I've got this thing about dirty feet. Not necessarily anything else, but dirty feet get me every time. Don't get me wrong, I love to wear sandals and flip-flops and do almost 12 months of the year here in the south. But if I get dirt on my feet, it's into the bathroom I go to wash them all clean again. Clean is good. It makes you feel fresh, like nothing can rattle you whenever you're clean. What a great feeling, huh? Well, unfortunately, the opposite is just the same with dirty. Whenever you're dirty and have no access to water (or in some cases baby wipes...), the grime just seems to settle on you and you can think of nothing but getting things back to the way there were, clean. The same can be said of life. And for me, right now, things are pretty dirty. There's really nothing I can do to clean things up because as the saying goes: "It is what it is". And I'm just moving on remote trying to see through the murky glass called life right now.
I haven't posted in a while; actually since we left the Florida Keys. And I still have one post left to do on the trip, a couple for other companies and things have just been placed on the back burner for a while. As a matter of fact, I can't even believe that I've snuck this moment to tell you what's been going on. Hold on tight because as I said, it's pretty dirty.
Right before we left the Keys, Hubby threw his back out pretty bad. Bad enough for us to leave a day early, putting us right in the middle of Memorial Day traffic. I was the driver for most of the return trip, with him taking medication and sitting with ice on his back. Every time he would open his eyes he would beg of me not to wreck the boat I was carrying home with us (sigh...). I got him home and to a doctor who promptly fixed him up and was truly hoping that the calm and serenity that we had found in the Keys would follow us home. Apparently that was not to be.
Returning home from the Keys found Caitlin, Kevin and their kids moving back from Ohio and was I ever happy to have the final chick back in the nest! This would entail getting them all moved into their new house...at the exact same time that Ryan, Allison and their kiddos were moving into theirs. It was a busy couple of weeks there but I think that everyone is getting settled and I will try to post some photos later to show you their cute new abodes. Anyway, while all of this business was going on, I began to remember how much I love doing my watercolor painting while in the Keys and decided that I was going to set Mondays aside to do just that. Pleased with myself for carving a bit of time out, I slept in the following Monday and drug into the kitchen for a cup of coffee while I decided on what my new art project would be. I glanced at my phone to see if anyone had tried to call and that's when I saw a voicemail from my sister. I knew right away this couldn't be good news. My mother, you see, lives next door to my sister. She will be 89 years old this month and actually lives alone. Someone usually checks on her daily, including her hospice nurse. But for quite a while I have been dreading getting a call that something has happened to her and as it turned out, that was exactly what the call was about.
The message was that my mother had fallen out of her bed and the fire department had been dispatched to pick her up and put her back in it. I hurriedly made a call to my sister, dressed and headed out the door. When I got there, thankfully my cousin was with her. She was in quite a bit of pain and I knew right away that this was not good. A possible broken hip was what I assumed. And she had been so careful to use her walker! How in the world could this happen?! I got on the phone with hospice and they sent someone out to do an x-ray. I assisted with that and let me tell you it was no easy feat attempting to move her. After that, I was truly convinced that my mother had a broken hip. I called hospice back and told them just that and we got an ambulance there and transported her to the hospital where our fears were confirmed; her hip was definitely broken and surgery was scheduled for the next day. She came through the surgery OK but now the hard work would begin: physical therapy. I knew this would be a challenge, not only because of my mother's age and the condition of her body, but also because up until this point she had never really had to do any physical therapy. She had always been able to skate by without it and do just fine. I had a feeling that would not be the case this time.
I left a few days after my mother's surgery to go on our scheduled family vacation with EVERYBODY...all 21 of us! Hubby and I had talked about this being the last year that we all shared the same house because really...21 people, 21 personalities. That in and of itself can make from some pretty trying times. However, we did decide to stay in the same house just once more. Oh, where did we go? Breckenridge, Colorado! Where it would be the opposite of the south. It would be nice and cool and we could play outdoors...ahhh, I was ready for this little get-away. Until less than 24 hours later the first person began throwing up (ugh!!!).
You know, whenever someone starts throwing up, the first thing you think of is: We can keep this contained. Sure, we can. If we just keep them isolated from everyone else and use Lysol. And that was the positive thought that kept going through my head, even as my stomach began to feel queasy. It wasn't long before the next few people were hit (I was included in that group) and before the trip would come to an end, 16 out of 21 people were infected with what we believe to be the norovirus! We honestly believe that the house we rented was infected by the bug and called the rental company to tell them that. We promptly packed our bags a couple of days early and all headed back to Denver, where we got separate hotel rooms and attempted to recover. For me, I was not able to eat or drink or 4 days. I know I became dehydrated and still do not feel OK. But as I headed to the airport the morning we left, I just kept asking God to PLEASE let me get home. Being sick is bad enough but being sick when you are not in your own home is terrible!
We got home finally and I slept. For hours that first day and late every morning for days to come. In the meantime, I had to wait until I was not contagious before I could visit my mother, who was now in the rehab unit of the hospital. I was not prepared for what I saw. I had previously heard from friends that whenever an elderly person breaks a hip, that is usually a pivotal point in their lives. I was hoping that would not be true for my mother, however, as I looked at her and watched her attempt to even stand, I knew it was true.
And so as I've gone back and forth, almost daily, to the rehab to check on my mother's progress, my sister and I have been forced to look reality in the face. My mother has always asked not to be put in a nursing home and up until now it's been in the far recesses of our minds. When it peeked its head around the corner we would turn our heads the other way as though by doing so it would never come to pass. But it's here now and we are confronted by a decision that cannot be postponed. My mother has to be released from the rehab center she is in Monday and transferred to one in a nursing home. She will be given more time to try to get on her feet since she will have physical therapy every day. But she's not happy about this. She's fighting us every step of the way and quite frankly we are tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It's as dirty as it gets right now. I long for some water to wash this all off and let things be OK again (if they truly ever were). The truth is raw. And it hurts. And there are things that we can do nothing about. And that sucks. So where do we go from here? I honestly don't know. I do know that we can only take one day at a time. One moment at a time. And let God take the wheel from here. Dirty. That's what life is right now for me and only God can clean this mess up in His way and in His time. All I need to do is just breathe...And be.
