They evaluate my mother tomorrow. They'll make an assessment of her physical and mental state. I don't know exactly what the final result will be, but I do know some important decisions rest on my shoulders.
My mother can walk up to thirty feet. She can get from a wheelchair to a toilet and visa-versa. She's gained some weight and her appetite (helped with medications) is good. That's the good part.
She can remember certain family members, hold somewhat of a conversation, describe her physical state and eat without assistance. She can't remember five minutes ago. That's not good and removes any self-determination on her part. She will now need constant care and I can't do that by myself. The anesthesia, which was part of the risk, increased her dementia and the doctor said it probably wouldn't get better.
While my mother was able to take care of herself before, with me, or some other family member only at night, those days are over. I don't have the support network required and it's looking more like her next destination will be what's euphemistically known as "an assisted care facility".
So, I'll soon be faced with something I didn't want to face. The decision to take on this responsibility was mine, and I did it willingly when she asked if I would, but it doesn't lessen the hurt. I'm researching, and weighing the options, but my decision will be completely based on the quality of life she'll have in her last years. While home care may seem inviting, the isolation and lack of constant input from more than one person doesn't seem to have the dignity required to complete her life.
I don't know why I'm writing this, but it seems important. Life is such a finite journey and we can only hope our passing is with dignity and while we're at peace. Still, there's always that nagging thought that any decision won't be right and will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Crap. Even though I thought I was prepared for this, I'm finding it a little daunting.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.