Breaking Out, Losing Track of Days, and the Importance of Showing Up: Another Visit with Mom
This morning was already shaping up to be busy.
I got the car washed, ran an errand, and was preparing to head to Bluffton, South Carolina, to pick up a nephew so we could see the new Godzilla movie.
But before all of that, I had one more stop to make.
Mom.
Was Mom Trying to Escape?
As I walked into the skilled nursing facility, I spotted Mom rolling toward the entrance/exit.
My first thought?
Was she trying to escape?
I couldn't really blame her.
When I was in a skilled nursing facility back in June 2023, I wanted out as quickly as possible. I couldn't leave fast enough. There's something about being in an institutional environment, having other people control your schedule, and depending on someone else for things you once did independently that can make you want to head for the nearest exit.
So perhaps Mom and I have something in common.
When I got to her, she mentioned that I hadn't been there for a week.
Well, that's interesting!
I had actually seen her on Tuesday after dialysis.
Apparently, the days are starting to run together for her.
And I can understand how that happens.
A Few Supplies for Mom
I didn't arrive empty-handed.
I brought her a few things to keep her occupied and comfortable:
Some magazines to read.
Three tubes of Pringles.
Bars of Ivory soap.
Yes, Ivory soap again!
Apparently, that's an important item on Mom's shopping list. When Mom requests something specific, I try to deliver.
After we talked for a bit, I took her outside so we could enjoy some fresh air.
We got her situated, and about five minutes later, a physical therapist appeared.
It was time for her physical therapy session.
The Hardest Working Woman Here
The physical therapist said something that caught my attention.
He described Mom as:
"The hardest working woman here."
He was excited to work with her.
That's encouraging to hear.
After everything she's been through, it's important to see her keep putting effort into rehabilitation.
Her recovery hasn't been easy, and there are still challenges with her mobility. But having someone on the rehabilitation team recognize her effort is encouraging.
It also brought back some memories of my own rehabilitation.
When I Didn't Want to Do the Work
I remember being in a skilled nursing facility myself.
Some days, I didn't particularly want to work toward a goal. In fact, I remember one day when I outright refused to participate in physical therapy.
Why?
I had developed a resentment toward the facility.
I wasn't happy with the circumstances, and that frustration carried over into my willingness to participate.
Looking back, that didn't do me any good.
The facility might not have been where I wanted to be, but refusing to work toward my recovery only hurt me.
Eventually, I had to recognize that the work I was doing wasn't for the facility, the therapists, or anyone else.
It was for me.
That's something I can relate to when I watch Mom working through her own rehabilitation.
She may not want to be there. She may want to roll toward the exit. She may have complaints about the food, the schedule, or just about everything else.
But the physical therapy is an investment in herself.
And hearing that she's working hard makes me happy.
I'll Be Back Tomorrow
Before leaving, I told Mom I'd be back tomorrow, Sunday.
It's easy to lose track of days in a place like this.
The routine becomes repetitive. Meals, medication, therapy, visitors, and waiting for the next activity. Before you know it, Tuesday feels like yesterday, and Sunday feels like another Tuesday.
I can imagine how difficult that must be.
That's one reason I try to keep visiting and letting her know when I'll be back.
Sometimes it's not about bringing something, fixing something, or having a major conversation.
Sometimes it's simply showing up.
Today, I brought magazines, Pringles, and Ivory soap. We got outside for a little while. She had physical therapy, and I heard she's working hard.
Then I headed off to Bluffton for my next adventure: a nephew, a movie, and Godzilla.
Life continues outside those facility walls.
And tomorrow, I'll be back.
Keep working, Mom. That physical therapist is excited to work with you, and I'm cheering you on, too.