It's a little embarassing to be so brief but there's not much I can say about today's visit.
I went a bit later today (being an old meanie, I had refused to drive Dan to the train station in the morning) and I got to Woodbine around 11AM instead of my customary post-drop off time of 9AM. I walked in and before I could even say hello, Mom opened her eyes, looked at me, said, "Oh Thank God you're here - now I can sleep," and sleep she did - instantly and completely - snoring and all.
I stayed until 12:15 thinking that she might wake up but she did not.
I did notice, on my way out, that the bulletin board in the lobby has pictures of Neil Diamond singing to the residents in the first floor day room. Apparently he was there as a favor to someone he knew for a birthday party sometime a few weeks ago.
He was a fake, but still......It would have been fun to hear Sweet Caroline or Song Sung Blue again.
We have to pay more attention to the activities which take place. Today there was a guitar player singing in Mom's "day room," and if I had known I could have come earlier and taken her down in the chair to listen. I could hear him from her room and he was, all in all, a pretty good singer - rousing old songs like "Billy Bailey," "Old Man River," and "On the Sunny Side of the Street."
Ah well, maybe next time.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Abulia
This is the article Mark found regarding stroke victims who will talk on a telephone easier than they do in person. It's just a short page from a much larger book but we found it interesting.
To enlarge the type simply double click on the image below - it should enlarge to a readable size.
To enlarge the type simply double click on the image below - it should enlarge to a readable size.
Monday, April 4. 2011
It was an "Oh, dear," day today. Very little was right for Estelle and much of it was all wrong for some reason. She was quite agitated when I got there - immediately asking me if I was from "Room 107," and when I told her I was Laura, Dan's wife, she told me that if I was "who you say you are" I would "get us out of here immediately." Once again I told her that she needed to stay where she was because she needs more medical care than anyone can give her outside of a medical setting but today she was not going to be led down that path - she wanted to "go home" and that was all there was to it. She told me that all anyone does is tell her she must rest and that she was on the list for the army and maybe I could at least get her off of that one, if nothing else. Although she did not say so I definitely got the impression that I was certainly not on her list of helpful people today. In the greatest sort of exasperation she finally asked me if, the next time I saw her son, Dan, would I please tell him to get her out of there.
It is the worst sort of irony that Estelle's speech is much clearer when she is confused that it is when she is not.
Fortunately for me, at the height of her exasperation with me, her good friend, Meryl called. Mom loves to talk on the phone to people. We had noticed, even back in The Manor, that she often (but not always) becomes much more focused when the voice is coming from someone who is not physically in the room with her. Mark had found an interesting article relating to stroke victims and telephones, I will try to find it again and I will post it here. I remember it was quite informative and is, actually, quite common.
Anyhow, she spoke to Meryl for several minutes and, for the most part, was understandable and fairly on topic. She was delighted to hear that Meryl is planning a visit here to see her and talked about it with me even after the phone call was over. She did tell Meryl the same thing she was telling me - that she was not "doing so good," today and asked Meryl to contact Dan and ask him to call her.
Again, fortunately for me, Dan called shortly after Meryl did and Mom got to talk to him for a bit. Unfortunately for me, she did not once bring up the subject of leaving.
It was a helpless feeling sort of visit. I hate that she seems unhappy and yet, rationally I know that there is nothing anyone can do to change the things which have happened to her, and by extension, to her family and friends. Dan and I have discussed it endlessly - what's the best thing to do, the best thing to say, the best way to offer her hope but still give her reality at the same time. We basically tell her that she's ill, that she's suffered a bad stroke and she must have continual nursing care and that her family has placed her in the best possible place they could find and that everyone loves her and supports her but no one can simply "take her home" because she is, right now, far too sick to be anywhere else but where she is.
Where I in her situation, I am pretty sure I would not understand it or accept it, either.
And that's the rub.
It is the worst sort of irony that Estelle's speech is much clearer when she is confused that it is when she is not.
