I Hate Rollercoasters

Do you like rollercoasters? I don’t. I’m not talking about rides at amusement parks or county fairs, although if we’re being honest I don’t like those either. No, I’m talking about emotional rollercoasters. They’re just not any fun!

Our family has been on this wretched rollercoaster since August 28th, 2023. That’s the day my mom fell and broke her hip. Well, technically she snapped the neck of her femur and broke the ball of her right hip, thus requiring a partial hip replacement surgery on 8/30. Mom’s a real ball-buster! Get it??

So the ride started out with a terrifying drop…she needed surgery to replace the broken ball, but her pre-existing COPD and diminished lung function made that a risky endeavor. Did I mention that she’d been on oxygen since July 2022? Yep. Oh, and let’s not forget about the blockage in both of her legs that was already restricting blood flow and causing problems. But I digress, like my sister does. Back to the surgery. The doctors told us that it would be risky, and there was a real possibility that mom would need to be put on a ventilator. This is something that she’d always been ADAMANTLY against. If all went according to plan, she wouldn’t need it. If things went south, they would need to intubate her during surgery. There was a chance that if they did, the wouldn’t be able to her her off the ventilator, and then my dad, sister, and I would have to decide when to pull the plug.

After much discussion, we agreed that we had to go for it. Fingers and toes crossed and lots of prayers going up, they took her into surgery. From a hip replacement standpoint, surgery was a glaring success. Mom liked to be difficult though. They had to intubate and get her on the ventilator to bring her out of the anesthesia-induced coma. After what seemed like the longest hour of my life, they got her off the ventilator and moved her back to her room. Eleven long days later, we finally got to take her home. Woooosh!!! The first downhill rush was over before the next big climb. Guess what happens when you lay in a hospital bed for 11 days? You develop unstageable bedsores on your heels and backside!

What’s better than 11 days in the hospital? How about NOT being able to do your physical therapy that your partial hip replacement demands because you can’t put pressure on your feet to walk? In case you were wondering, if you have COPD and just lay around not moving, you get weak. The less you use your muscles, the less they wanna work. Know what else decides to be lazier than usual? Your lungs. When you breathe, you inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. Theoretically, if your lungs get lazy, the CO2 builds up in your body causing something called hypercapnia. Remember that uphill climb? Woooosh!!! Down the rails and back to the ER.

How’s 24 hours in the ER on a BiPap machine sound? Not great! It wasn’t pleasant for mom, and certainly wasn’t fun for us. She spent five more days in the hospital before we were able to bring her home. Then, the night she came home, a nurse shows up at the house with mom’s very own BiPap machine. What a crappy welcome home gift…”Here, I know you’re claustrophobic and already having panic attacks when you can’t breathe, but put this incredibly uncomfortable mask on every time you try to sleep.”

October was a slower, milder ride. It was almost like we could see the end of the ride, we just couldn’t get the operator to pull the car back into the platform. There were lots of visits to wound care and a plethora of visiting nurses. Doctors appointments and struggles with the BiPap. Oh crap, did we really just pass the platform? Here we go again!

November 4th, back to the ER for elevated CO2 levels once again. We brought her home four days later, but this ride was nowhere near over. The day before Thanksgiving, another trip to the ER and another admission to the hospital. Good thing mom had been teaching my sister how to cook Thanksgiving dinner over the past few years. An already busy Thanksgiving day included a trip to the hospital at noon so we’d all be together to listen to Alice’s Restaurant. After all, it’s tradition. Six days after being admitted, we brought her home on November 27th. And then the long, slow climb started again. Now I know people that like rollercoasters think that the climb is boring and the drop is exciting, thrilling even. But remember, I hate rollercoasters. For me, the climb is when I can breathe. I can’t really relax, because I know that next drop is coming, and the drops are terrifying.

