Mellow Monday

As Monday draws to a close, I sit here thinking of the highs and lows my family have gone through over the past few weeks. For those who don’t know, my mum suffered a fall at her nursing home and had a severe bleed to the brain. After two operations to remove the blood clots left behind, she has now been transferred back to our local hospital, still under critical care.

I think the lowest day was when she went in for her second operation. I was called into a private room by one of the junior neurosurgeons. He was given the task of explaining to me that the medical team had agreed not to resuscitate my mum if she coded on the operating table. I was informed she didn’t meet the mark for ICU care. He watched me silently and I fidgeted under his gaze. Was I supposed to break down and cry? Was he waiting for me to become hysterical? He kept repeating the words until I asked him if I should be reacting differently; should I fight for her and refuse the DNR status. He kindly informed me it wasn’t my decision to make. So why the long pauses?

My highest moment was seeing my mum open her eyes after the second operation and speak to me. I could understand most of her words and I felt so happy to hear her again. Just the little cheeky grin, a giggle at my youngest son’s antics was enough to make me feel whole again.

I’ve reached a plateau. The brain has to heal. We have to heal as a family. I have to be patient and stop pushing the doctors, but I fear the lack of momentum means they will push her back to the nursing home without rehabilitation. Another statistic in care that doesn’t need to improve her life. I fear that as I watch my mother slowly realise her predicament the light will die out in her eyes and she will relinquish her fragile hold on life. Already paralysed on the left side, this recent haemorrhage has caused a weakness on her right side. She doesn’t respond to her right foot being tickled.

As this night draws out I think of what the future holds. What we once considered difficult has now increased to impossible. The hope we once held is further in the distance. I’m sitting on the plateau and I’m happy not to move. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to stay where we are right now. Pity I’m not that kind of person. What would you do?

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9 responses to “Mellow Monday

  1. Keep going, keep fighting. She’s in a better place than she was a week ago, that’s got to be good. Eileen xx

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  2. My heart goes out to you. What would I do? i would treasure the moments with her and pray for her healing and ask others to do the same

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  3. I agree with Vintage 1956 – keep fighting. If the light and recognition is coming back into her eyes hopefully she’ll see something that will make her want to fight to keep that light on.

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    • I hope so Trent. It’s a long road ahead and she’s walked it before with her previous stroke. I don’t know how far she is willing to go this time. But I will be there to push her along the way. Just need a recharge myself!

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  4. Hey Eloise. My heart goes to you and your family. Since you ask what would you do, I’ll answer genuinely. For me, it would depend on my mom’s age and the possible outcome. Someone at 65 has a very different possible future recovery compared to an 85 year old. It’s tough either way, but it’s OK to fight if it’s worth it and it’s also okay to let go if it isn’t. A big hug for you.

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