Roses For Ms Margaret

Ms Margaret is a patient of the same dialysis clinic as my mom and me.  She is an eighty-seven year old , heavy set, humble, black woman, of few words, who waits patiently in her wheelchair with her oxygen tank for medical transportation to pick her up from the clinic and drive her back to the nursing facility that she resides.

Last Saturday I greeted her with a hug and asked her how she was feeling.  She didn’t complain of anything besides being tired from waiting for her ride. She had finished her treatment at ten and it was then twelve thirty.  She said sometimes her ride would not come until two o’clock. Giving her a four hour wait.

Pam, one of the nurses at the facility, came out to get my mom and told me that she had called the transportation company for Ms Margaret but no one is in the office on Saturday’s.

Ms Margaret told me that you only get a voicemail on Saturday.  I called anyway but found Ms Margaret and Pam to be right.  I asked Ms Margaret if I could call her daughter for her but she said that it wouldn’t do any good since she had to have a lift to get into a vehicle.

She then told me that she had needed to be taken to the bathroom but had to have a bed pan due to her limited mobility.  I felt terrible and helpless for her being in that situation.

I offered her a pack of nabs ( name given to peanut butter crackers by elders).  Hesitant to accept them, she said she would only eat one.  I asked her if she had a drink in her bag but she didn’t, so I went to the dollar store across the street to get her a fruit punch.

When I got back to the clinic with her drink she told me about her treatment at the nursing facility. She mentioned how her doctor told her that she should have been dead ten years ago, and how he snuck and put a patch on her back that her son asked him not to due to the side effects that it caused her.

Then she told me how her assistant refused to wash her properly and told her that she smelled bad and made her sick to be near her.  I held back tears.

Yesterday, I had opportunity to visit her. I took her roses, strawberries, and grapes.  I was able to meet one of her assistants who appeared unfriendly and defensive by my presence.  Compliments and kindness eased his position.  I was able to assist with her bath and get her settled for bed.

Today I made calls to the transportation company and the nursing facility to try to resolve her ever having to wait four hours to be picked up.

When Is It Okay To Ignore Mental Health

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but things will not change if they are not called out. Last night I was in the hospital with my mother when I noticed irritability in some of the employees and nurses.

One lady asked, “What’s wrong with sixteen?” A different lady replied, “Schizophrenia.” “What tha hell!” The operator says after the call bell starts ringing. I saw the nurse who was taking care of my mother on the telephone.  “I told him he cant use the phone.” She was asking the person on the phone to get her a code that she could show the patient in room sixteen.

The call bell rang again.  “If that bell rings one more time I’m gonna put his ass in the dirt!” I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.  “Unplug his bed and move the bed away from the wall!” “He’s gonna have to be restrained because he keeps pressing code blue!”  Two security guards walked down to room sixteen at a normal pace.  They were there about five minutes and left.  I heard one of them say he would be back later.

My anxiety was on ten because I was concerned for whoever was in room sixteen. I have a relative who had schizophrenia, I’m very familiar with its effects. I tried to remain calm but the maniac inside was fighting hard to get out.  I saw three police officers pass our room.  One asked me if I worked there and then followed the other two.  Their stay was even shorter than the two security guards.

What was happening in room sixteen? All of this over a phone call? I was trying not to pace the room.  I heard a man’s voice.  “What ya’ll do, give him something to knock him out?” The operator’s response was, “Nah, but I wanna go in their and talk to him to torture him that way.” The burly man passed our room with a set of handcuffs. My stomach started churning.  I had already heard his diagnosis of schizophrenia so I was wondering why he wasn’t been treated for his illness. Why was he being tortured while he was having an episode?

I waited for things to calm down at the nurses station.  My mother was resting and seemed not to notice the disturbance.  I walked three small steps to the nurses station to let them know of my safety concerns for my mother and the rest of the patients who were relying on them for care.  The operator smiled and told me that the guy in sixteen was a prisoner and that they had things under control.  My response to her was that I was not concerned of our safety because of the patient in sixteen, that I was concerned due to the abusive language that was being used by them along with their actions toward the patient in sixteen.

I stayed the night because I couldn’t leave my mother alone with people who were out of control, aggressive, and lacking compassion. The morning nurse wanted to talk about last nights incident. He told me that the patient was not a prisoner. He told me that he was a scared teenager. He shared the patients history with me before telling me that he was being given seizure medication for his personality disorder.  DEPAKOTE was the medicine they were giving him. I asked him why wasn’t he being given a different medication. I have had personal experience with this drug and have witnessed its side effects. My mother had seizures in January due to poor care in a dialysis facility.  My mother who could not move and had to be turned in the bed, lifted, cleaned, etc., acquired a strength that I had not seen in her in several years after taking Depakote.  She was extremely irritable and combative.