Friday, December 15th was the biggest drop so far. Back to the ER. This time, mom was admitted and settled into her room by 10 pm. I went home, exhausted. Just after 1:30 am, my phone rang. My heart fell out of my chest when I saw it was the hospital calling. She was really agitated and kept ripping her BiPap off and telling them to let her die. They asked if I could come sit with her and hopefully calm her down. No way could I handle that alone, so I called my sister and woke up my dad to go with me to the hospital. It was shortly after 2 am when we got there, and mom told us that it was time to “let go and let God.” No more BiPap. She was done. 4 am rolled around and I sent my dad and sister home. I dozed in the recliner next to her bed, afraid to sleep for fear she’d leave us. Saturday she was talking a little, telling us she just didn’t have the strength to keep fighting. My sister and I spent the evening desperately trying to record her saying “I love you,” for fear that it would be our last chance to hear it straight from her. She said “all are welcome,” so Sunday was a steady stream of visitors in and out of her hospital room. They brought in a hospice cart. I was an absolute wreck, but she was awake and having full conversations with everyone that came in to see her. By Monday morning, she had convinced the doctors to send her home. We packed up all her stuff, loaded up the car, and then wouldn’t you know it, woooosh!! Another drop. Ugh.

Maybe Sunday wore her out. She was almost comatose in her bed. There was no way we could take her home like that. She wouldn’t even sit up. Another night in the hospital. Tuesday morning, the bereavement counselor from hospice came to pay us a visit. Going home obviously wasn’t an option. We agreed that she would go to the local hospice house, and by late afternoon they were loading her into the ambulance to take her down the road to her new suite. The doctor came in on Wednesday morning, changed all her medication, and told her he’d try to get her home for Christmas. Mom said she didn’t want to leave us at Christmas because she didn’t want to “ruin the holiday” for us. Wouldn’t you know it, that damn coaster starts another uphill climb. By Saturday, transport had been arranged to bring her home.

Sunday was Christmas Eve. Being the trooper that she was, mom stayed awake all day, giving me directions on how to make the applesauce and scalloped potatoes and how to cook the ham. We had a house full of people after church, and she partied with them all! She was eating Christmas cookies and drinking her Rum & Coke with a smile on her face. She smiled as dad read “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” and she laughed at the theatrical reading of “The Wonkey Donkey” by my cousin. Monday morning, Christmas Day, she was up and ready to exchange gifts with the family. She was an incredibly “normal” mom! Praise Jesus, what a wonderful Christmas we had together.

Mom had a couple more good days, and we couldn’t believe that just two weeks prior, we thought we were gonna lose her. All this merriment must’ve taken its toll, because by New Year’s Eve, she couldn’t even get up off the couch. Crap. Here we go again. Tanking oxygen levels, no appetite, lethargic, weak. You see where this was going. January 3rd, we waited until 9pm for the ambulance to come and take her back to the hospice house. My sister stayed with her that night, afraid to leave her alone.

January 4th, she mostly slept, though she did wake up for a sip of water now and then. Friday, January 5th, it was like that rollercoaster said, “oh you thought that last drop was bad? Hold my beer!” My sister got to the hospice house around 1:30 pm and said mom wasn’t looking good. She wouldn’t wake up at ll. I left work early to find my sister sitting at her bedside reading the book of Psalms quietly to her. I really hate this damn rollercoaster! I called my dad, and he finished up the job he was on and came straight to the hospice house. I called my kids, and told them that they needed to get there. We all told her that we loved her. We prayed. We cried. We told her that we’d all be ok. We told her it was ok if she needed to let go. Mom just slept through it all. My sister decided to stay with her again. They both barely got any sleep that night. Mom was back to her incoherent ramblings. We could either laugh or cry, and we chose laughter. She was funny when she got like this…rambling on about Christmas balls that didn’t exist and what’s behind the wall. We were all afraid that the end was near. Saturday night she spent a good half an hour holding my husband’s hand and make sure that we all knew she loved him. It scared him, and he doesn’t scare easily. I mean, it haunted him for the next week.

Sunday morning, she was up and eating breakfast. She gave my dad a list of snacks she wanted brought up for her. What?? Back to the climb. Each day after that was an improvement. She was playing cards, getting on her laptop, paying bills, choosing her meals, showering (with help of course). and going outside with dad daily to get some fresh air. Then she started using her walker again. Don’t tell me prayer doesn’t work. My mom was living proof. On February 2nd, we brought her home once again.

