Ties That Bind (11 page)

We’d make trips to the Air Force Base and then have lunch somewhere. Carole’s husband was so thoughtful on these trips. He was the best son-in-law a mother could have. I often told him, “You’re my adopted son.”

My son-in-law was always conscious of my limitations. If he couldn’t find parking up close, he’d drop us girls off at the front. He always helped me with my walker, and when I graduated to the wheelchair, he was a help with that as well.

Eventually, Carole couldn’t handle the big, heavy wheelchair, and so after a family discussion, her brother ordered a lighter travel type. Carole could throw that in the back of her car with no problem. Another change, and another hurdle, but we kept moving forward, that’s how it always was with my family. We faced the challenges head on, and then we made the changes and moved forward the best we could.

It was during one of our mother-daughter outings that I came clean with her. I’d been carrying it around way too long.

“For the life of me, I have no idea why I dragged your father to Iowa to find out about some people…strangers really that didn’t care about me, and vice versa,” I said to her.

“You wanted answers,” she quietly said.

“Boy, did we get answers. That family was a mess. One secret and one lie after another. I think I was better off not knowing,” I suggested.

She nodded her head. “Maybe,” she confirmed.

“I had the only family I ever needed right here all the time. I didn’t need to go to Iowa to find out anything. You all are my family. Dad, you, Charlie, and Peter – and all your wonderful spouses, and grandchildren,” I said, realizing how blessed I was.

“Yes, Mom, you are blessed. But you know what?” She asked. “You also have an investigative spirit. That’s what drew you to Daddy. You couldn’t have gone to Heaven not knowing the truth, or at least tried to find out as much as you could. And you succeeded. Is it the story you were hoping for? Maybe not, but it’s finished nevertheless,” she said.

“I guess you have a point, daughter dear. I’m just thankful you all didn’t disown me. I know I had a mean streak in me a few times. I only wanted the best for you guys, though.”

“Once you told us the story, it all made perfect sense. You do what you were taught. You act as you see. You only behaved that way once in a while. You also have a sweet side to you as well. You must have gotten that part from your daddy,” she said smiling.

“Yes, Daddy was a kind man. I can’t think of a negative thing to say except that he drank a little, cursed a little, and well, we also know he corralled the ladies a little. But I don’t blame him. I’d do all that too if I were married to Irma,” I said laughing.

“See,” she said, pointing out the positive side to this story.

“But seriously, Carole, I have to tell you; sometimes I feel like a horse’s ass. If I’d had known then what I know now, I’d never have pursued finding out the truth.”

“Mom, don’t say that. You and Daddy had a blast going back to Iowa. He told me so himself,” she said standing her ground.

Pausing a moment, I recalled our trip back east. We did have a good time. We talked about that adventure for some time afterward. We hadn’t been on an exciting investigation since our days of tracking down criminals…criminals of sorts anyway.

I reached out my arms to Carole, letting her know I wanted…I needed a hug. I latched on to her, and she snuggly hugged back.

I woke up in excruciating pain. It was a type of pain I had never felt before. I couldn’t move, couldn’t get out of bed, and I was scared. I managed to reach the phone and called Charlie. He was the oldest, and Charles and I always said he’d be the one in charge of our affairs if we ever couldn’t be.

Like the good son he is, he rushed over to see what was happening. This began a several months scenario where the children had to take turns helping me prepare food, do the laundry, and even help me with showers. Carole was so good about that. She knew it was a difficult situation for us both, but she handled it with sensitivity, and we got through it.

There were many days I wanted to give up. What was happening with my body?

Charlie was able to get some medical intervention for me, and soon we were referred to a well-known pain doctor. He made many a house call to my small apartment. His initial fix was pain pills. I was on so many. It didn’t entirely relieve my pain, but it let me sleep some.

After a couple of months of not getting any better, the doctor said I’d have to make a trip to the hospital for x-rays. I cried thinking of the pain I would be in when moving me. The children decided the best mode of transportation to get me there was by ambulance. Charlie made the arrangements with an ambulance service, and I was soon on my way to the hospital.

