We forget how perilously close we are to the edge -- until something reminds us. My mother has been recovering from her knee surgeries beautifully. In fact, a week ago today we took a road trip to a gloriously scenic part of Virginia, two hours southwest, right near the Blue Ridge, to attend a memorial gathering for a college friend of hers. It was a reunion of friends who had known each other for nearly 60 years. Even though her second knee replacement was only three weeks old, she was ready to make the trip. She managed just fine with her walker, and sat in the sun for several hours, without incident.
Yesterday she and Michael had a house full of guests, arriving from all over the country for the annual Lipsky seder. In the middle of the afternoon she suddenly felt extremely cold and unable to move, and also unable to think clearly. After a few minutes of trying to figure out what was going on, Michael got advice from Gordon: call 911. This was a scary move, but we were not equipped to deal with this on our own. We had never seen her this vague and muddled. Her brain was not working. She could follow directions but she couldn't really answer questions. The paramedics came, put her on a rolling gurney and hustled her into the ambulance. I got in the front seat and Michael came in the car. They said she had a fever of 103.5 -- wow. When we got bogged down in traffic, the boss paramedic told the driver to put the lights and sirens on. To me, this was the most unsettling moment of the day. I had no idea why we were suddenly in a hurry. I told myself that there was nothing I could do but stay calm, as this whole thing was out of my hands. When I asked him later why he asked for lights and sirens, he said he didn't want to use up the window of opportunity, in case of a stroke. We were all worried about a stroke, but by the time I had a chance to ask him, I had stopped feeling so fearful about that possibility.
We went to Fairfax Hospital and got right into a room in the emergency department, with immediate attention. My emergency doctor friend Hannah called us as soon as she heard what was going on, and she told me to tell Leslie, the nurse, that this patient was a VIP. The first thing the doctor (in the room) said was that it could be a urinary tract infection. That would never have occurred to us, and it made me feel instantly better. He did some preliminary testing, just exactly what Alissa has done on us for practice, to see how Mom's brain was, and he was pleased with the results. When I texted Anna to say it might be a UTI, she said that when old people get those, they are often bonkers. More reassuring still. They took blood, she gave a urine sample (heroically, as mobility was a bigger issue than usual), and she had a CT scan. Michael went home, reluctantly, to take care of his extended family and lead the seder. Leslie gave Mom some Tylenol for the fever. And then Mom fell asleep while waiting for results. When she woke up from her nap, she was no longer so fuzzy. She could speak in complete sentences and she was ready to go home.
The results came back: she did have a UTI and antibiotics would solve this. By the time she was discharged, she was back to her normal self, amazingly. She was speaking in full, coherent sentences and was completely aware of what was going on. She had no memory of anything much after she got so cold -- did not remember that Michael and Jacob had carried her to her bed when she said she couldn't move.
We took a cab back from the hospital (as everyone we knew was in the middle of a seder) and she felt well enough to make an appearance. We got out of the cab and onto a golf cart and toodled straight up to the Common House -- she was still wearing no shoes and had her soft bed clothes on. Whatever. When we arrived, she walked in with her walker and the whole room erupted with cheers and smiles. We completely interrupted the proceedings. They got her a big soft chair and she sat down, reassuring everyone with her completely normal smiles.
None of us had ever seen my mother in that state and it was absolutely amazing how instantly she changed into someone else, kind of like my Grandma Hiu. Smiling, vaguely present, trying to do what was asked, sort of bemused. I am sure we were all imagining the worst. But as soon as her temperature got closer to normal, she came back.
So very close to the edge. All the time. All of us.
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