“Manor Care missed call & voicemail,” I saw as I picked up my phone to log my weight lifting results into the Crossfit App on my phone. There was also a missed call and voicemail from Michelle. My heart sank and my mind told me something serious happened if both the home and Michelle called me. I ran into the bathroom at the gym to listen. “Michael, this is Carol calling from Manor Care. Your mother fell tonight and appears to have hit her head on her nightstand. Please call me back as soon as possible.” The message was different from the usual, she fell but she got right back up and kept going and we’re monitoring her and there’s nothing to worry about and call us back if you WANT to, message. I didn’t even listen to Michelle’s message, which I later learned had nothing to do with Gram’s fall. I called Manor Care back instead. Carol told me that they found Gram lying on the floor in her room with a big gash on her forehead that was bleeding. According to Carol, it looked like she hit the nightstand. They had a call into Dr. Benz to see if he wanted to send her for a CT scan of her head. “Ok,” I said. “Call me back as soon as you hear from the doctor. I’m on my way.” I left the gym.
When Carol called me back to tell me that Dr. Benz did want to send her to Passavant for a scan, I was already on my way over. “We’re calling the ambulance now,” Carol said. “I can ride with her in the ambulance, right?” I asked. I heard Carol turn from the phone and ask her colleagues. “No, family members cannot,” I heard them say. “No,” Carol said, repeating what they said, not knowing that I had heard the background conversation. I could feel my frustration build; exasperated by my own fear and sadness, I’m sure. This could be it, I thought as I drove. At this point, anytime could be the last. I was afraid of what I would find when I got there. Was she in pain? I wondered. Even though, she doesn’t seem to feel pain and rarely complains of any, I hate to imagine her hurting. She seems so helpless in her current state. She needs me there to speak for her; to take care of her, I thought. I felt myself getting defensive. My job is to protect Gram and ensure she’s safe and that she doesn’t get scared and freak out. I take that very seriously. It’s what she did for me as a kid. Therefore, I needed to be in that ambulance. Furthermore, I’m her Power of Attorney and make all of her medical decisions. I always get frustrated when medical people insist on asking her a bunch of questions. She can’t even understand them, let alone answer them. I always feel like that’s humiliating to her and I want to protect her from that humiliation. (I’m sure, in reality, the humiliation is my own projection of how I feel about it FOR her. It’s unlikely Gram feels that way.)
When I walked in, Gram was sitting in the wheelchair in front of the nurse’s station, like she would any other day. She was by all accounts, her normal self. She was talking gibberish and her hands were flailing about as they do when she gets on a “rant.” Several of the staff members were waiting for me when I arrived and they were all sincerely concerned about Gram. It’s touching how so many of the staff members there love her. And I know they do, because I observe how they interact with Gram. What I see they couldn’t fake; no way. “I hope she’s ok,” Carol said lovingly. “Me, too,” “Me, too,” others echoed. “She looks fine to me,” I say. “She’s amazing!” I exclaim; “Amazing!” “She sure is!”
There have been so many others over the years – at Elmcroft and Manor Care- that have fallen and within a couple weeks died. They broke a hip or some other bone, suddenly got Pneumonia and died. I was always surprised when I’d inquire about someone who I was accustomed to seeing around a lot and I’d find out they fell and subsequently passed, all within a couple weeks’ time. Gram IS amazing. She falls at least a couple times a month. Most aren’t serious. She falls on her ass or rolls out of the wheelchair. In most cases, she gets up, mumbles some expletives, such as “Goddammit,” “Shit,” or “Son-of-a-bitch,” and she goes about her business.
In fact, I’ve had conversations with Manor Care in the past about Gram’s safety in such matters. They’ve tried putting her in a rocker wheelchair that prevents her from getting up. She spun herself in circles trying to get out of it. I couldn’t bear the thought of her tied down in any way. I know Gram. She would hate that. Therefore, I offered to sign some sort of waiver – to absolve Manor Care of responsibility if Gram falls and dies as a result. I know she’d rather take her chances- even if that meant falling and potentially dying – rather than be tied down. That would be cramping her style and totally out of character for the person she always was and is.