Fortunately for me, at the height of her exasperation with me, her good friend, Meryl called. Mom loves to talk on the phone to people. We had noticed, even back in The Manor, that she often (but not always) becomes much more focused when the voice is coming from someone who is not physically in the room with her. Mark had found an interesting article relating to stroke victims and telephones, I will try to find it again and I will post it here. I remember it was quite informative and is, actually, quite common.
Anyhow, she spoke to Meryl for several minutes and, for the most part, was understandable and fairly on topic. She was delighted to hear that Meryl is planning a visit here to see her and talked about it with me even after the phone call was over. She did tell Meryl the same thing she was telling me - that she was not "doing so good," today and asked Meryl to contact Dan and ask him to call her.
Again, fortunately for me, Dan called shortly after Meryl did and Mom got to talk to him for a bit. Unfortunately for me, she did not once bring up the subject of leaving.
It was a helpless feeling sort of visit. I hate that she seems unhappy and yet, rationally I know that there is nothing anyone can do to change the things which have happened to her, and by extension, to her family and friends. Dan and I have discussed it endlessly - what's the best thing to do, the best thing to say, the best way to offer her hope but still give her reality at the same time. We basically tell her that she's ill, that she's suffered a bad stroke and she must have continual nursing care and that her family has placed her in the best possible place they could find and that everyone loves her and supports her but no one can simply "take her home" because she is, right now, far too sick to be anywhere else but where she is.
Where I in her situation, I am pretty sure I would not understand it or accept it, either.
And that's the rub.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Sunday, April 3. 2011
Dan was far too eloquent this morning for me to compete with - and it's been a long day and we're both fairly exhausted.
Just a quick update on our visits today. We ended up going to see Mom twice today, once in the early part of the afternoon and once again around dinner time.
The first time we were there she was quite talkative. Unfortunately Dan understood her much better than I did. I do know she was alternating between sense and nonsense for much of our stay. Her eyes were open but she was focused on something we could not see. She was also talking to Joe often and much confused as to where she was and what was happening around here.
Near the end of our visit I became upset when I realized that although she was wearing her oxygen cannula it was not turned on and I hunted down the nurse who had just come on shift and seemed unsure as to why. We had her recheck Mom's oxygen saturation and it was quite low at 93 to 95% which could very well be a major factor in her confusion. The nurse promised to come back and give her a breathing treatment and restart her oxygen.
We had to leave at that point as we still had shopping and other errands to do but after dropping the groceries off at home we did return to Woodbine to make sure all was well. Mom was still awake and glad to see us again so we stayed briefly, assured her that one or both of us would return tomorrow morning and left her a bit sad but, hopefully, not as confused and feeling a bit better than she did earlier.
If she is not better tomorrow or if her saturation is still low we will speak to the nursing supervisor and/or call the doctor.
Just a quick update on our visits today. We ended up going to see Mom twice today, once in the early part of the afternoon and once again around dinner time.
The first time we were there she was quite talkative. Unfortunately Dan understood her much better than I did. I do know she was alternating between sense and nonsense for much of our stay. Her eyes were open but she was focused on something we could not see. She was also talking to Joe often and much confused as to where she was and what was happening around here.
Near the end of our visit I became upset when I realized that although she was wearing her oxygen cannula it was not turned on and I hunted down the nurse who had just come on shift and seemed unsure as to why. We had her recheck Mom's oxygen saturation and it was quite low at 93 to 95% which could very well be a major factor in her confusion. The nurse promised to come back and give her a breathing treatment and restart her oxygen.
We had to leave at that point as we still had shopping and other errands to do but after dropping the groceries off at home we did return to Woodbine to make sure all was well. Mom was still awake and glad to see us again so we stayed briefly, assured her that one or both of us would return tomorrow morning and left her a bit sad but, hopefully, not as confused and feeling a bit better than she did earlier.
If she is not better tomorrow or if her saturation is still low we will speak to the nursing supervisor and/or call the doctor.
