I can recall many close calls that occurred towards the end of my mother’s life that I got an up close and personal take on. Since I was her constant companion and primary caretaker through her entire illness, it is little wonder that I witnessed quite a few close calls. The woman loved to cheat death. I swear she got her jollies out of scaring the living be Je$u$ out of me because she would laugh after the scare had passed. I personally was convinced she would never die. That is probably why when I woke up one morning and found her dead it threw me into a tail spin of grief that took me years to recover from.
Once my mother’s kidney’s failed it took a while to get her stabilized and her body used to the dialysis that was required three times a week. It was a big adjustment from being able to drink whenever you were thirsty and then peeing to watching how much you drank and not being able to pee at all. Every single time she went to dialysis they would weigh her and determine how much fluid to take off. In those first months, it couldn’t have been easy as she adjusted to the new regime to figure out what was the norm for her.
My mom loved the Oak Ridge Boys, so my Dad planned a trip to Dollywood to see them. We had never been to Dollywood and were excited to go. We explored the park by day, and rocked along with the Oak Ridge Boys that night. Afterwards we headed north for home. My dad drove to the Tennessee state line and then I took the wheel. My mother came to sit in the front with me, and my Dad took the back seat. I was always more in tune with my mom and how she was feeling than anyone else. I noticed as I took over the wheel that my mom’s breathing had become more labored. As we crossed over into Kentucky, I asked her if she was OK. I glanced over and her eyes had a look of fear in them. She quickly shook her head in the negative.
As fate would have it a blue hospital sign for the next exit presented itself at precisely that moment. At that point my mom could no longer speak. She pointed. I took the exit and followed the signs. I ignored speed limit signs in my panic and floored the gas pedal racing for that hospital. I pulled up at the emergency room door and ran inside looking for anyone who could help. My dad had been dozing in the back seat. Before he could even figure out what was going on, the ER staff had my mom on a gurney and were rushing her into the emergency room. My dad and I took our places in the waiting room to wait.
It didn’t take long for someone to tell us that my mom was being transported by helicopter to a larger hospital almost 100 miles away where she would undergo emergency dialysis. Her lungs were almost full of fluid and they had to act fast or she would be going home in a hearse. Terrified, I watched my mother wearing a mask much like Darth Vadar being loaded into a medical helicopter. My dad and I watched as the helicopter flew out of sight. We hurried to our car with the directions to the hospital where the helicopter was headed.
When we arrived at the hospital we were told my mom was in intensive care. She had been rushed into surgery upon her arrival because her dialysis access point had been rendered useless. A new one had to be made, and she was undergoing emergency dialysis in an effort to save her life. We were not allowed to see her and were led to a lonely waiting room. We turned out the lights and tried to sleep. I simply couldn’t. I had to know how my mom was. We prayed, we paced, but there was no more word for over 5 hours.
Finally, we were taken to see her. There she was in intensive care hooked to so many tubes and breathing with the help of an oxygen mask. Relief overwhelmed me and tears came to my eyes as a smile lit my face. As soon as I seen her she grabbed my hand, I knew we had all survived this extremely close call and at least this time, my mom be OK until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
I faced my son’s surgical procedure yesterday with a great deal of trepidation. No one looks forward to surgery with a warm and happy feeling inside. I dreaded my son’s procedure even though I knew it had to be done. When my son pressed me about what would happen at the hospital, I simply said that he would go to sleep, and when he woke up he would be all better . What do you say to a 6 year old that won't strike terror into his small heart?
We arrived at the hospital and I was amazed to discover a friendly, smiling man eager to take my keys and park my car for me. Free valet parking made me feel like the Queen of England and gave me one less thing to worry about. We walked into the friendliest hospital lobby I have ever encountered free of sick depressed people and harassed staff. We took the elevator to the second floor to where outpatient surgery was located.
A cheery nurse greeted us and told my son she would be taking care of him. Instead of the dreary white or blah blue hospital gown, my son was outfitted with a little peach number dotted with teddy bears and tan slipper socks. Even though I packed a bag of my son’s favorite toys, he was more interested in the coloring pages and crayons the nurse gave him and quickly set to work carefully coloring each picture. Is this the same kid who before kindergarten needed to be bribed to color?? As soon as the pictures were colored and his name had carefully been written on each, he began exploring the buttons on the bed. Up went the top of the bed, down went the foot of the bed amid fits of giggles.
Before long the anesthesiologist arrived. He asked my son if he liked bubble gum. Does a bear $hit in the woods?? I seen my son’s face light up when he explained all he would have to do is inhale bubblegum vapors and then drift off to sleep. I have had my share of surgeries, but no one ever offered me a mask with the tantalizing aroma of bubble gum to inhale making me fall asleep. How cool! Before long the time had come for my son to leave me and go to surgery. I braced myself for the inevitable. Whenever I had surgery, some big, burly guy came and whisked me away bed and all. So it was with happy surprise that I discovered my little boy would be carried to surgery in a little red wagon! He got in, and away he went.
Instead of returning to the room on a gurney, my baby was carried in and placed gently into his bed. There is nothing more heart wrenching than seeing your child cry in pain. I asked the nurse if I could hold him, and she encouraged me to climb in bed with him. I wasted no time, and soothed my little boy the best I could. With the magic of pain medication, green Jell-O, and sips of Sprite, his tears slowly dried and he focused on cartoons.
The hospital could have been a scary place. What we discovered was a cheerful and almost fun atmosphere filled with kind caring people who were dedicated to making my son as comfortable in his surroundings as he possibly could be. They took the fear factor out. When the pain kicked in, they were there immediately with pain medications. When my son was crying, they encouraged me to hold him, and when it was time to go home, they had my trusty blazer waiting at the front door when we came downstairs. Instead of doom and gloom, we were walking on sunshine because everything had went well. A big thank you to everyone at Memorial Hospitalwho made my son’s time there as pleasant of an experience as possible. Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
A cheery nurse greeted us and told my son she would be taking care of him. Instead of the dreary white or blah blue hospital gown, my son was outfitted with a little peach number dotted with teddy bears and tan slipper socks. Even though I packed a bag of my son’s favorite toys, he was more interested in the coloring pages and crayons the nurse gave him and quickly set to work carefully coloring each picture. Is this the same kid who before kindergarten needed to be bribed to color?? As soon as the pictures were colored and his name had carefully been written on each, he began exploring the buttons on the bed. Up went the top of the bed, down went the foot of the bed amid fits of giggles.
Before long the anesthesiologist arrived. He asked my son if he liked bubble gum. Does a bear $hit in the woods?? I seen my son’s face light up when he explained all he would have to do is inhale bubblegum vapors and then drift off to sleep. I have had my share of surgeries, but no one ever offered me a mask with the tantalizing aroma of bubble gum to inhale making me fall asleep. How cool! Before long the time had come for my son to leave me and go to surgery. I braced myself for the inevitable. Whenever I had surgery, some big, burly guy came and whisked me away bed and all. So it was with happy surprise that I discovered my little boy would be carried to surgery in a little red wagon! He got in, and away he went.
The hospital could have been a scary place. What we discovered was a cheerful and almost fun atmosphere filled with kind caring people who were dedicated to making my son as comfortable in his surroundings as he possibly could be. They took the fear factor out. When the pain kicked in, they were there immediately with pain medications. When my son was crying, they encouraged me to hold him, and when it was time to go home, they had my trusty blazer waiting at the front door when we came downstairs. Instead of doom and gloom, we were walking on sunshine because everything had went well. A big thank you to everyone at Memorial Hospital who made my son’s time there as pleasant of an experience as possible. Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