The news wasn’t good. I had two discs in my back that were almost entirely disintegrated – a result of the osteoporosis and rheumatoid arthritis I had. There wasn’t a surgery that could help me. I was destined for more pain pills. I was becoming a junkie before my children’s eyes. It concerned us all.

I took multiple bottles of pain medication and nothing took the pain away. Finally, the doctor suggested a procedure where they would implant a pain pump in my stomach, routing the medication to the back. It would be a small amount of morphine continuously, and I would be able to give myself a bolus with a hand held remote if needed.

Although the treatment was still a narcotic, it was a minuscule dosage compared to the pain pills I was currently taking. The best part was that the medication was focused directly where the disc issue was. We thought the idea was great and decided to go with the procedure.

They scheduled the surgery. I was in and out in a day. It was a miracle. The pain was instantly gone. I was a new woman. What I didn’t know was my life was about to change in ways I’d never imagined.

I was trying to cope with this new piece of equipment in me. With the pacemaker and now the pump newly installed, we joked I was the Bionic Woman.

I didn’t let it deter me. I tried hard to hold on to every last ounce of my independence. About the time I was finally getting used to all the new medical devices, something else happened.

There were so many different doctors in my life. I had doctors for my heart, rheumatoid arthritis, pain and my general physician. They had my children hopping with every medication change. Unfortunately, one of the changes didn’t get caught and my blood sugar dropped to dangerous levels.

Poor Carole was on her way over for what she thought was going to be fixing me dinner and visiting. She found me lying on the floor, talking incoherently, almost as if I was drunk, or over medicated. She called her older brother who hurried right over. In the end, 911 was called and off to the first of many hospital stays I went.

It was one thing after another. The doctors would get the sugar level stabilized, and then the sodium level went haywire. After those were stabilized, the potassium level would become skewed, having the doctors scratching their heads with yet another medication change.

I was becoming a regular at the hospital. The nursing staff remembered me each time. Not because I was a difficult patient, but because I was a model patient. They’d tell the children and I time and time again how great of a patient I was. I tried. I just wanted to get better and go home.

I would have given up a long time ago if it hadn’t been for the love and support of those three kids. They were my cheerleading team all the way. And, so after each hospital stay, I’d bounce back and we’d try to go about our lives the best we could. Then the unthinkable happened.

I’ll never forget that day…until I’m dead and gone of course. My poor kids will never forget it either, I’m afraid.

Charles Jr. and Carole were with me. Peter was at work in the city. We’d just come out of the cardiologist’s office. I’d been given some pretty good news. The old ticker was doing alright, and the doctor said all my blood tests were normal. I wouldn’t have to come back for several months.

We had an excellent patient/doctor relationship. As the resident cardiologist at the hospital, she was key in my receiving the outstanding medical treatment every time I was admitted. Going above the call of duty, she stopped in every day to see how I was doing, and I was always happy to see her. She was happy that things were finally settling in for me, and she could give me good news.

It already planned that after that appointment, I’d go upstairs where I’d receive my annual flu shot. A shot I’d never get - at least not in that office.

At this time in my life, I was using a walker. It was more for keeping me safe and stable, as my legs still worked pretty good for an eighty-four-year-old woman.

We started down the hallway when I realized I’d left my purse in the doctor’s office. Carole was a dear and ran back to look. Charlie stayed with me.

“Mom, I don’t see the purse anywhere. Are you sure you don’t have it,” she called out.

It all happened so abruptly. I was rounding a corner of the hallway, traveling closer to the right side so I could see what was coming. At the same time, I was processing what Carole had just yelled out to me regarding the purse, All of a sudden something so forceful knocked me over, walker and all.

I closed my eyes. I was slightly dazed, but I could hear voices. I knew the kids were nearby. Then the pain came. More excruciating pain. Coming from my leg and hip.

“Mom, can you hear me?” Charlie said.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe this happened,” Carole screamed at the staff member who accidently caused this mishap.

By then, I’m told that several staff members from various offices came running out, trying to offer care.

Here I am, lying on the ground, people all around me, and the same door that hit me kept swinging open as one by one different staff members came out to see what happened. Charlie was upset and let them have it.