Saturday, 4/2 (A day late)
Dan posting. Laura and I spent a couple of hours with Mom yesterday, and had a lovely visit. She showed fewer signs of confusion, which I ascribe (perhaps simplisticly) to the evident clearing up of the last bacterial infection. The only thing that struck me as a non-sequiter was that at one point, she thought it very important to get across the thought that "I don't have any experience with this." I could not get her to pin down what "this" is -- I asked whether she meant this place, or this experience (of resting all the time,) but struck out in "20 Questions" on this one. She either gave up in frustration, or lost interest -- her affect is usually flat, and much harder to read than most people's.
If I ever succeeded in reliably reading all her expressions, I daresay I'd give up the writing game and become a professional poker player. But as with her speech, I like to think we learn more the more we try.
Sometimes, as everyone who knows her knows, Mom's quite witty, and that's oddly survived. Yesterday, another side of that came through. Please bear with my thoroughly unscientific recounting of this bit -- it's full of my own observer bias, and my love for that side of my Mom's personality.
Early in the visit, I was sort of "getting her started," which either "takes" or it doesn't. Most days it does nowadays. When I visit Mom, there's usually (though not always) a process of what I think of as "surfacing." At first she speaks most slowly, or perhaps does not even acknowledge my presence, though she is awake. Yesterday she greeted us with a very clear "hello, how are you?" when we announced our presence, but as is the norm, she was slow to engage beyond that. At those times, one fishes for something that engages her a bit.
I told her we'd just come from getting our taxes done, and I told her since Laura stopped working full-time last year, and I had not changed the way they withold my taxes at work, we had a big refund this year. She asked what I was going to do with it. I told her "pay debts." She said "I thought you'd say that." I told her we'd do some shopping too -- we need a new comforter and sheets so we can change them more often when the cat-hair gets on them -- etcetera. This resulted in a "that's good" or two. I asked her if she wanted anything. I offered flowers or plants or other art for her walls... she didn't answer any of these offers. I think it may depress her a bit. Materially, it seems, she's got what we all spend our lives trying to acquire, that is, everything she could ever want. Of course the trick to this is that what she could want is to be able to do the things in life for which one would want any of these material extras. She fell silent, at least; that much I can say objectively.
So, having lost her attention with such offers, I began the project of recapturing it. One thus-far reliable gambit is to talk about all her friends and family who send their love, and to relay any news we know of their lives. So I began that way, and then started to tell her something I think she'd like to know: that all the people we met who knew her in New Jersey, and all her friends, were prone to say that people she met loved her immediately, and that so many people sent their love because she really is loved by so many.
Please understand that I don't paint myself as any sort of icon of filial piety. As often as not, my relationship with my mother has been difficult. Nor do I paint my mother -- your sister, friend, cousin, or aunt -- as some sort of saint. But one must be forgiven such sentimental pronouncements when they are true, and when they are the sentiments most likely to evince a response. She did say "that's lovely," or somesuch, often as I told her this. I told her her children all love her so much, because she taught us that loving people was the most important thing. At this point I threw in a bit of humor by reflex, and said "I have it on good authority that you have a big heart."
Now here's the reason I've put you, gentle reader, through so much personal meandering: I can report that although she may have lost some confidence in her read of such things, she has lost none of her talent for double-entendre.
Her immediate response was, "That's good. You mean physically?" Now that was a surprise. I responded "physically and metaphorically." Then she surprised me again, and asked, "Is that okay?" And I could tell by how she asked that she was well aware that such a thing was of medical interest to her. She wasn't panicked, mind you, or if she was showed no signs of it. But she was certainly interested.
I told her that a while back, the doctor said her heart is a little large, but that it's not so dangerous to her, because it's only dangerous if you're very physically active -- and that was the best I could do with my phrasing on the spot.
I think we're learning each time we see her. The stroke's done terrible things to the quickness with which she used to respond and converse. One has to be patient (and we continually feel like we fail her in that way). I think often she's frustrated when she tries to get things across. But sometimes she's very clear.
