Had to take my mom to the ER yesterday due to a fall she had the night before. She seems to be falling a lot lately and it's giving us some concern that she may have had a small stroke.
After getting to the ER and have her registered it's not long before they take us into an examining room. There she is required to take off her clothes from waist up and put on an examining gown. It's done without much of an issue.
The nurse takes her vitals and then does an EKG. As we wait for the attending physician my mother starts asking why she is in the hospital. She tells me there is nothing wrong with her. I patiently listen to her as she vocalizes her feelings and that she wants to leave.
The transporter arrives to take her for a CAT, an x-ray of her elbow, and a chest x-ray. I remain sitting in the examining room and think about how difficult it is to see her confused and hearing her state that she is fine. I think of how difficult it is to recognize what is her dementia and what is medically/physically wrong with her. I whisper a few prayers for patience and understanding. For me, as the daughter and as the caregiver, it is so difficult.
Mom eventually returns but still in a confused state. A little while later a nurse comes in to take blood so a complete blood workup can be done. My mother won't lay still for the nurse to inject the needle in her arm. I tried talking to her, but still no cooperation. Eventually, the nurse was able to get the blood and then the wait was on for all the test results to come back.
As my mother and I waited she became restless. She wanted to get the examining gown off and her clothes on, but we had to wait for the results of her tests to come back. She wanted me to hand her her top so she could put it on. As I refused to give her clothes she became more agitated. She then decided she was going to get out of bed and get it herself. That is when the situation became more physical and emotional for both of us.
Fortunately, the bed railings were up on both sides of the bed, however, there wasn't anything blocking her at the foot end of the bed. As she tried to scoot herself down to the end of the bed I stopped her. I stood at the end of bed and kept her from sliding down. She would then put her legs over the side rails and through the holes in the side rails thinking she could get out that way. I'm not sure how long this went on, but it was taking a toll on us both physically and mentally.
I thought I could handle mom myself. I thought I would be able to deal with her questions and confusions. When she didn't understand what I was saying because of not hearing me I wrote it down. But with all this it was still a struggle. I hated seeing her confused. She didn't understand why she couldn't get out of bed and get dressed. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with my dad.
After some time I called out to a nurse and asked for help. They came in, tried to calm her and explain to her that she can't get dressed until the test results were back. It did no good. She wanted to leave. It took two nurses and myself to restrain her. I then suggested giving her ativan, thinking it would calm her. After one injection she still wasn't calm. She ended up with two.
During mom's agitation I called my older brother to explain to him what was happening. After talking we decided to have my younger brother come to the hospital to help me. What a godsend that was.
All the test results came back and mom was fine. My younger brother helped me get our heavily sedated mother into a wheelchair and into the car.
It's ordeals like this that makes me hate mom's dreaded disease the most. I hated the fact that she had to restrained and drugged. I hated seeing her not being able to walk because of the ativan. It's moments like this that I want it ALL to be a bad dream and I WANT my mother back the way she use to be!
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