The Other Shoe Dropped

Well,in August it'll be two years since our attempt to get ancient Mom to move to an ALF. She resisted, and somehow, eked out a mostly independent existence since then. Alas, the shoe dropped last week. Her caregiver Louise went over to see she was unable to get out of bed, and the bed and room were filled with crap. And not funny crap. After Mom protested that she was "fine," Louise called here and I told her to go ahead and call 911. "Four Giants," according to Mom came and got her and took her to Delray Hospital. I drove up, after calling Dr. Eric, and met her in the ER. She was weaker than ever. Eric ordered a transfusion, as her iron was low, and the tests showed her albumin was down -- a sign of starvation. As Wifey feared, Mom was eating little when we weren't there -- the effort to get to the kitchen and do so had grown too much for her. In the famous nursery rhyme, the doctor said "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." This time it was "No more 92 year olds living alone in their condos." Mom gave some token objections, but the time had come. Wifey called the Miami Jewish Home, where we wanted to move her before, and they had a bed. It would have been an ALF 2 years ago. Now Mom needs a full nursing home. D2 and I visited her yesterday at the hospital. D2 had sen her 2 weeks before, and was shocked at the swift decline. Still, Mom knew who D2 was, and asked about her boyfriend and life. But Mom is completely bedridden -- doesn't even have the strength to use the bathroom with assistance. I headed to the office, and got in a little work, and then headed to Trulucks for the most needed alcohol in a long while. While there, with friends Vince and Stuart, a call came from the hospital -- the nice social worker Ana completed the necessary work, and Mom was accepted and ready for transfer to Miami. Ah, Dr. Eric. He smoothed everything along, and saw to it that Mom had a private room at Delray, and all paperwork was done without her effort. He's keeping her admitted tomorrow, so I can spend some time with the Ds and Wifey, and steel myself for the coming event. Monday I'll head to Delray, pick up some of her things, and then fetch Mom. We'll then take the final drive south. I explained over and over that she's going to a place to care for her, but I think at some level she still thinks I'm taking her to her condo, and simply leaving her there and saying goodbye. I've asked D2 to come with me. She has 2 years of psychology study, and will need all of it -- to comfort Mom, and then me. David Letterman had a Top 10 List of things not to say to Mom on Mother's Day. Number 10 was "We're putting you in a home." How sad is this... Dr. Eric thinks she'll actually flourish at the home, as meals are brought to her, and she keeps her strength and most of her lucidity. Mom loves people, and there will be plenty to meet there. MJH is about a half hour drive from Villa Wifey, so I'll visit her a few times per week. D1 lives even closer, and plans to take my grand dog, a licensed therapy dog at that, over very often. D2 will see her lots while she's here as well, and as Wifey's bad back improves, she'll be a frequent visitor as well. My old secretaty Mirta plans to see her, as does Dr. Barry. MJH is close to his home route. I think we'll find a good Haitian restaurant and stop there once in awhile -- MJH is in Little Haiti. So the final stage is upon us. I look forward to dropping her at the home, though, like I looked forward to my prostate biopsy. Even less so; they gave me propophol for that experience. If you live long enought, you really get to see how much it can suck, especially when the shoe makes the thud.