It's wrong to say Mom's the same old Estelle, only having suffered a stroke, even beyond impairment in communication and loss of quickness. The confusion that attends so many states she is prone to (for example, the effect of UTIs) can't be reliably and conclusively separated from the spottiness of her memory, especially for recent events. One day she'll remember that we're married and visited her in Freehold, another day she thinks Laura is on the Woodbine staff, and still other days our marriage is wonderful "news."
But stroke is notorious for ravaging one faculty and leaving another incongruously intact. I think Mom's sense of humor was always a signal aspect of her personality, both as others observed her, and as her own strongest coping mechanism. I think yesterday I saw her "getting" that there was a double-entendre, and I think she got that effortlessly. I may be wrong; she may have only identified that there was an idiomatic as well as a literal meaning for the phrase "big heart." But I really do think she got that there was a pun there. The other things she's said now and then unmistakably display a continuing facility with humor.
What's fascinating about this is that she is effortlessly in touch with verbal humor, which is so dependent on complex relationships in syntax and vocabulary, and often the witty rejoinder, or response to a joke, is instantaneous, whereas "serious" formation of speech is more difficult. This reminds me very much of the famous singer, who stuttered when he spoke but not when he sang (Mel Tillis I think).
Notes on the medical front: she was using a lot of accessory muscles to breathe -- that is, breathing seemed difficult, something it took visible motion on her part to achieve. We called in the nurse, and he needed a few minutes to take her 02 reading. Her 02 sats were low (95), so they put her back on the oxygen as we were leaving. We'll see if she is still on it when we return this afternoon; they're using it as needed now, but it's disappointing that it was needed. Sorry to give this short shrift, but if I bloviate (or blogiate, I suppose) any longer, we'll never get back over there!
More later,
Dan
If I ever succeeded in reliably reading all her expressions, I daresay I'd give up the writing game and become a professional poker player. But as with her speech, I like to think we learn more the more we try.
Sometimes, as everyone who knows her knows, Mom's quite witty, and that's oddly survived. Yesterday, another side of that came through. Please bear with my thoroughly unscientific recounting of this bit -- it's full of my own observer bias, and my love for that side of my Mom's personality.
Early in the visit, I was sort of "getting her started," which either "takes" or it doesn't. Most days it does nowadays. When I visit Mom, there's usually (though not always) a process of what I think of as "surfacing." At first she speaks most slowly, or perhaps does not even acknowledge my presence, though she is awake. Yesterday she greeted us with a very clear "hello, how are you?" when we announced our presence, but as is the norm, she was slow to engage beyond that. At those times, one fishes for something that engages her a bit.
I told her we'd just come from getting our taxes done, and I told her since Laura stopped working full-time last year, and I had not changed the way they withold my taxes at work, we had a big refund this year. She asked what I was going to do with it. I told her "pay debts." She said "I thought you'd say that." I told her we'd do some shopping too -- we need a new comforter and sheets so we can change them more often when the cat-hair gets on them -- etcetera. This resulted in a "that's good" or two. I asked her if she wanted anything. I offered flowers or plants or other art for her walls... she didn't answer any of these offers. I think it may depress her a bit. Materially, it seems, she's got what we all spend our lives trying to acquire, that is, everything she could ever want. Of course the trick to this is that what she could want is to be able to do the things in life for which one would want any of these material extras. She fell silent, at least; that much I can say objectively.
So, having lost her attention with such offers, I began the project of recapturing it. One thus-far reliable gambit is to talk about all her friends and family who send their love, and to relay any news we know of their lives. So I began that way, and then started to tell her something I think she'd like to know: that all the people we met who knew her in New Jersey, and all her friends, were prone to say that people she met loved her immediately, and that so many people sent their love because she really is loved by so many.
Please understand that I don't paint myself as any sort of icon of filial piety. As often as not, my relationship with my mother has been difficult. Nor do I paint my mother -- your sister, friend, cousin, or aunt -- as some sort of saint. But one must be forgiven such sentimental pronouncements when they are true, and when they are the sentiments most likely to evince a response. She did say "that's lovely," or somesuch, often as I told her this. I told her her children all love her so much, because she taught us that loving people was the most important thing. At this point I threw in a bit of humor by reflex, and said "I have it on good authority that you have a big heart."
