The ER
I got that call on Saturday evening that no child wants. It was my mom, who is 84, on the other end of the phone telling me that she had stomach pains all day that had worsened as night came. My mom is a tiny little lady with an incredibly high tolerance to pain. I knew this pain was serious.
It was 8:00 pm. I put in a call to her physician’s emergency line, but already knew that an over-the-phone diagnosis was not only impractical and improbable… but impossible. My mom lives about 10 minutes from me, so I made the decision to pick her up and bring her to the ER of our local hospital. My mom was not happy about this, but there was no other recourse.
We arrived at the ER at around 9:00 pm.
We left at 8:30 the next morning.
The in-between consisted of waiting. Blood pressure testing. Oxygen level testing. Temperature readings. Blood work. Chest x-ray. Electrocardiogram. CAT scan. IV’s. Sample varieties. More waiting. My mom has a hernia that she absolutely hates, and I certainly understand why. It is irritating and annoying and it interferes with the fit of her clothing. My mom is a fashionista, even at 84… and she is very self-conscious of what she perceives to be something huge. In truth, it is not visible to the observer, but she still finds the hernia very “visible.” I get it. But it has not, until now, given her pain. Pain is what her physician is concerned about. Pain is what brought us to the ER.
The 12 hours of waiting and tests seemed endless… but the worry trumped it all. I held my mom’s hand each time a new procedure came along. I helped her get undressed. I folded her clothing neatly, as she asked me to. I watched her sleep as I kept vigil. I am my mom’s ears and eyes in situations like this, and I took note of everything everyone said. The receptionists and technicians and nurses and doctors and the surgeon who was called in to consult were all kind and caring and patient and wonderful. I kept myself awake and together throughout the long night.
But it was my mom’s little shoes that got to me. One of the nurses had taken them off and placed them in a basket under her bed. Each time I caught a glimpse of them, I felt like crying. I was with my mom when she bought them. They are little brown leather Naturalizers… and she loves them for their comfort. They slip on and off easily, and she can wear them year ’round. But what my mom really loves is high heels. My mom has a collection of high heels in every color. They are lined up so neatly in her closet, but she cannot wear them anymore. She doesn’t have the stability or balance. I got my love of high heels from my mom. My childhood memories start at my mom’s feet. She loved to dance. I loved to watch her shoes as she danced. I still hear the sounds of her click-click-click high heels clicking along the sidewalk as she held my hand. I remember putting on her shoes and click-clicking around my house to her laughter. My mom loved to color coordinate everything, especially down to the shoes.
It’s the little brown shoes that tell me that everything is different now.
With the sunrise on Sunday morning, we were sent home with instructions to see my mom’s physician, consult a surgeon, stay on a liquid diet for a couple of days and take medication for pain. Oh, and an infection that needed antibiotics.
I helped my mom get dressed. I combed her hair. I gathered her purse and instructions. I thanked the nurses who had been so very kind. Then I got my mom’s shoes from that basket under her bed. I choked back tears as I helped her slip them on. But at the same time, my mom looked at those little brown shoes and said, “Thank God for these shoes. At least I can walk out of here.”
Touche, Mom. I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Except for the click-click-clicking.
Sharon I am so glad your mom is OK! I know your mom was happy to have you there with her. As my mother gets older I realize that she is really just the same, we all are, as we age…deep down inside whether we can go out in our high heels or not!
I’m glad you were there for her. And I hate the idea that things change as much as anyone. The idea that my parents are fragile human beings scares me to death.
Sharon,
What a wonderful and strong daughter you are. You are both so lucky to have each other and I hope that someday my daughter will look at my shoes (or what have you) and have wonderful memories.
Sharon, what a beautiful story. I’m not one to leave comments, but after reading this, I just had to. What an amazing daughter you are, sigh…what a special mom you have. Broke out in laughter, and tears. Thanks.
Here’s to continued great health of your mom.
You got me teared up on this one. So glad to hear everything is ok and I hope they continue to stay that way. Your mom sounds like a wonderful woman
You are a wonderful daughter and I know your mom is so proud of you. I’m sure it helped her so much for you to be there with her. I know how you feel though. My mom is 83 and just fractured her ankle. It’s her first broken bone and I hate it more than she does. It’s the first time that I saw my mom as fragile even though she didn’t. I hope everything works out when you see her doctor. Hugs!
I want to hug your mom for that attitude. It’s no wonder you’re so positive and full of light.
I can’t imagine how scary that night was for you, and how hard it was, but I’m glad she’s okay, and I’m glad she has you to take care of her.
For me it’s my mom’s glasses. She is always afraid of losing them so I hold them whenever she goes for surgery or some major procedure. Then I make sure I get them to the recovery nurses as quickly as I can.
Her first comment the next time we are together is always something about her glasses and being so grateful for being able to see again.
Sharon, that click-click-click is not gone, it lives on in your mind, in your heart. That is the wonder of memories, isn’t it?
Your Mom is such a realist. You must be so grateful that she is able to cope with these losses and carry on. What a trouper!
Sharon-I am so sorry to hear your mom had to go to the ER and I am happy to hear things are ok. Ohhh the ” little brown shoes” moment sent chills down my spine-knowing the experience of aging parents. The best to her and you!
I’m glad to hear that your mom is ok. I feel her pain over the hospital and all it’s “procedures” as I just was released from there myself yesterday. I know you were a great comfort to your mom. My mom was not able to come and be with me for this surgery, but my husband (as much as he hates hospitals) stayed with me. It’s not the same as having a woman around though. Praying she recovers quickly, and the report is a good one!
Amazing women run your family doesn’t it. Your mom is incredible. I will pray for healing for her and that is not bothered by the pain. It’s hard when our parents are sick. My mom is 83 and I understand the worry involved when they are not up to par.
I read this yesterday and it reminds me that my mom is mortal and I don’t like that idea.
Moms must live FOREVER. *pout*
Another one of those posts that will bring you to tears! I’m so very glad to hear that your mom is okay – from watching my own mom, I know the fear and difficulty that comes with those phone calls. And, of course, I agree with Poppy – moms MUST live forever. Your stories about your mom’s shoes are so bittersweet, but what a touching ending to the post. It’s funny how, to her, the brown shoes mean comfort and safety. (Also, did I mention you’re a wonderful daughter? I’m sure you bring plenty of comfort and safety in situations like this as well!)