my first child. I was completely out of my comfort zone. Overnight my well organized nursery was a mess of diaper and wipe boxes. Within a few days I had already run out of onesies and the laundry hamper was full of tiny clothes soaked in spit up and explosive poop. The diaper genie was consistantly full and it made me gag to empty it.
I remember sitting on the side of the bed, breast feeding my baby and feeling like a total MeSs. Showers were like a mini vacation and everything I owned had stains of spit-up breast milk, and tears...(the tears were mine mostly).
I am back there again. In that disorganized mess. I'm feeling tired and only days in to this current adventure in life. The house is disorganized and I seem to have that mommy brain again where there was room for one single thought…take care of the baby…only this time…my “baby” won’t grow, there won’t be any joyous milestones to mark life's progression, but there will be joy…and there... is where I want to be beside... my dear Mom.
