REGIONS HOSPITAL/ A CARETAKER'S CONCERN

REGIONS HOSPITAL/ A CARETAKERS CONCERN

NOTATION: This piece about my mother is an excerpt from my ongoing notations of taking care of my parents called A Caretakers Concern. When I figure out my scanner I will included some illustrations from the many documented over the years.
My blog will move between realms of family recording, memories from long ago and a continuing reverence for what daily moments provoke from the vast realm of memory, ready to unfurl at a moment’s notice…..any where, any time…memory makes itself known.

The loss of Malcolm my cat begins to weave in slowly with the passage of time. When my sister hands me the photo of a white cat as we sit in the waiting room at Region's Hospital I muse briefly on what it would be like to have an all white cat.....someday...in contrast to having had an almost all black cat for so long. That photo makes it way to the table in the hospital room where I spend much time.
There is my 88 year old mother laying in recovery from having a pacemaker put in. She is tired and hungry and finally gets to eat after almost 12 hours of fasting and delays. I am so relieved to see her spirit strong and her energy improving. She has been through a lot and so have I as we moved through the slow spiraling hours of waiting for the procedure. Her agony of anxieties has been wearing, and yet I am filled with the blessing of being in attendance with her.
As we drove to the hospital tuesday morning I could not help but think ruefully, of how winter in its cruel iciness can hardly pass without being in attendance with someone at the hospital...I have been the caretaker for my husband numerous times, for my brother, my father and now my mother…………I recall a fragment from a T.S Elliot poem something about how the way forward is the way back...and my challenge of entering the hospital is woven into the memory of many times spent there before.
At some point, as I doze on a hospital couch I think to myself that I should write an illustrated manual for others:
"How to care for someone you love when they are in the Hospital"..these words would be surrounded by the ubiquitous pattern of a hospital gown.
First I would note that as you enter the hospital normal time suspends itself. Time does a double back flip and cartwheels down the hall. It lays on its side and then spins out in a long drawn out arc that one lives under as one stumbles along the mystical labyrinth that one has entered. Yes, as one enters the hospital one enters a labyrinth made up of feelings, pure facts and some kind of beseechment of the divine….accompanyied by the deep adoration of the one you love. Empathy reaches new heights and then there is that first blast of hospital smell. So hard to take at first, and then just there, as insidious as the hospital gowns that adorn each patient.
The hospital bag you carry as you enter should contain, excellent chocolate, a notebook to jot down information on, a thermos of tea, or coffee. ( I brought Beet Borsht along on this last journey), a positive attitude, a good dose of philosophy and a great sense of humor.

There at Regions Hospital I sit with my mother gazing out the window at the beautiful vista all around. The Basilica, the Capital and smaller buildings, the movement of cars with their ghostly tracks in the snow, is somehow knit together under a gray sky. I look down into my mothers furrowed brow. She has survived this procedure and she has survived so much.
Our time at the hospital against this stark winter landscape distills itself into a montage of inner black and white photos. These are the photos I neglected to take with my real camera, but they are the ones that remain registered in my inner eye, the ones Walgreen will not be developing.
Moments: sitting with Dr. Zhu the electrocardiologist who will dot the procedure. Watching the compassion and pragmaticm move over his features as he patiently explains everything to us once again.
Helping my mother undress in the room, as she turns into a patient.
Averting my eyes as the I.V. is inserted into her very thin arms.
Her hunger, her anxiety, her restlessness.
The spiritual wisdom we linger on as she reads to me from her Daily book of Spiritual Vitamins.
Moments of waiting that spiral into more waiting. Sketching her,
Noticing all the lines in her face again.

Seeing her after surgery, tired, splashed with Betadine. Relieved that it’s over.
Dim light in the room as we sleep.
Awakening in morning light at the hospital.
The length of the morning.
The view out the window as she sits there in her gown with her tubes dangling.

There at Regions hospital I contemplate the various regions one can inhabit at the hospital…the upper regions of empathy, compassion and
Service…and the lower regions of self pity, stress and anguish that one can just fall into after long spiraling hours there. It is possible to pass through several emotional regions in the period….and then I ponder the mysterious region of my mother’s heart…..where a pacemaker has been inserted……..that heart that has beat so steady and so long now has extra help.
Her heart sustains mine.
We leave the hospital and drive home…her pacemaker ticking away. My heart is beating steady and serene too.