Now here's the reason I've put you, gentle reader, through so much personal meandering: I can report that although she may have lost some confidence in her read of such things, she has lost none of her talent for double-entendre.
Her immediate response was, "That's good. You mean physically?" Now that was a surprise. I responded "physically and metaphorically." Then she surprised me again, and asked, "Is that okay?" And I could tell by how she asked that she was well aware that such a thing was of medical interest to her. She wasn't panicked, mind you, or if she was showed no signs of it. But she was certainly interested.
I told her that a while back, the doctor said her heart is a little large, but that it's not so dangerous to her, because it's only dangerous if you're very physically active -- and that was the best I could do with my phrasing on the spot.
I think we're learning each time we see her. The stroke's done terrible things to the quickness with which she used to respond and converse. One has to be patient (and we continually feel like we fail her in that way). I think often she's frustrated when she tries to get things across. But sometimes she's very clear.
It's wrong to say Mom's the same old Estelle, only having suffered a stroke, even beyond impairment in communication and loss of quickness. The confusion that attends so many states she is prone to (for example, the effect of UTIs) can't be reliably and conclusively separated from the spottiness of her memory, especially for recent events. One day she'll remember that we're married and visited her in Freehold, another day she thinks Laura is on the Woodbine staff, and still other days our marriage is wonderful "news."
But stroke is notorious for ravaging one faculty and leaving another incongruously intact. I think Mom's sense of humor was always a signal aspect of her personality, both as others observed her, and as her own strongest coping mechanism. I think yesterday I saw her "getting" that there was a double-entendre, and I think she got that effortlessly. I may be wrong; she may have only identified that there was an idiomatic as well as a literal meaning for the phrase "big heart." But I really do think she got that there was a pun there. The other things she's said now and then unmistakably display a continuing facility with humor.
What's fascinating about this is that she is effortlessly in touch with verbal humor, which is so dependent on complex relationships in syntax and vocabulary, and often the witty rejoinder, or response to a joke, is instantaneous, whereas "serious" formation of speech is more difficult. This reminds me very much of the famous singer, who stuttered when he spoke but not when he sang (Mel Tillis I think).
Notes on the medical front: she was using a lot of accessory muscles to breathe -- that is, breathing seemed difficult, something it took visible motion on her part to achieve. We called in the nurse, and he needed a few minutes to take her 02 reading. Her 02 sats were low (95), so they put her back on the oxygen as we were leaving. We'll see if she is still on it when we return this afternoon; they're using it as needed now, but it's disappointing that it was needed. Sorry to give this short shrift, but if I bloviate (or blogiate, I suppose) any longer, we'll never get back over there!
More later,
Dan
Happy Mothering Day to Our English Family
Dan will be back later to fill everyone in on the weekend. I just wanted to take a minute to say
Friday, April 1, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Happy April Fools Day to everyone. No need to play personal pranks, the weather's joke enough, I think.
Spent the morning with Estelle today. As always, there were things to laugh about and things to cry over. Visiting is such a mixed bag most days. Small milestones and small setbacks vie with one another for attention and it is easy to get lost in worry sometimes.
Today was Friday - which is shower day and, in the past, Estelle is usually worn out by the ordeal. Today, however, it was not an ordeal but a joy. She was awake and alert when I got there. The aides had just finished getting her back in bed and set up for the day. She is not opening her eyes again - which bothers me somewhat because for a few weeks here she was wide-eyed and focusing much of the time - but she was quite awake and talking a blue streak. She said she loved shower day and felt "very good." She even told me about the "contraption" they use to get her in and out of bed and when I asked her if she found it frightening she replied, "Not very, no."