“It’s going to happen again. You’re not watching as you open the damn door!” he barked.

Soon my primary doctor was kneeling down beside me. “Pat, it's Dr. Carrigan. Can you hear me?” She asked.

I nodded my head I could hear her. Then she did the unthinkable. She moved my leg. I screamed in pain.

“Yep, that’s what I was afraid of,” the doctor said.

In the end, an ambulance was called. I would need surgery for a broken hip.

I’d been reasonably healthy most of my life. I’d had some eye issues that required corneal transplants many years before, and I had my appendix out when I was a kid. But, I would have never expected the list of health problems that would plague me during my twilight years. First, the pacemaker, then the deteriorated disks in my back, and now a broken hip. I took it like a champ, though. What else could I do? The kids were hoping for a fast recovery, even though I had seen better days.

I thought about my Iowa family when I would get another diagnosis. I wondered if they were ever plagued with some of the same types of illnesses. The doctor told me that Rheumatoid Arthritis was hereditary. I hoped it would stop with me.

The surgery went well. I had some pain, but, for the most part, I was doing ok. It was determined because of my age, I’d go to a rehabilitation center for a few weeks of my recovery. There, I’d receive physical therapy. I didn’t want to, but I knew it was the best plan of action, and so dutifully, I went.

All the kids visited me often, but Carole made sure she came every day. She was my sensitive child. She was a fixer too. She always wanted to make sure I had clean clothes, enough toiletry items, and she’d make my salon appointments so I could get my nails painted and my hair done.

Carole knew that I would do what I could to facilitate my healing. I was an excellent patient. I did everything I was told. I participated in physical therapy, and I pushed myself even when I was hurting. I couldn’t wait to go home.

I was finally released from the rehabilitation center and excited about living my life. I tried to sugarcoat the pain I was feeling and justify all the things that were happening to me, but when my hip became inflamed, and then my shoulders, the children intervened.

“Mom, something’s not right.” Charlie scolded.

“We have to go back to the hospital,” Carole said.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Peter muttered.

One thing led to another and soon I was back in the hospital. It was determined I had contracted an infection with the hip surgery, and not only was it in my hip; it attacked a weaker part of my body, the rotor cuffs. That meant more surgery.

My poor body had been through the ringer. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Surgeries, hospitals, and more rehabilitation. What the infection hadn't destroyed, the multiple surgeries had. I now had limited use of my shoulders. My rotor cuffs destroyed.

I was able to hold silverware, brush my hair with special long handled brushes, brush my teeth with assistance, but other than that, I was totally dependent on others. I never showed the kids, but I was crying inside. What would my life be like, and how would it impact them?

I was now immobile, my worst nightmare come true. I saw my own sister and my mother in wheelchairs. Now I was becoming wheelchair bound as well.

After a family meeting, it was decided that I could not be alone anymore. Our only choice: move into an assisted living apartment, or hire staff to stay with me in my current living arrangement. We decided another move might be too hard on me.

We hired staff from an agency to be with me twenty-four hours a day. I bonded with several of them, and they were like daughters to me. Carole and the rest of the children would fill in covering shifts when the caregivers called in sick or needed a day off. They stepped right up to the plate, doing everything for me; including taking me to the bathroom.

I wish I could say I didn’t have any more visits to the hospital, but there were a couple more. I was trying to adapt to my new way of living. I didn’t have a whole lot I could do anymore without assistance. The one joy I still had was playing cards. I loved to play solitaire.

I remember it clearly. I dropped a couple cards and went to reach for them. I remember feeling pain, but I had lots of pains and tried hard not to be a complainer.

Later that day, the pain became so severe that I couldn’t breathe without pain.

“Why are all these things happening to me?” I asked the doctor.

I was told my body was frail. The infection had weakened me and my bones. All I did was reach down to pick up some cards and snap, my ribs cracked. Now, how was I going to live?

The doctor talked to the children and me about Hospice. At first, I thought it meant dying was immediate – like tomorrow. I wasn’t ready to check out yet. I had a lot of living to do, and I told him as much. Our granddaughter was going to have a baby; my great grandson and I planned to be around to meet him.

