My mother

This is a hard post to write because my mother has died. My mother- Jessie Belle Tolan Young.

This started when she couldn't breathe, even with her oxygen, and called 911 and went to the ER on Friday, September 26th. She was admitted for plural effusion (fluid surrounding the lung) and I arrived in town the next day. She responded well to treatment and was released the evening of the 28th. Before we could make up our minds about what to do (her come home with me right away, come in a few days when she felt more ready, stay home with home care or ?) she was readmitted to the hospital, via the ER, for a severe arrhythmia on Wednesday, October 1st. When she was released on Saturday, October 4th, we (and with the urging of her doctors) had decided that she should come stay with me for a month or two to recover and regain her strength. Her 90-year old husband had been ill and then died in June and she was run down and exhausted from caring for him plus struggling to cope with her own COPD and congestive heart failure. She always felt a little better in SF (lower altitude, cleaner air, me) and we figured that with a little time to rest and some extra TLC, she'd get back to her life which, until this time, she'd been handling all on her own (and to the nth degree).



So she came home with me to get a little better, not to die. And I still can't believe that she got away from me.

She didn't get the bounce she usually does from being in SF. When she visited in August (also to rest up and recover from feeling poorly), she did great. She only used her oxygen while sleeping (and only did so because I nagged, not because she was convinced she needed it) and, on one outing, she walked a mile and a half down Market Street, pushing a wheel chair part of the way. (We brought the wheel chair just in case but in retrospect I'm shocked to recall that we didn't bother to bring the oxygen). This time, though, she needed her oxygen, at 4 litres per hour(?), 24/7.

She was a good patient- compliant with all her many hated medicines and forcing herself to eat even though she wasn't hungry, and she succeeded in regaining some of the weight she had lost. She wasn't comfortable though. Her back and neck ached and she was fatigued and short of breath and had GI upset and a terrible time sleeping. We spent most of our time on the phone either trying to get and/or expedite doctors' appointments and tests or actually at the appointments and tests. It was like pulling teeth to get the care she needed. The rest of my time was spent running up and down the stairs, in and outdoors, taking care of my pets and too-many rescues. I was running from 7am until 7pm, at least. My mom got a fair amount of my time and attention each day- I wonder if it was enough. It was certainly all I could give but I don't think it was enough for her. She was displaced from her life, trying to make a home in my living room, without her stuff or house or independence. My mother had no leisure skills and was only at ease when she was working and she didn't have the strength or environment for work and so she was not at ease.



She tried to help me but the cabinets were too high and the doors stick too much and nothing was where she looked for it to be and so her trying to help was frustrating to her and painful to me. We figured it out a little but it's terrible to be stuck in someone else's home. She appreciated being here with me and knew it was for a good cause and only temporary but it was hard for her even so.

At 5:30 am on October 23rd, my mom stood in my doorway and quietly said my name. I instantly awoke (as I often did when I would hear her coughing or walking the halls during the night) and she said, "I think we should call 911. I can't breathe." The 911 operator was great and within 5 minutes there were six firemen in my house. My mom had been worried about how they were going to get her down my narrow, semi-winding staircase on a stretcher and was about to navigate it herself to save them the trouble but they got here first. Of course they had no trouble. They carried her out on a chair-like lift which suited the situation perfectly. They rushed her to UCSF and I came along in my car. This was the third of the four hospitalizations that she had in 6 weeks.


To be continued