Frailty

Yesterday I went out to get a haircut, and when I came back, B told me about his mother falling down concrete steps at work as she went into the basement of her bank. She cut her head, which required five stitches, and she broke her wrist. B's cousin went to meet her at the ER, and she was promptly discharged after receiving treatment and having a battery of tests run on her.

We decided to go to his hometown, which is about 45 minutes from here. She was at the cousin's house, so we went to see her there. What B saw was a little unnerving, and for me, it just served as a reminder of how frail we can become.

Her forearm was wrapped in a bandage, and she had a huge ice pack sitting on it. Her left eye started to swell and bruise from the cut up on her forehead. And well, she just looked frail, sitting there on the sofa, eyes half-opened, and clearly shaken from the whole experience. This may have been the first time B has ever seen his mother as the vulnerable human being that she is, and it bothered him.

After we left his cousin's house, we went into her house to see what food she needed. This is the part I hate the most, and it conjures up images from when my dad went into the ER in October, 2001 and we went back to his house to get his belongings.

When someone goes into the hospital unexpectedly, she has no idea that someone else may see how she had been living up until that point. No one lives in a perfectly kept house, but sometimes, secrets are revealed when she least expects it; and for those who discover the secret, feelings of worry, disbelief and unease prevail.

When my dad went into the hospital, we discovered several things: first, that he had taken a bad fall when he had a seizure, and told no one. The evidence left was a broken chair on the balcony. The second was that he was trying to end his vomiting by making and eating TONS of Jello. The evidence: several empty bowls of red Jello in the kitchen. He got the idea for this from when I had the stomach flu 13 years earlier and the doctor had me eat Jello to help ease the nausea. Another bit of evidence left behind were the countless packs of medicine on the kitchen counter that he had been using to try and treat himself. The most damning of all evidence: a giant box of wine, which he later swore was not his (yes, dad, and the cigarettes you smelled really came from my friend...). When we found these things, we were in total disbelief. I also felt guilt for seeing what he had been going through, but never bothered to tell anyone about.

For B's mother, we were in disbelief for other reasons. As we stepped into the kitchen, we saw weeks and weeks of mail scattered and stacked about in the kitchen. It was all over the kitchen table, on the counters, in her office, and in B's old room. EVERYWHERE. Countless pairs of shoes were not far off from the piles of mail, and save for a can of almonds and a bag of cookies sitting on the counter, we could tell that she had been trying to lose weight by drinking drink mixes and eating frozen dinners. Not that I could fault her for that. Living alone, you don't really feel compelled to cook very much.

As I walked around her house, I couldn't help but think of my dad when he was sick. Looking at all of this, I wondered what was going on. I had been there before, but it was always an announced visit, and she had usually managed to straighten the house before we came. This time, we caught her with her pants down, and it wasn't pretty.

I grew increasingly worried as I looked through the contents of the wreckage. Old bills and coupons were intermingled, newspapers were unopened...it was just a mess. Thankfully, B said that this is normal for her, so my unease relented.

Less than 24 hours later, I can't shake the feeling of unease about her. From what we saw, one thing was obvious: she needs to sell the house and move into a condo. The house and its upkeep are just too much for her. I got the sense that she is overwhelmed in her life, and some of the unnecessary weight needs to be taken off her shoulders. She has been at her bank for 40 (yes 40) years, and she is also managing the finances of her church, and in between, she is also taking care of elderly people, and of course worrying about her son being ready for the baby.

It's been eight years since my dad fell ill, and in that time, I have had to cognitively distance myself from the risks associated with living alone. He has fallen several times since, but thankfully has not broken anything. I hate hearing about his missteps and I do not want to go through what I went through with him before, but we also have our own life to live, and we deserve the chance to start a new family and a new life, just like every other younger couple.

I hope that this fall served as a good reminder to B's mom that she is not invulnerable to injury, that her life is just as precious as everyone else's. It definitely opened up B's eyes, and served as a reminder that as much as we would like to, we just can't move wherever we want, and assume that nothing will happen to our parents if we do. Like it or not, we have two parents who are growing older, and eventually both of them will need care, and it will most likely be from the both of us. I don't like it, but I have just had to accept this as fact.

In the meantime, I can take comfort in knowing that we are not far from either of them if they should show their true and frail colors once again.