And here we are again.
Another hospital.
Another emergency. Ambulance. Wait to see which hospital will accept Okaasan.
More tests. Hospital admittance paperwork. PILES of paperwork. A short visit to lower our masks momentarily and wave our love to Okaasan.
Monday morning suddenly the care home hospital called. She had blood from her mouth again.
This time, luckily, one of the hospitals in the care home group had a room and could accept Okaasan. AND the hospital is fairly near to us.
So off we went again.
She looked tiny and frail. But she was conscious as they wheeled her in and and around. CT scan twice...maybe stomach camera again? Dear Son had to fill in miles of paperwork. I found myself thinking - "If/when he is ever in hospital for something I simply don't have the Japanese ability to cope with all this paperwork..."
Anyway. Nice hospital. Overlooks one of the big parks. I think Okaasan knew we were there. She moved her head. Made eye contact and did that mouth puffing gesture.
And so we wait again. Strange to say: all of that was Monday afternoon. And now it is Wednesday - and the doctor still hasn't called to inform us what (if anything) they discovered. And Dear Son, being so-Japanese, doesn't call the doctor himself to ask.
And so. We wait.
I kind of promised Dear Son that I won't make any plans to take the car out of town for hours at a time, so he can get to the hospital quickly. because who knows what the coming weeks will bring?
I feel a bit detached emotionally from the situation. Not my mum. Sad to see, of course. That THIS is what awaits us at the end of our lives - a hospital bed, tubes and strangers talking loudly to us. Dear Son seems nervous to engage with her.
In a very strange way, my experience two years ago with my student/friend who died of Jacob Creutzfeldt disease, is maybe helping me - to approach the person as a person, despite all the hospital surroundings. To touch the person. Talk lovingly to them. Try to connect a little.
And so it goes....waiting for news from the hospital.
So sorry to hear all this and the additional complexities being brought on by Covid. Having lost both of my parents to cancer when I was in my early and mid 20s, I can totally appreciate what you mean by approaching the situation differently. Hope you are all able to get some rest and comfort.
ReplyDeleteHi there - thankyou. Yes, in this sad and strange situation the experience of visiting a sick person can help. I can remember when my friend was able to talk a little and understand, and then little by little all of that went...and then the months and months when I'm not sure if she could understand outside sound or touch...but I hope she could.
DeleteI'm so sorry to hear about Okaasan's illness. Here's hoping she can rest comfortably and they soon find about the cause of her distress. Sending thoughts and prayers for you all. Getting older isn't for the faint of heart.
ReplyDeleteLaura
It really isn't....her world is so small now, I wish it could be her armchair/wheelchair and the TV and the cup on the table, again. But I fear it's going to be the ceiling of the hospital room...I hope she can maybe sit upright and see the room around her...have a TV switched on...most of all I hope we can visit and make her surroundings better.
DeleteThis is so very sad. Been following you and Okaasan since 2008 and I'm just so sad to read that this is her situation now. I'd pop in, be relieved that Okaasan was still more or less ok, and then come back after a few months again...repeat. and now I've come today to read just how, as you put it, small her world has become. I'm so sad for her. I wish she had her mug and her tv and her chair and just the little comforts u feel she deserves after such a long and hardworking lufe. She lived through such eras of change...
ReplyDeleteI wish you all some measure of peace, especially Okaasan. Take care, oyome san