How Mom died: Part two

It wasn’t long after that wintery visit that what had been normal began to thaw. How did it start? I’m not sure, exactly, but, as I half listened on the phone, consumed with work and Uly and daily business, she told me she had a blood clot.

Her doctor had found a clot in her leg, just behind her knee and, she said, she had promised him that she would go into the hospital.

“I haven’t had a stay into a hospital since you were born, Stephen,” she’d say with a wince.

She hated hospitals. I remember how she would cringe when she heard a siren call down the street. It reminded her of Grandpa – her father – being taken away by the life squad. There was all that time in the hospital ten years ago, when we had that car accident in Delhi. But that was different, she said. It wasn’t inpatient for testing. It wasn’t so open ended.

In 1998, shortly after I’d purchased that albatross of a mini-van, I was doing something with mom where we had to ride out to Delhi, just a few miles from her home. I remember coming to a hard stop and halting her body’s shift forward with the flat of my hand.

I’m going to leave part of this out. You can ask me about it later and I’ll tell you. Suffice to say it’s a small bit of family business that I don’t want to print, but will be glad to say. Maybe you’ll guess at it.

This foreshadowed the accident yet to come. A few minutes later, we were headed North on Greenwell towards Delhi Pike. A large car – a Buick or something? – cut in front of use to turn into a business. My van cut a groove down the side of the car. It looked a lot like what that iceberg did to the Titanic. I was fine, but Mom shifted forward, her hand splitting the glass in the windshield and her leg smashing underneath the dash.

The injuries looked bad, but not too bad. Pain and bruising, but no broken bones. Mom cried out and the ambulance came. Her leg was bruised badly and, worse, the impact thrust a staph infection into her skin. There were many hospital visits and reconstructive surgery ahead. The infection left a golf ball sized crater in her leg down to the bone. They almost had to amputate. That didn’t happen, but she would never walk the same again.

So she ended up staying more than a week in the hospital. Was it two weeks? They found kidney and liver issues, too. And then there was the six liters of fluid they drew out of her abdomen. Mary, Mom’s friend of 50 years, called this “tapping the keg.” Mom loved teasing and it made her smile.

“I’ve never been poked and prodded with so many needles in all my life,” she said.

I wanted to draw the blinds open whenever I visited. She should have some light in here, I thought, but Mom was concerned that people could see in the window. She wanted her privacy. I kicked back, sitting near her, but more off in the corner. It felt casual. She was irritated at having to be there, but not scared. She had some kidney and liver issues – that was age, and the blood clot, as long as she didn’t move around too much, they would dissolve it and she would be fine. It just seemed like something we had to work through. So, I was there, and visited her every couple of days, but, in my mind, I was sort of absent.

“How’s Uly doing? I wish you could sneak him in here in a backpack or something,” she said.

She missed him more than anyone else. Sneaking him in just wasn’t a good idea, I said. But we’d bring him to see her when she got home. Of course, she’d seen Uly for the last time already. We just didn’t know that yet.

Then came the news.

“I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone, “ she trailed off.

“Well, just tell me,” I said.

“I have cancer.”

And the next step was this weird bargaining down process.

I hope Mom doesn’t have to use all this equipment – the lift chair, the hospital bed and everything – too long.

I hope Mom doesn’t have to be in the nursing home too long.

I hope mom makes it to the nursing home.

I hope mom lives through the summer.

Bargaining down with God. The life stock is decreasing in value. Can we sell before there’s nothing left?