Page 112 - FDCC Pandemic Book

Living in a Pandemic: A Collection of Stories on Coping, Resilience & Hope
list, however, of less admirable traits. I am impatient and demanding of perfection. I am a bit of a know-it-all, and I am terrible at asking for help. Unfortunately, the traits that I have needed most in caring for our aging parents are notably absent from my list of natural talents.
But I have learned to ask more questions, and I have learned to admit when I am in over my head. Most importantly, I have learned to give myself a little more grace, and to create space in my life for what is really most important.
LESSON 1 – IT’S IMPORTANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW.
After the call from my mother’s neighbor, I had been pacing the floor at home. The only contact from the hospital had been an early call inquiring about my mom’s current medications; this was information I had never learned, as my mother always had been able to answer those questions for herself. The best I could do was “something for blood pressure. And maybe cholesterol.”
I was annoyed with myself for that failure and frustrated that the virus had made it impossible to be with mom at the hospital when her nurse called again. She explained that none of mom’s injuries required surgery; she had a broken pelvis, broken tailbone, and broken shoulder and arm. The nurse also explained that, because of the pandemic, the hospital didn’t have room for a nonsurgical patient. My mom was far too injured to return to her own home, and I needed to make a decision: did I want to send her to a rehabilitation facility for her 8-week recovery, or have her transported to a private home for outpatient physical therapy?
At that moment, Arizona was leading the country in COVID-19 infection rates. I knew that in a rehab center, she would be alone and would not be permitted visitors. Since I hated the fact that she had been alone at the hospital since that morning, it felt like a simple decision. Without any additional information, I told the nurse to have my mother transported to my house.
In anticipation of mom’s arrival the next day, I coordinated an afternoon of frenzied activity. We put fresh sheets on the bed in the guest room. We acquired a wheelchair and shower bench from a medical supply store. We picked up mom’s pain prescriptions, purchased her favorite snacks for the pantry, and gathered some clothing from her house. I spent the evening with a glass of wine and a sense of satisfaction at completing the to-do list so efficiently.
But when the doorbell rang the next afternoon, mom was wheeled in on a gurney. She couldn’t sit up, nor could she assist in any way as we lifted the sheet and transferred her to the bed. The transfer was harder than it should have been. It’s hard enough to transfer an incapacitated adult to a hospital bed; it is significantly harder to maneuver around a queen-sized bed in a fully furnished bedroom.
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