Putting all the pieces into place

All would live long, but none would be old.

Benjamin Franklin

“They say she’s sitting there, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” the nurse reports to me. At once, my antennae are up and alert and I translate the nurse’s words to mean she is wide-eyed and confused. I too feel helpless in the face of this event.

In July my 89-year-old mother moved from the home she shared with my sister in Palm Desert to a Senior Living Center near there. Since she had given up driving the previous year, she had been losing contact with friends and activities. The decision had been hers alone. “I need to be around other people,” she said, “or I will wither and die.”

It seemed everything was in place for a graceful enactment of her last years. In excellent overall health, she could stay in her apartment there until such time as she might need to be shifted to the assisted living section. My sister was nearby and made visits several times a week. My mother’s friend, Elizabeth, lived there and still drives, giving both of them a measure of freedom for lunches and shopping and church.

The facility itself offers many opportunities for socializing. Mother began fitting in -- dinners in the dining hall, bingo on Wednesday nights, a knitting group and bible study.

On the third of this month, I checked in with Mother by phone, for we had been out of touch during two weeks camping in Baja. She was fighting a “bug” and missed my sister who had left the day before for Maui, but she was looking forward to dining with friends that evening. I promised I would get out there by the weekend to visit, bringing new pictures of the great-grandson to view.

The next morning, as I waited for news on my car’s brakes, which had acted up on the Baja trip, the phone rang. It was not about my car.

To make a long story short, everything was not in place. My mother had fallen while walking alone. The nurse suggested an urgent care center for an electrocardiogram since she could not get a blood pressure reading.

“How soon can you come to take her?” she asked. Clearly, everything was not in place. If I could get a rental car quickly, it would still take three and a half hours to get there. Even her friend, Elizabeth, was gone for the day.

We resolved the problems this time, but she was lying on a gurney alone in the hallway at the hospital emergency room for 10 hours. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” No. Frightened and lonely and confused by it all, as it turned out. In my own frustration while waiting for answers here at home, I wondered what we -- especially those of us in this “sandwiched generation” -- might do.

I do not see us going backward, though at times I might want to. The pace of living is likely to increase. Our families will spread out. Medical science is likely to get more and more confusing to the layman, especially in an aging population. What are we to do about all this? How can we make these emergency situations less traumatic? Couldn’t there be some kind of program like TIP (Trauma Intervention Program) volunteers to man the emergency rooms of hospitals? There must be many people, young and old, who are confused by the whole thing and could use an advocate.

I am seeking answers. Perhaps some of you have some. Perhaps, somewhere, there are programs already in place. There are just too many gaps into which all of us can fall when life takes these sudden turns.

Thus far, my mother’s story has turned out OK. It is necessary that we not trust that all is “in place.” Further action is required. Mother is now wearing an emergency alert system. She has had her first appointment with a cardiologist. She keeps telling me I am being too bossy. Then, in the next breath, she thanks me for taking charge.

My generation and those following tend to be more proactive. I am not sure how this will help with the changes in the future. I am happy to be able to do this for my mother, though, who actually was “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed” at her cardiology visit. She was relieved and reassured by the attention and the knowledge that this was not to be the end of her life quite yet.

It is my hope that the actions we are taking now and the questions we ask can help to continue the quality of her life.

* Cherril Doty is a creative life coach and artist, exploring the mysteries of life as they come. You can reach her by e-mail at cherril@cherrildoty.com or by calling (949) 251-3883.

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