Heavenly Father,
I praise you and thank you for the time you allowed my mother and I to live together. May she be just as blessed living with my brother.
In Jesus' name. Amen.
My mom DOES NOT like going to the doctor!
For ANY reason!
Even good news.
Truthfully, unless Saint Michael the Archangel told her she had to go to the doctor, she'd rather just stay home and watch her "judge shows," (Judge Judy, Judge Mathis, Caso cerrado, etc).
Now for my brief "theory," on the two kinds of elderly people I think exist, and what their pill-taking, morning habits are:
The first "type" of elderly people DO NOT GO to the doctor OR take their medicine.
This is not up for discussion.
This is how they are, and this is how they want to remain until they die: doctor-less, pill-less, but rest-FULL.
Anything that can be done after 8:00 a.m. is a welcome excursion.
The second "type" of elderly people GO to the doctor - even if they don't enjoy it - take their medicine, and are likely seen in Target stores cafeterias before 8:00 in the morning, but no later than 7:00 in the evening.
My mother is in the first category, so it was a smite frustrating for me when, in the Fall of 2003, my mother had to be forced to see a cancer doctor when her breasts were bleeding! And apparently the bleeding had been happening for a few months, she just hadn't told anyone!
I only found out because mom's guardian angel gave me the opportunity to put away some of her laundry, which is when I saw red stains on mom's bras.
Mom, who was 70 at the time, did indeed have breast cancer; the tests revealed the cancer was only in one breast though, thanks be to God. Surgery was required, of course, to remove it. The doctor wasn't sure if chemotherapy would be needed at the time - he'd have a better idea once the surgery was done. Mom's cancer was a stage 3, out of a four point scale; four being the worst.
A first-time house buyer
As I considered the purchase of a home, my thoughts were mainly on my mom's health.
I didn't relish the idea of her driving to and from her place to the doctor's office, which was an hour away from where she lived. She needed to be closer to her doctor, and to my brother and I, so we could help her with whatever she needed.
I was living in an apartment when all of this happened. I couldn't imagine all of mom's things fitting in an apartment with me. There wasn't an apartment large enough for all the things mom had accumulated in her seventy years of being on this planet. I knew then I had to purchase a home.
Not knowing what I was doing, and not as close to God as I am now, I didn't pray about my actions, or ask for God's guidance in any way, I just looked for a home and when I found one mom and I liked, I procured it. Which also means I didn't ask the Lord to send me the best real estate agent.
Despite my thoughtlessness of God's wishes for my life, I found what I thought was the perfect house: a 3BDRM, 2 BA, 2 car garage, with a huge fenced-in backyard for our dogs.
The house was bought around Thanksgiving.
Even though the house wasn't near the doctors, it was closer than where mom lived at the time, and adjacent to my work place.
In January of 2004 mom had the surgery and I took off a week from work to care for her. Before, during and after the operation my brother and I were by her side, of course. I was moved with compassion for mom as she lay in her hospital bed.
Only mom's sweet head, brown arms and legs appeared amongst the large, fluffy white pillows and bedsheets. She hated being in the hospital, but she took full advantage of the attention paid to her, bless her heart.
Since I was to be mom's care taker for at least a week after the procedure, the nurses in the hospital taught me how to drain her tube.
This may gross some of you out, and if it does, my apologies.
After breast cancer operations, patients have an "external drainage device," which captures fluid from the surgery site, into a collection device, or pouch. In order to make sure ALL the fluid was drained, I had to pinch the tube with one hand, and with my other hand, push the blood through the tube into the pouch, which hung a little below her waist.
Every day a nurse came to the house and checked how her recovery was coming along. The nurse would empty the pouch and measure how much liquid had been drained; this was to give the doctors an idea of how her body was recovering. Eventually the red fluid would be turning to straw-colored.
So really, the first year with mom was just moving her into the house and making sure she felt as comfortable as possible, and for her recovery to go well.
I considered myself extremely fortunate, blessed and honored to care for my mom. She is such a blessing!
"I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world." Mother Theresa
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