And ending on a sour note...
...the good news is, my mother's spirit is returning. She fought diaper changing exactly the way she fought it at the facility. With a hospital bed, it's pretty easy to get past that. On a flat twin that comes up to the middle of my thigh, it's not. Her refusal to stay in one position and her persistence in fighting me when I attempted to roll her meant that we went through four diapers in order to get one on. I gave up on trying to change out the soaker pad. Luckily, it wasn't soaked with urine, it was soaked with the fluid from cleaning pads that got caught under my mother's considerable belly when she'd decide to roll back while I was working on her. My back, of which I have formerly been so proud, is shot for the night. It was so strained I was unable to position her as comfortably as usual. If she doesn't make it through the night, it won't be because of me, the position isn't that bad, nor is she dangerously uncomfortable, but I know she's not happy with the position in which I had to leave her, and I know she doesn't have the strength, either, to change it.
    I had planned to change out her pajama tops; they've got drool all over them. Unfortunately, I no longer had the strength left to prop her up and change her pajamas at the same time. I also didn't have any good cheer left and couldn't face reading to her, so I told her she'll just have to lull herself to sleep on her own. She took it like a champ.
    I can't wait until that hospital bed arrives. I can't wait until the aides are scheduled. I doubt that two visits a week is going to be more than minimally adequate, it may even be irritating, in fact, but I'll take what I can get and try not to feel too nasty about the dearth of available help. I'm seriously thinking of hiring someone...so much so that this afternoon, when I ran out to get the kind of diapers we need, I stopped by Starbucks and inquired after the woman I met who's a professional caregiver. Turns out, she no longer works there. She's been hired as a private, live-in caregiver for a local family. Good for her. Bad for me.
    I swear, after tonight...I never thought I'd find myself thinking this, but, if she is going to spend the rest of her life bedridden, she might be better off in a facility. While it's true that our relationship can't be beat, I suspect that, even with the problems I encountered with the various facilities in which she's stayed in regards to technical care, they can beat me to the punch...when they give that care, of course. That's the problem. And, frankly, I don't know if I have the energy left to, once again, monitor institutional care for her. I'd be living there, again...and we'd both probably die there.
    This is beyond the pale. Whatever was I thinking when I optimistically chirped, "Yes. I can." ??????
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 01:10   email  this post