I'm still here

I dropped a bomb in my last post and I'm ready to clean up now. In brief, my mom is back in her home after several weeks in a hospital and rehabilitation and maybe I'm not quite as selfish as I feared.

My mom suffered a low blood sugar diabetic episode which left her unconscious and, for a time, unrevivable. For a week or so she was in and out of consciousness (mostly out). She was thrashing around a bit trying to pull all the foreign objects that had been inserted into her out so they tied her to the bed. The day after I found out about my mother, my class had a field trip to a Russian grocery store planned. I decided to say nothing to the class until after the fun trip was over. I was fine with that until we passed an ambulance on the way and tears welled up at the thought of my mother being rushed at three in the morning unconscious to the hospital. When, at the end of the day, I told my teacher and classmates, they were very concerned and understanding. I was able to leave my phone on during class in case I got a phone call from my father. It was very difficult at times focusing to study with that picture of my mother in my mind. I kept imagining how scared and uncomfortable she was. I also kept thinking that I should be at her side so she could hear my voice (if, indeed, she would have heard me). I felt guilty for not being there for her and my dad and I felt guilty with the thought of walking away from my Russian studies early. For not being raised either Catholic or Jewish I sure suffer the guilt.

One of the foreign objects in my mom was a breathing tube down her throat. Even when she regained consciousness, she could not talk. To make matters worse, she lost motor skills and could not write. So there she lay unable to communicate. Furthermore, the breathing tube had irritated her throat to the point that it was too swollen for her to breathe on her own. Eventually she was given a temporary tracheotomy. When she could whisper her first word to my father was "Abby", their dog's name. Thanks, mom. I felt a bit like the father of the famous football players who yell "Hi, mom!" to the camera after a touchdown. Oh, well . . . Her next words were, "Why am I here?"

My heart was breaking. As I moved forward from chapter to chapter, my mother was in a dark, frustrating place in a state of confusion. I spoke with my father every day, often twice. He passed on any news which was too often during the first two weeks 'nothing new, no change'. To his great credit, he did a good job handling all he had to handle. My mother is the social secretary of their household. Now my father was answering calls from my mother's sisters, her Daughters of the American Revolution (D.A.R.) Chapter, the church, nosy neighbors, you name it. And he answered each one of them. Unfortunately my mother is also the tech support of their household and the answering machine quickly filled and he didn't know how to erase or retrieve messages. Nor does he know how to use e-mail. How he arrived at this place from his former life as an engineer I do not know. A very kind woman from the D.A.R. visited my mother and, with my father's permission, got information about her to forward onto my Aunt Katy. Unfortunately the information she passed on and the information that my father passed on didn't always agree. It was very frustrating not being there to know the truth. I had a code word (Abby) to get information over the phone about my mother but even that didn't always jibe.

One evening I had a message to call the hospital. This, I should mention, was before I was given the secret code to receive information about my mother. They needed my permission to remove or change or insert a feeding tube. Why didn't they call my father, I asked. They said they had a few times and he was not answering. Uh-oh. Now, of course, I'm picturing my father laying on the floor unconscious at home. I called him. No answer. I called again since sometimes he doesn't hear the phone or is outside. No answer. I knew none of their neighbors by name. The whole neighborhood has changed since I lived there - that's another story. My sister, who lives in Tempe, has nothing to do with my family so calling her was not an option. The only person who finally came to mind was my former vice-principal from elementary school who was also my mother's boss for some time. I found his number, he was home and he remembered me. He drove over to my parents house and found my father asleep in bed. He simply hadn't heard the phone. All was well.

All this, however, added to the urgency I felt to be in Phoenix. I was still plodding through a chapter a week looking forward to the blessed 'review week' when we do not take on a new chapter but review the past three. I remember being able to study, though. I didn't do as well on vocabulary as I had in the past. Partly, I think, because one of my times for vocabulary had been just before bed. The first week my mom was in the hospital, I was at the gym until midnight a few times because I couldn't sleep. But I was studying. I was pushing myself by signing up for "Walkie-Talkies". This is when one of the Russian teachers (not our own) takes about 45 minutes and chats with us about anything - in Russian. It's great practice. As my mother made more progress, I felt better about waiting to see her. I was hoping to be in Phoenix when she was finally released and sent home.

In time, my mother had her first meal - one of the requirements for moving into rehabilitation. The other was breathing on her own which the temporary tracheotomy provided. I will advise all of you readers to learn all you can about the human body. I paid just enough attention in school to pass the required tests. The amount of misinformation and miscommunication that I saw during my mothers ordeal was astounding. It is said that we know more about our cars (or televisions or Blackberries) than our bodies. I know this to NOT be true in my case but it is a good lesson.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before so forgive me if I'm repeating myself. As I sought the ability to carry on my life here as my mother and father suffered I recalled the tsunamis, earthquakes and other disasters that we humans have survived. I know this is dramatic but stay with me please. The tsunami really affected me in my thoughts. Here were people who lost everything and everyONE they had and yet they go on. That's strength. They probably didn't know they had it in them. We humans are capable of so much more than we realize. We just get soft because our troubles usually revolve around a malfunctioning car (or other technical thing which we own) or a missed payment on a house (which we were privileged to buy) a lost job (from which we may have severance or unemployment) or divorce (which may be ultimately for the best or even brought on ourself). Some of these are big problems but we are bigger. We are smarter. We are stronger. Especially together.

My mom did get released while I was in Phoenix and it looks like life is headed back to just about the way it was. My sister visited my mother several times and we had dinner together after my mom's release. Good medicine. To those of you who called or wrote your thoughts and support, thank you.

Have a great Fourth of July. I hear this is the BIG event in the embassies and consulates overseas. Lots of hotdogs! There is a story circulating about Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth who visited one of our embassies and was given a hotdog. She took it in her white gloved hand and inquired as to how it shoud be eaten. One of our diplomates took a big bite of his to show her. She then asked for a plate, knife and fork and commenced eating her hotdog. Oh, well . . .