She wanted to know if I had a jacket and if she had a jacket because she was going to need it if she wanted to "get out of here," but then she immediately told me that she could not yet "get out of here," because she could not walk and she must learn how to do that before she could leave. She told me that there was "a lot of trouble here," and that she was sorry for it but it "was not her fault." We talked some about strokes and what happens afterwards and she seems to be understanding better what has happened to her.
There was a good deal of conversation which I simply could not understand. I always feel so bad when I cannot make out what she is saying, if it is frustrating for me I can only imagine what it is like for her. At one point, after saying, "I'm sorry, I did not understand - what did you say?" for the 27th time I said, "I just don't hear very well anymore. My ears are not as good as they used to be," which she replied to with, "You hear fine you are just not paying attention." I did not know whether to laugh or to cry - it's just such a mother-like thing to say.
In fitting with the day, she did give me a good scare, though. Like I've said, she was talking a mile a minute today and somewhere in the middle of it all she began coughing. The coughing led to minor choking and I, completely forgetting anything medical I might know, freaked out. Because she cannot sit foreward and because she cannot clear her own throat or swallow she is, much more than the rest of us, susceptable to aspirating. I lifted her head and I cleared her airway as best I could and then went running for her nurse. He came into the room immediately and checked her oxygen level and listened to her breath sounds. He said she was a bit congested but not badly and it was all upper airway and not chest which was a bit ragged sounding. He gave her a breathing treatment and it seemed to help. He is going to look in on her frequently today and leave word for the afternoon shift to do the same. She did not have a repeat episode while I was there so it may just be that all that talking loosened up some phlegm or irritated her throat. I am just reminded of how fragile she really is and how many things there are to worry about sometimes.
I spoke to the social worker again and got the reports from Physical and Occupational Therapy. PT does not feel that they can work with her as of the present time because she would not really talk to them and she was unable to follow even simple commands. They said it would be unsafe to attempt taking her to their department. Exasperated, I asked if they could at least do the passive bedside exercises that were being done at The Manor and the social worker said she would ask them to write an order for that to be done. Dan and I will keep check to make sure they have done so and are doing so. I also asked about the hand splits since no one had gotten back to me about them and the social worker said she did not know. I asked her to call and ask them and she said she would but then came back a few minutes later and told me that OT left an order on March 30th for her hand splints to be worn 4 hours on and 2 hours off during the day shift but left off at night. I am glad someone has addressed that but I am angry that no one seems to be doing what the order said. They seem to be leaving them on all the time from what we can tell and I doubt that's very comfortable or even very good for her mobility. What good is straightening out your fingers if you are then left unable to ever curl them as well? Anyhow, I told her to please make sure that the order was brought to the nurse's attention and we will keep an eye on that as well. (I have to watch myself, I get annoyed too easily, I think - they will end up hating me for being so picky/bossy/irritating.)
Estelle did manage to pull me out of my (probable unreasonable) funk, however, God love her!! I told her I had to be going soon and she asked me what my destination was. (Her words, not mine.) I told her I was going home to do laundry and she asked me where I lived. I told her I lived in Alexandria, Virginia, just blocks away from her and she said, "Oh, that's lovely. I have a son who lives there, too. Do you know him?" I said, "Yes, of course. I am Laura, Danny's wife," at which point she gave a huge grin and said, very loudly and very clearly, "Oh, that's delightful!! Congratulations!!" I thanked her and she said, "No, thank you. I am so happy. This will do wonders for your reputation, you know!"
When I left we were both smiling. Albeit for different reasons, I am sure, but what difference does it make? A smile is a smile is a smile.
May everyone else be smiling, too!! Have a good Shabbat and a happy weekend.
Spent the morning with Estelle today. As always, there were things to laugh about and things to cry over. Visiting is such a mixed bag most days. Small milestones and small setbacks vie with one another for attention and it is easy to get lost in worry sometimes.