The long climb before the last big drop. February was a great month. We celebrated my children’s birthdays. We rejoiced at the news that my daughter is pregnant. We started planning a wedding. Every day, someone would ask how mom was doing, and then they would be amazed when we told them. She was defying the odds. She was living. That last month with mom was full of so many moments that became memories. We watched Family Feud and laughed at the ridiculous answers and Steve Harvey’s reactions. She and I watched Christmas movies in her bed when she needed to put her feet up. Mom told me on more than one occasion that if she woke up dead in the morning, I should take comfort in the fact that she lived a good life and had no regrets.

February 25th, mom started to get tired. Monday, February 26th, she told the visiting nurse that she was feeling weak. Her vitals were ok, so the nurse wasn’t overly concerned. Her oxygen tanked a few times, but she recovered after doing breathing treatments. Tuesday, February 27th, I had to help her to the kitchen to get breakfast. I asked her if she’d be ok if I went to work, and she assured me that she would. By 11 am, she was scaring my daughter, staring off and unresponsive. I sent my sister over to check on her. She helped her with a breathing treatment, got her lunch, and helped her back into bed for a nap. By the time I got home from work, she was wheezing and her oxygen kept dropping. I finally got her to the kitchen for dinner around 7 pm. She ate a pork chop and a couple pierogis, and of course she had some vanilla pudding. She told me that she wanted to go to the club on Saturday and she’d like to try to go to church on Sunday. She laughed and told me she’d have to build up some strength by then.

Wednesday, February 28th, 2024…my world came crashing down. Mom wasn’t doing well when I woke up that morning. She said she’d been up most of the night, just sitting on the edge of the bed. I couldn’t get her to get up or drink anything. She sent my dad to work, but then told me that maybe I should stay home with her that day. By 8:30 am, I had convinced her to let me call hospice and ask them to send a nurse. The nurse got there quickly, and by 11 am she was back at the hospice house. She was laughing with the EMTs as they put her in the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospice house, she was settled in her suite and waiting for the doctor. She told the nurse she was hungry, so they brought her some lunch. The aide brought her a can of Coke. She had a few sips, but didn’t eat anything. She did speak to the doctor and the nurses when they came in, and she was able to answer me when I asked her questions. They had given her more meds, and she was having a hard time staying awake. I told the aide I was going to go home and get something to eat, and I’d be back in a couple hours. Even then, I had no idea this stupid coaster was about to go off the rails!

I was sitting at home with my dad and my daughter when my phone rang. Once again, my heart dropped when I saw that it was hospice. It was almost 4 pm. The nurse said that mom’s condition was worsening, and this was the time when they’d call in the family. My dad and I left immediately. I called my sister and my kids, and told them to get there ASAP. By the time we all got there, mom was unresponsive. She wouldn’t talk to me or even squeeze my hand. Her breathing was terrible. I’d seen that look before, and I knew it wasn’t good. Of course they couldn’t tell us for sure, but they didn’t think she’d make it through the night.

I had walked out of her room to sit with a friend in another room and try to process what was happening. My sister came to get me, and said I needed to get back in the room. I walked in, grabbed her hand, and pushed the button for the nurse. She came into the room, asked what was happening, and pulled out her stethoscope. She listened to mom’s breathing, and not two minutes later, she told us mom had passed. 6:22 pm. This fucking coaster wrecked my world.

I know this is a really long, depressing blog. If you read this whole thing, thank you. It’s a form of therapy for me to get it all out in writing. It’s raw, and it’s real. Emotions are forces to be reckoned with, and mine have been all over the place for the past month. If you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll tell you that I’m functioning, I’m surviving, and I am not ok. I miss my mom. Every second of every day. I feel like she was taken away from me way too soon. I’m full of questions that will never have answers. I’m living in a reality that I am certainly not prepared for. I told mom I wasn’t done with her yet, and I didn’t know how to live without her. She told me that I would go on, because she did when she lost her mom. She said, “that’s life.” I know she loved me more, and I know that love didn’t end when she left this world. I believe that I will see her again when someday God calls me home to Glory. In the meantime, I’ll be here, doing the best I can to live a life that would make her proud. And please, please don’t ever be afraid to mention her in my presence. I promise it won’t make me sad. It brings me comfort and peace to know that she was so very loved, and that she left such a mark on so many lives. Help me keep her memory and love alive. Let’s talk about the amazing, wonderful woman she was. I love you, Mom, with all my heart and sold. Together at the same time both. Cool beans.