While on Depakote, my mother was restrained in her bed and was able to slide out of the restraints.  I recorded the incident while it was happening because I knew anyone who knew my mother probably would think I was exaggerating the episode due to my mothers previous state. I told the morning nurse that I requested the Depakote to be discontinued due to the aggression and increased confusion.  My mother who has never called me someone else, started calling me Cynthia while she was on the drug.  When the drug stopped, the side effects subsided.

Sometimes I feel bad that I care about the treatment of the weak so much because there’s so much mistreatment going on in the world.  I feel bad that it feels like there’s nothing I can do to make things better. I don’t want to be a trouble maker or someone who doesn’t know how to mind their own business, but I cant control my passion to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. I really wanted to tell those people that they had run their race and need to retire, or that they shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near sick people, but I didn’t. I’ll find a more progressive way to say it while searching for solutions for better healthcare.

 

 

What Do You Do

What do you do when someone’s life depends on you

How do you live when no one else is willing to give

How do you decide what choices you should make

How do you know when to give or when to take

How do you overcome hopelessness and despair

How do you mask feelings and pretend not to care

How do you say I had dreams and it hurts that you and I exist in this gray

What do you do when your love is slowly fading away

I don’t know, there’s nothing left to say

I love you mama, forever and a day

 

 

Medicine 101

I really don’t like to complain or appear as   a trouble maker.  But most days I feel like one because there is always a reason to address a matter of importance.

My mother is still in the hospital and I have had concerns with the treatment. These are the reasons why:

1. The hospital struggled with charting and communicating her current medication regimen after being given the list three times.  The hospital was still using a list ten years old.  ( Life Threatening ) It’s good that I’m with her because she can’t speak for herself.

2. My hundred pound mother had not taken anything in or eaten a full meal in about seven days, so she has been really weak and inactive. She’s just sleeping.  She was dialyzed here in the hospital on Saturday and the order was to pull two liters of fluid from her that she didn’t have.  I asked them to filter her blood without pulling, but she was worse after the treatment. They may have pulled it anyway.

3. Since she was weaker after being dialyzed, still really sleepy, and not eating,  I asked the physician to give her fluids intravenously and asked the nurses for chicken broth that I could give her through a straw. These things should have been suggested instead of my having to ask.

4. Last night the nurse came in with her medicines and named a sleeping pill.  A sleeping pill for someone that’s struggling to stay awake? Also there was an order for five units of humalog ( fast acting insulin) with meals.  Her glucose levels are not high enough for that dose.  That amount could easily put her into a diabetic coma if she was eating but with her not eating almost definitely diabetic coma.

Conclusion: These occurrences are not surprising to me since I’ve been running into this for many years.  I just don’t understand why it’s happening so often in so many different facilities.  Think of the lives that have been lost unnecessarily due to situations that weren’t complicated, they just lacked communication or common sense.

So when we are in hospitals I have to articulate my mother’s care.  This seriously concerns me for all patients but even more so for patients who cannot speak for themselves and have no one to speak for them.

My mission and objective is to work together to make the system work better.

 

As A Tree

Write something for me

Write me as a tree

What kind should it be

The Weeping Willow, Silent Magnolia, Stolid Pine, Strong Cedar, Vibrant Poplar

Weeping Willow would be suiting

Gently flowing with the wind

Regret trickling down my skin

Actively reaching to caress a friend

 

 

Where Did Everybody Go

I don’t feel good

Could you hold my hand

Where did you run to, I don’t understand 

Life is a mystery 

A circumstance that you cannot plan

Im falling with no one to catch me 

Where will I land

 

The Physician

I took my mother to a hospital.  We have been in and out of hospitals for more than ten years now, so I have developed what I call clinical traumatic stress (since we are a society obsessed with labels). Personally, I am comfortable being kind, polite, and respectful; therefore, I make a conscious effort to exhibit those mannerisms in all settings. Nevertheless, I am always on guard in medical facilities. I am on guard due to our experiences.

So the ER physician visited my mom to do an assessment.  I normally answer majority to all questions for her.  I was explaining her history and his response was displeasing to my ears and mind.  I was tired from our wait to be seen. We arrived to the hospital around 3pm and it was now 9pm.  Regardless of the sharp subtle emotion between the physician and myself, we civilly continued the assessment.  The physician recommended the studies to be performed and continued on his way.