They told me Hospice wasn’t about giving up hope, it was about making me comfortable.

“You’ll go back to your apartment, and you’ll live each day to the best of your ability,” the kids said.

It was quite an experience, this Hospice set up. The first few days new furniture and equipment were brought in, medicine trays filled, and doctors taking my blood pressure, and all the other vitals. Everyone was so nice.

Hospice, assisted living and caregivers were now my life. It was an adjustment, but what are you going to do when you’re eighty-six years old and dependent on others.

After all the commotion had settled down, I began to get into a routine. I had my favorite caregivers, and they became like family to me. The kids were comforted by knowing how well they treated me, and how well I liked them. After all, you don’t just want anyone taking care of your loved one.

***

Not long after, I graduated to a wheelchair full-time. I gave up any hope of walking again. I knew that if I didn’t move, or stay active I’d only shorten my life, but I was eighty-six-years-old and tired. I decided to give into the wheelchair and just be happy with what I could do.

Carole would visit me often. She’d take me for long strolls on the path that meandered along the creek. We’d sit outside on the patio and talk, and I’d tell her all about my childhood. She, of course, knew about my adoption, but she was starting a second career as a writer and said she wanted to write one about me and my mysterious adoption.

I told her all the stories. She’d jot them down. I’d ask her how far she’d gotten on the story. I knew she was so busy with her husband, and now me, her invalid mother. How could she possibly find time to write?

“I’m about half way done,” she’d say.

I knew I’d never get to read it, or hear that it was completed. It took a long time to write, edit and publish a novel. But I knew she would do it. I knew she’d make it happen, and it would be her best work yet. I looked over at my daughter and beamed with happiness. She, along with all my children made me the happiest woman on earth.

“You know dear, for so many years I struggled with not knowing who I was. At first I didn’t really care, and then it was all I ever thought about.” She nodded and smiled. “Dad was so great about putting up with all my neurotic behavior over my past. He was determined to help me find answers,” I said, a tear forming on my bottom lid.

“Mom…” Carole had said before I stopped her.

“Let me finish, dear. What I was going to say was… you all are the most important thing in my life. Your dad would have been so proud of how you all stepped up and took care of your old Ma.”

“Mom, we’d all do it again,” she said leaning over and kissing me lightly on the forehead. “Let’s stop talking about depressing things. Let’s go look at the roses,” she said as she wheeled me to the infamous rose garden at the compound.

Carole and the other children were always positive. They knew that my days were numbered, but they never gave up hope. Carole was always planning something for us to do. She’d look at the activities calendar and we’d plan accordingly.

I knew what the children were going through had to be difficult. They were trying to hold down jobs, take care of their family, and take care of me. I was thankful for everything they did, but I probably didn’t voice it enough. However, I was doing everything I could to hold on. It was harder than I expected.

I really wasn’t ready to check out of this life yet, but I knew that God would make that decision when it was time. I was a spiritual person, and I believed for every season there was a reason, and every life there was life beyond Earth. If I didn’t believe that, then I would never see any of my family again. That would be more painful than anything I’d suffered from deteriorating discs, surgeries, and infection.

***

Carole knew how much I enjoyed gambling. I didn’t spend a lot of money, but I would take what I was willing to lose, and it was my form of entertainment. She and I enjoyed going to the local Indian casinos, and back in the day, we made many a trip to Reno, and even Las Vegas.

In typical Carole fashion, she planned to take me on a local casino trip. I wasn’t sure if I could make it.

“It’s your birthday, Mom. We always celebrate it with cha-ching,” she said laughing.

“You sure you wouldn’t be burdened by taking me?” I asked, really wanting to go, but at the same time not sure if I should.

“It will be no problem. I’ll bring the wheelchair, we’ll do valet parking, and it’ll be good. We can have lunch inside at the Chinese restaurant we like so much,” she said elated that she might have me convinced.

I agreed to go. She picked me up at ten. We were home by two. It was an exhausting day, but we had fun. It would be the last time I ever stepped foot in a casino.