My mom had a stroke part 44: Run out of worry.
As some of you already know, it was a wild, wild week. On Wednesday, as I was driving to get my dad from the car dealership where his car was being serviced, he got a call.
The facility was transferring my mom to the ER. Right then. Her breathing was far too fast.
After I collected him, we headed for the hospital, a day of carefully-planned errands suddenly morphing into something else.
My mom looked awful, her breathing very labored. She didn’t seem to register us much. They discovered her feeding tube was blocked, and then changed it, but it wasn’t secure. A surgery resident came and fixed it, occasionally darting around the room to find the materials she needed, leaving and coming back with a bag and tube to drain the bile.
Eventually they figured that she needed much more suctioning and that her asthma might have been to blame; they transferred her to a room and we left, tired and uncertain.
The next day she was doing well enough that the doctor told my dad she might go back Friday or Saturday. And back she went on Saturday, only to return to the ER that evening as they thought the gtube was leaking again.
I woke up Sunday morning not entirely sure where my mother was, the city readying itself for the Pride Parade.
