You’re in control
The voice on the other end of the phone was decidedly serious. “Ryan, it’s Chris (my mother-in-law). We think your mom’s had a stroke. She’s not able to put words together and she can’t raise her arms. I think you need to come back. We’re calling the ambulance now.”
It hadn’t always been like this.
Growing up, I knew there was something special, something different, about my mom. From her voracious appetite for knowledge and uncompromising belief in the inherent goodness in people to her willingness to say yes and lend a helping hand when it’s easier to just say no, she is one of those people that anyone who’s ever met her can tell you is a genuinely loving and caring soul.
Her vibrancy and positivity emanate from a seemingly endless source, but over the last nearly 30 years, that light has been dimmed, little by little, by a steadily disintegrating level of health. Once an avid golfer, cyclist and swimmer, a series of health conditions has, insidiously, led her to a state of health that has left her nearly incapacitated, punctuated most recently by a diagnosis of breast cancer.
They’d already performed a radical double mastectomy, followed up by several rounds of chemo before mom and dad came out to Colorado to visit. The most recent round of chemo had really hit mom hard and left her extremely tired with a near complete loss of appetite. I could see in her eyes that it was taking every ounce of energy she could muster to put on a smile and interact with her three year old granddaughter.
The emotions swirled about within me. Sadness. Love. Fear. Anger…
She’d never liked going to the doctor. That day was no different. She always felt nervous, anxious, and scared during her visits. Her blood pressure was high that day.
There was a simple fix for that, explained her doctor. A quick jot on the prescription pad and she was on her way. No follow-up reading. No consideration that this was the first time that her blood pressure had been high. What could go wrong? The doctor must know what’s needed, she thought. After all, it’s the mid-’80’s and we’re on the cutting edge of medicine. If there’s a problem, a simple prescription will make everything okay.
The first signs were easily dismissed as a slowing metabolism. The weight came on quickly and those pesky varicosities seemed to pop up out of no where. It was time for a change. Up went the poster of the food pyramid. Pump up the carbs, cut out the fat. Eat like a bird. Heck, add in some dexatrim for good measure. A few pounds forward, more pounds back. On to the next thing. Maybe Richard Simmons would be the answer. She did like the oldies, why not sweat to them.
When the blood work came back indicating that diabetes was setting in, the doctor, not surprised that their overweight, out-of-shape, patient was in this position, pulled out the prescription pad and made a quick jot.
And so it went. One jot after another, after another. High blood pressure, diabetes, congestive heart failure, lymphedema, lipedema and eventually cancer.
It was a cool summer day. I was visiting from Chicago. I walked into the bathroom and saw the basket. It was overflowing. Intrigued, I started pulling out the orangish bottles. One-by-one I lined them up on the countertop. Good thing my new phone just added the panorama photo option. A few minutes and a Medscape drug interaction check later I confronted her about what was happening with her health. I could see the fear in her eyes as if to say “I’m just doing what I’ve been told to do”. And who could blame her for her fear. Altering any of the drugs in this chemical cocktail at this point would have likely caused a cascade of reactions with an uncertain end.
The guilt started to hit pretty hard. How could I have let this happen to my own mother? What if I’d stuck around after school instead of moving more than 800 miles away to the east coast? I could’ve been there with her. I could’ve asked the right questions at her visits. I could’ve done more. I could’ve fixed things.
But that’s not what happened.
I arrived to the hospital before the ambulance did. Good timing too. I saw my dad and Chris checking in with the front desk. They would take us back when they had her stable. We still didn’t know what had happened or if she was going to be okay. After a few minutes they took us back and, much to our relief, there was mom, an apologetic smirk on her face. I could tell that she was relieved to be doing better but also a bit embarrassed to have caused such a stir. It turned out that, because of her lack of appetite, the diabetes drugs that she had continued to take caused her blood sugar to tank so low that she was only steps away from a diabetic coma before they got to her.
Dad and I stayed with her there while they monitored her. It was the most time we’d spent together the whole trip. I could still see the fear in her eyes as she sat on the bed, shivering. I couldn’t help but look back at how she’d gotten here and start to feel the anger creeping back in.
I’m not sure how this will play out. I’m as far away from my mom, geographically, as I’ve ever been. All I can hope for is that she makes it past this hurdle so that her light can keep shining on for her granddaughter to see.
While my mom’s situation is pretty scary, what’s even scarier is that her situation isn’t that uncommon. If we look at the statistics, we already know that 1 in 2 American adults has at least one chronic illness while 1 in 4, like my mom, is managing two or more chronic conditions.
The debate raging on in congress thus far has been focused on the cost of and access to healthcare. While I’ll be the first to say that having adequate access to life-saving medical interventions is something that should be provided for all people, I think it’s important not to forget that you have to be your own advocate when it comes to your health. Regardless of what the doctor tells you that you need to do or what your insurance covers, remember that you are in charge when it comes to your body and that there is usually more than one way to approach any problem. For my mom that day, it might have meant a few deep breaths.
