Bringing Mom Home

“I know you’re going to do what you want to do.  But I worry about Mom’s health and yours.  I fear we’re going to be in the same boat we were 6 months ago.  I just want you to know that.”

“I don’t want to talk about that just yet.”

I told my Dad how I felt, and I left it at that.  I knew he was bringing her home from the nursing home.  But I wanted him to know how I felt.

She’s home now.  My mom has chronic Lyme Disease.  It’s a nasty, vicious disease that simulates various symptoms of MS.  The CDC is unwilling to acknowledge it nor identify it as a legitimate disease.  This translates to:  no funding for a cure, treatment, nor management of symptoms.

What does this mean for Mom?  A slow deterioration of her nervous system.  The inability to walk.  The inability to move her hands.  Some brain deficiencies.  And it only gets worse and worse.

Mom’s been sick since I was five.  To say one gets used to it is not hitting it directly.  I’ve only known her as a sick person.  When I was five, playing with Barbies and watching cartoons, she was lying on the couch with a nurse inserting IVs into her arm.  I watched her lose the muscle control of the left side of her face.  It was scary.  I was sad for her.

Now we’re on the path that leads to nowhere.  Day-to-day, Dad uses mechanical contraptions to help her go to the bathroom, to help her get in bed, to help her live a life.  I help, but feel helpless.

There’s no happy ending to this story.  She will eventually become a paraplegic.  It’s just going to be hard times ahead.  On good days I  find hope in the belief that God gave me struggles to become a better person.

On bad days, I just don’t feel anything at all.

 

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