Bringing Up Momma

Who's your Momma?

Never in my wildest dreams, and really, my dreams have never been wild in a good way, did I imagine that I would have the responsibility of tending to my 90 year old mother the way one tends to a boil on the ass.

It's hard.

It's a full time job.

It's thankless.

And the paycheck sucks.

Not too long ago, I had to send her, kicking and screaming, to the hospital for the third time in six months. She was disoriented. She could barely move around. She wouldn't wake up and couldn't eat. I walked into her room to find her in her bright purple balloon panties and bra lying on a heap of dirty clothes on the floor.

It is almost impossible to lift someone off the floor who isn't able to lend the smallest bit of assistance. I may as well try to carry off an army jeep. This is not my first try with the lifting and dragging. Ma seems to give in to gravity more often these days.

She couldn't tell me how she'd gotten there. Not because she didn't know but because she couldn't form the words.

I said "you're going to the hospital". She found her words. "I am NOT going to the hospital and you can't make me".

Got her settled on the bed and went to make a cup of tea for her. She never touched it because when I came back, she was draped corner to corner over the bed with her one leg hanging off. This is called the stroke position.

I call her name- one, two, three times. No answer. I give her shoulder a shake and she shoots up like a bottle rocket.

"Whaaaa?" she wants to know.

"I'm calling the EMT's."

"You are NOT".

"Something's wrong with you, mom."

"The only thing wrong with me is you won't let me take a nap."

"OK, fine but could you not lie on the bed like a dead thing?"

So she squirmed and gyrated and slapped my hands away when I tried to help her straighten up. Finally, she's lying straight with a pile of pillows under her head.

"Here, drink this tea."

She strains up to take a sip of tea.

"Bleeechhh!! This shit is cold. Now leave me alone for a while, dammit and get my holy mother pin. It should be pinned to my bra."

This I do, get shooed out for my trouble and come face to face with my husband who wants to know when the ambulance is getting here.

We have two feet of water on all sides of us. We'll need a gondolier to transport my mother to the hospital. I know she has to go but she's such a baby about it. Maybe she's just stressed because she's never seen the ocean sitting on front step before. (No, I don't live BY the ocean today. I live IN the ocean)

I tell him that hopefully, she's just being 90 years old and we'll see how the rest of the night goes.

An hour later, momzilla comes shuffling out of her room, holding on for dear life to every stick of furniture and doorknob on her way to the bathroom. She slides along the wall, kicks at the dog when he comes to see what the hell is going on and then, after a short scuffle with the door, slams it closed. Ten seconds later I hear her throw herself on the toilet.

"Ma, are you ok in there?"

"Can't I even pee in peace?"

"I'll talk to you when you come out"

"Tsk"

Time goes by. Time goes by s l o w l y when waiting for a 90 yr old to come out of the bathroom.

"Ma, are you alright?"

"Jesus Christ, do you have to badger me on the toilet?"

"I just want to know if you're alright"

The sound of muffled weeping comes thru the door.

"Ma? I'm coming in there now."

I enter the holy of holies to find my mother shakily trying to pull up her pants.

"Want some help".

"I can do it myself" she's in tears now and falls back on the toilet.

"Now can I help you?"

"Just leave me alone"

"Well, I'd like to but other people might have to pee tonite and your butt is hogging up our only toilet"

I forced her to let me pull up her pants and then we discover she can't actually walk back into the bedroom.

I call my husband and between the two of us we "drag" her back to her room.

Sitting next to her on the bed I tell her in no uncetain terms that I am calling the Rescue Squad and possibly the National Gaurd (we are in a state of weather emergency with the National Guard patrolling the streets, removing large, potentially dangerous floating debris. In just a few minutes I watched them removed a floating dumpster, a matching set of lawn chairs, innumerable big black trash bags and a shopping cart)

So she puts up a big crying, snotting fight about how she is NOT going, can't make her go, will never speak to me again, etc, etc.

It takes less than five minutes for the National Guard, fire trucks, two police cars and the Rescue Squad to arrive. Remind me to donate liberally to all of the above.

And it takes three National Guardsman, two police officers, two fireman and three EMT's to get this woman hooked up, oxegenated, wired, tied down and on a chair-looking stretcher. She has no blood pressure that can be found, her heart rate is slow, she has a temp of 103 and uncontrollable tremors.

They take her out. She has an oxygen bag over her face but I can still here her cursing me all the way into the truck. As they shut the back doors on her, I heave a sigh of relief.

I hitch a ride with the National Guard over the bridge where I ditched my car. I give my sister a call and then the fun begins...

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