My mother was silently laying there, appearing blank from time-to-time, while I just sat there thinking what would or should be next.  Then, out of nowhere I was either talking to myself inside my head, or someone else was talking to me.  I was asked a question.  “Do you know what he does?”  “He saves lives!”  “Can you do what he does?”  I was needfully humbled. Something so unavoidable … how was it that I wasn’t counseled sooner? Why did I allow the actions of others to poison my mind so dreadfully?

His position is a giant to fill.  Being skilled and able bodied to assist in so many different emergent scenarios.  That’s what I call EXTRAORDINARY.  I’m disappointed in myself for not expressing this form of appreciation sooner.  I didn’t mean not to, I was tainted.  I was privileged with the opportunity to meet his presence again.  I apologized for my not being able to communicate my mothers condition better and thanked him sincerely for his help. He told me that he hadn’t noticed, but I noticed and knew my feelings.

I’m glad that he wasn’t offended by my lack and even more glad for a brighter and better perspective.  I’m grateful for the humbling experience and realization of the nobility and honor that is inbedded in these amazing individuals…….Thank you always and forever

 Physician

Loyal to your mission

Obligated to the day and night of decision

Unwavering in your position

Bearer of a mighty petition

 

Born: Runaway

We were now in North Carolina. I found an apartment for me and the kids. I was glad to be in a new environment away from it all. It was a fresh start for us. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how serious my injuries were until the flashbacks began. I would have nightmares where I would wake up crying out for help. I was unaware that I was starting to isolate myself along with my children. I didn’t want to be around people. I felt like a target. I was convinced that we were being watched and even followed.

My state wouldn’t allow me to feel safe in my home. It caused me to move frequently. I felt bad for my kids having to move from school to school, but I couldn’t help how I was feeling. It was the only way to keep them safe. Nevertheless, I knew I had to forgive my attackers for what they had done to me. I thought that would help me to heal. I just wanted to be able to function for my kids and myself.

Making matters worse, I lost my dad in 2009. This was really hard for me because our relationship had never been what I had hoped for, and now the opportunity was gone. Then, I met Neil. He was young, smart, and hard working. He helped me to take my mind off of my past while brightening my present. In the beginning, our relationship was strictly professional, but the more we were around one another, the more attracted we started to become.

At first, I felt uncomfortable about being older than he was. I couldn’t even bring myself to go see a movie with him. As we grew closer, the uneasiness faded. After we had been dating for a few months, he met the kids. I thought he was my knight. Later, I decided he wasn’t. Things started to change. He became frustrated because he couldn’t understand what I was going through and his behavior was drastic. He rejected affection and became physically abusive, cold, and vindictive.

Holding a job was a struggle for me due to my ongoing issues. I cried many days and nights because I felt sorry for my kids having me as their mother. I couldn’t seem to do anything right. I was worthless. Many times I felt like breaking down, but I knew I was all they had and they needed what little was left of me. I found my refuge in the book of Proverbs. I would read a proverb three times a day. I was fighting to hold on to my sanity and my family. My heart was breaking and I was desperate for help.

Back home my mama wasn’t doing well. Her health was failing along with other major problems. I wanted her to come to North Carolina with me but she wouldn’t. I was now in a position where I had to choose between my well-being and the well-being of my mama. I swallowed my fear and headed back to the hell that I had longed to escape. 

Blood and Water: Cinderella

Why would you adopt a child if you are not going to love and care for them like your own?  My mama was supposedly rescued from her biological mother when she was barely two weeks old.  She was taken in by a woman who already had two children that she had given birth to, along with four stepchildren.  That’s alot. 

I heard many different stories growing up about the functions and disfunctions of the extended family.  In the beginning I thought my grandmother really loved children and thats why she welcomed so many in her home.  As the years rolled on I started to think different. 

My mama was talked down on.  But she was the one called if someone was in trouble or needed help, and she was always there.  I guess she started drinking before she had me because her drinking is a dominating, early, memory.  She was the bad guy when I was a child because of the  behavior that accompanied the drinking.

Today I see different.  Today I see her as a young girl and woman suffering alone in a cold world.  I see her offering love but not receiving any in return.  I see someone who transformed sadness into madness.  Someone dealing with so much pain they were laced with insane.

 I guess sometimes time/love isn’t enough.  For some, if one does not have the same DNA, they will never be accepted or considered family.  Many times creating a social outcast, a personality disorder, addictive behaviors, or maybe even a monster.

How did that affect you Mama?  Were you hurt and didn’t know what to do?  Is that what caused you to hurt me too?  You never would say, still you dont til this very day. 

You were wild while you were young.  You are the image of strong.  Your life has been rough.  But it only made you tough.  Regardless of the craziness… for me… your love is enough 

Kindness

“Be Kind, For Everyone You Meet Is Fighting A Hard Battle.”

…. Socrates