Thank God for my sister, Michelle. She, too, gives me strength. I called her immediately as I was driving over to the home. She calmly asked if I wanted her to meet me at the hospital. “Yes. Thank you.” Michelle is always there when I need her. She offers support and she is the voice of reason during those times that I get emotional and/or crazy. I’m so grateful for her.
The ambulance ride was fine. I expected Gram to be scared and therefore difficult in getting onto the stretcher and then into the wagon. She was perfectly calm and cooperative. In fact, her vitals were probably better than mine: blood pressure 140/80, temperature 98.6. There was an older man who drove the ambulance and a younger guy and girl who rode in the back with me. When they first arrived to pick Gram up, I, being in my defensive stance, demanded, “Just so you know, I am her Power of Attorney. I make all of her medical decisions because she can’t. And I will be riding with her in the ambulance!” I had to apologize later for acting like such an arrogant dick. “It’s completely fine, the guy said, it’s good that you care so much.” They, themselves, were amazed at Gram’s resilience for her age. “So she was last in the hospital in September of 2011?” the young man asked. “Yes,” I replied. “That’s when she was supposed to die and was put here to do so.” “Really?” he said, surprised. “Yes, and that was over 3 years ago!” I exclaimed.” He continued, “This is her first trip to the hospital since then. That never happens to a nursing home patient, especially someone her age!” “I know,” I said, “And she’s been on hospice twice and discharged, too. She’s an amazing woman.”
When the doctor came into to examine Gram, I inquired about the purpose of this CT scan. I learned that they were checking for bleeding in the brain as well as any additional injuries to the head or neck. I further questioned the doctor because I was trying to understand what the treatment options would be. He informed me that if there was bleeding, we could do two things. First we could opt for surgery in which they would drill a hole in her skull and fix the source of the bleeding. Secondly, we could do nothing. He said that in some cases, nothing ever comes of it. In other cases, the patient dies. “Is it a painful way to die?” I asked. “It can be,” he replied. I told him that the surgery option would not happen for sure. “Let’s just get the test done and go from there,” he said. I agreed. He put some type of “glue” on the gash on Gram’s forehead where she had the golf-ball sized lump and left the room.
We spend 3 hours in the ER. Gram slept a little at first. When she came back from the test, though, she was awake, talkative and raring to go. Michelle and I had a nice conversation while waiting for the test results and occasionally Gram would interject her own conversation – mostly gibberish. She was so pleasant. Even though I was scared, I very much enjoyed spending the time with both of them.
The doctor came in to tell us that the results of the CT scan were fine; that there was no bleeding or injury to the head or neck. The only abnormality was the significant brain shrinkage that is characteristic of Dementia. A huge sigh of relief ensued. Michelle and I asked if we could take Gram back in her car instead of waiting for a wheelchair van (which could take hours). The doctor said we could as long as we felt we could handle getting her in and out of the car. We did. Gram was very impatient while we waited for Michelle to pull her car up to the entrance. She was then hesitant to get into the car, until Michelle got in first. I guess she felt it was ok then.
When we arrived back at Manor Care, I was touched to see a wheelchair in the lobby with a sign that said, For Gram Berberich, Michael. How kind of them to make sure to bring a wheelchair upstairs for us. Of course, Michelle and I completely missed it at first and “stole” someone else’s wheelchair that was left at the door. We’d use it just to get Gram downstairs then bring it back. When we saw the one with the note, we got Gram up and plopped her down in that one and made our way.
Downstairs, her “fan club” was waiting for her as we wheeled toward the nurse’s station – several nurses and aides, who were anxiously awaiting her return and so happy to see that she was ok. Gram was ready for them, too. She was looking for the “party.” We surmised that she would probably be up most of the night. She was.
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