Chasin' the greys away

Is this the 3rd or 4th grey, damp, dismal day in a row?  The only thing I know for sure is that I'm feeling greyed-out this Sunday afternoon, watching an impromtu West Wing marathon our teeny tiny dvd player (we've been without  t.v. since 2012) & over-indulging in potato chips dipped into Greek yogurt.  Grey weather does not set well with me - am probably putting on three times the weight gained over 12/24-25.

Around mid-afternoon, watching Matt Santos boldly save his fledging presidential run, the gloomy greys sent my memory skipping back over 35 years, to a time Mom was in Holy Redeemer Hospital.  

Admitted for a minor health glitch, Mom expected to be in & out within 48 hours.  Then, her life turned inside out.  Her personal physician, during his daily visit, said, "As long as you're stretched out, let's do a breast check," and found a tiny lump.  

For several days, she was rolled from this testing to that & back again, then all over.  Mom had no idea what was happening.  The oncologist assigned to her case had the bedside manners of Attila the Hun, talking about removing a breast as if was no big deal.  That so-called health care professional's atrocious attitude & Mom's debilitated response to the prolonged stay still informs how I view humans experiencing prolonged stays in institutions, even fine ones like HRH.

 

Mom's health care crisis was the first of many essential lessons I'd learn over the next 25 years about the wild & woolly ride that can be an older person (she was a kid of 66) navigating what passes in our country as a health care system. 

She'd only been in the hospital three days, yet my sister & I were concerned that Mom seemed increasingly listless, less inclined to question her nurses & more likely to go along with whatever anyone who passed as a medical professional suggested.  

This was 10+ years before I learned the ins & outs & 'round abouts of our nation's practices & protocols, we were years out from anyone coining the term "Patient's Rights"; all I knew back then was that the Mom in front of us seemed a shadow of her usual self.

 

Praise be, one of our dearest friends had been an RN earlier in her life.  She stopped by for a visit.  One look at Mom & she whisked Mim & me out to the hallway.  She was alarmed that Mom was turning Hospital Grey.  Returning to the room, she reviewed with Mom what her care had been, then went to the nurse's station to review with the staff what was afoot.  

She was NOT happy with what she heard, not from Mom & not from the staff.

"We've got to get her OUT of her," she advised us.

Mom's face lit up like a Christmas tree!  "Can I?" she asked & was assured by our determined friend that she absolutely could sign herself OUT.  

The nurses had conniption fits.  If it had been just Mim & myself, am sure Mom would never have been sprung from da joint, but Margaret knew what could be done.  When the nursing staff said Mom HAD to wait for them to contact the doctor, Margaret could cite, chapter & verse, why their patient had every right.  

The four of us felt like it was a prison break!  Mom was exhilarated to have a sense of control over her own life back - the color returned to her face, her body seemed lighter, down right sprightly.  We got Mom dressed, packed & OUT of there.  When she returned later in the week, it was to a new oncologist, a man she trusted - and to a more attentive & responsive nursing staff!  

 

Looking out at today's grey weather, am reminded of a dear friend who is in a very nice senior residence, who once went out & about a lot, but is now confined to basically two floors of "personal care," reduced to traveling in dozens of feet increments rather than yards, getting out no more than twice a week, compared to every day.  When I see her, it feels like a repeat of Mom back at the hospital - she's institution grey.  

When we see her, one day a week, she is hunched over.  Small wonder, since she doesn't have someone walking next to her reminding her to stand up straight as we walk the long hallways from her old room to the dining room.  When we first see her, she can barely stand;  we take her down to the front in a wheelchair.  

At first, it doesn't seem to register with her that she is going OUT - what was once her norm is now an unfamiliar aberration.  It's tricky getting her from the wheelchair to the front seat of our car, but John manages.  He returns the wheelchair to the concierge desk, awaiting our return.  By the time he's back, it's hit our dear older friend that we are headed OUT - her eyes are lit up, there's a lighter & more sprightly sense about her.

Where we once went to a variety of places, we now go directly to York Diner, on Old York Road, just above County Line, because it has the most direct access.  But it isn't easy - it takes three people to get her into the restaurant & settled.  

What a difference between entering & exiting!  By the time we finish our dessert & coffee, color has returned to her cheeks, her old smile is back & she's laughing again, asking (for the nth time), "So, what's happening in "Burn" Athyn?"  She's able to get from the table to the front door & out to the car with just John's support. She's still wobbly, but always lighter of spirit & more steady by the time we get her back up to her apartment.

The grey day outside has me thinking of Mom, has me thinking of my friend.  Holy Redeemer Hospital is an excellent medical facility & their health care professionals had my mother's best interests in mind.  They were focused on her body, not on her spirit.  My older friend lives in a fine senior community.  The "personal care" staff are committed to providing their residents with attentive care.  But when it comes to chasin' the greys away, sometimes you need someone ~ like me, like Mim, like Margaret & my John ~ to help bust greyed-out friends & loved ones outta da joint!