Today was Friday - which is shower day and, in the past, Estelle is usually worn out by the ordeal. Today, however, it was not an ordeal but a joy. She was awake and alert when I got there. The aides had just finished getting her back in bed and set up for the day. She is not opening her eyes again - which bothers me somewhat because for a few weeks here she was wide-eyed and focusing much of the time - but she was quite awake and talking a blue streak. She said she loved shower day and felt "very good." She even told me about the "contraption" they use to get her in and out of bed and when I asked her if she found it frightening she replied, "Not very, no."
She wanted to know if I had a jacket and if she had a jacket because she was going to need it if she wanted to "get out of here," but then she immediately told me that she could not yet "get out of here," because she could not walk and she must learn how to do that before she could leave. She told me that there was "a lot of trouble here," and that she was sorry for it but it "was not her fault." We talked some about strokes and what happens afterwards and she seems to be understanding better what has happened to her.
There was a good deal of conversation which I simply could not understand. I always feel so bad when I cannot make out what she is saying, if it is frustrating for me I can only imagine what it is like for her. At one point, after saying, "I'm sorry, I did not understand - what did you say?" for the 27th time I said, "I just don't hear very well anymore. My ears are not as good as they used to be," which she replied to with, "You hear fine you are just not paying attention." I did not know whether to laugh or to cry - it's just such a mother-like thing to say.
In fitting with the day, she did give me a good scare, though. Like I've said, she was talking a mile a minute today and somewhere in the middle of it all she began coughing. The coughing led to minor choking and I, completely forgetting anything medical I might know, freaked out. Because she cannot sit foreward and because she cannot clear her own throat or swallow she is, much more than the rest of us, susceptable to aspirating. I lifted her head and I cleared her airway as best I could and then went running for her nurse. He came into the room immediately and checked her oxygen level and listened to her breath sounds. He said she was a bit congested but not badly and it was all upper airway and not chest which was a bit ragged sounding. He gave her a breathing treatment and it seemed to help. He is going to look in on her frequently today and leave word for the afternoon shift to do the same. She did not have a repeat episode while I was there so it may just be that all that talking loosened up some phlegm or irritated her throat. I am just reminded of how fragile she really is and how many things there are to worry about sometimes.
I spoke to the social worker again and got the reports from Physical and Occupational Therapy. PT does not feel that they can work with her as of the present time because she would not really talk to them and she was unable to follow even simple commands. They said it would be unsafe to attempt taking her to their department. Exasperated, I asked if they could at least do the passive bedside exercises that were being done at The Manor and the social worker said she would ask them to write an order for that to be done. Dan and I will keep check to make sure they have done so and are doing so. I also asked about the hand splits since no one had gotten back to me about them and the social worker said she did not know. I asked her to call and ask them and she said she would but then came back a few minutes later and told me that OT left an order on March 30th for her hand splints to be worn 4 hours on and 2 hours off during the day shift but left off at night. I am glad someone has addressed that but I am angry that no one seems to be doing what the order said. They seem to be leaving them on all the time from what we can tell and I doubt that's very comfortable or even very good for her mobility. What good is straightening out your fingers if you are then left unable to ever curl them as well? Anyhow, I told her to please make sure that the order was brought to the nurse's attention and we will keep an eye on that as well. (I have to watch myself, I get annoyed too easily, I think - they will end up hating me for being so picky/bossy/irritating.)
Estelle did manage to pull me out of my (probable unreasonable) funk, however, God love her!! I told her I had to be going soon and she asked me what my destination was. (Her words, not mine.) I told her I was going home to do laundry and she asked me where I lived. I told her I lived in Alexandria, Virginia, just blocks away from her and she said, "Oh, that's lovely. I have a son who lives there, too. Do you know him?" I said, "Yes, of course. I am Laura, Danny's wife," at which point she gave a huge grin and said, very loudly and very clearly, "Oh, that's delightful!! Congratulations!!" I thanked her and she said, "No, thank you. I am so happy. This will do wonders for your reputation, you know!"
When I left we were both smiling. Albeit for different reasons, I am sure, but what difference does it make? A smile is a smile is a smile.
May everyone else be smiling, too!! Have a good Shabbat and a happy weekend.
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