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.
Mom Is Making Progress—and Apparently I’m Her Husband Now
This morning after dialysis, I went to visit Mom at the skilled nursing facility.
When I got to her room, she wasn't there.
That's actually a good thing.
She was doing rehab.
I was told that Mom is making progress, which was great to hear. She still needs someone blocking her left leg because it continues to buckle, but progress is progress.
After everything that's happened, I'll take it.
Eventually, Mom made her way back to the room.
And that's when today's visit took a turn I wasn't prepared for.
There's a New Roommate
Mom got a new roommate on Saturday.
Her previous roommate, Jenny, left last Monday. I don't know the name of the new roommate yet, but I do know that she broke her hip, had surgery, and is now there recovering.
The new roommate came into the room while I was there.
There was some banter.
I'm not particularly good at banter, but I participated.
She mentioned that she's also hard of hearing, so apparently Mom and her new roommate already have something in common.
Everything was going fine.
Normal conversation.
Normal skilled nursing facility visit.
And then she looked at us and asked a question:
“Is that your husband?”
Excuse me?
I'm sorry.
What?
GROSS!!!!
I believe there are moments in life when the human brain protects itself by temporarily refusing to process information.
This was one of those moments.
Of all the possible relationships she could have guessed...
Son?
Nephew?
Relative?
Friend?
Random bald guy who wandered into the wrong room after dialysis?
Nope.
Husband.
I guess...Good for Mom?
Once I recovered from the initial trauma, I had another thought.
I guess that's a compliment to Mom?
Maybe?
Apparently, she looks young enough to be my husband.
Good for her.
Unfortunately, that means the other half of the equation is that I apparently look old enough to be married to my mother.
Not good for me.
I'm choosing to focus on Mom's rehab progress instead.
She's working.
She's improving.
Her left leg still needs support, but she's moving in the right direction.
She has a new roommate.
And apparently, sometime between dialysis and walking into the skilled nursing facility, I aged several decades.
Anyway, I'll be back.
I need a few minutes to clean the vomit out of my mouth.
Then maybe I'll introduce myself properly to the new roommate.
“Hi. I'm Niel. Her SON.”
Let's make sure we've got that established early.
Back Where I Never Wanted to Be
There are places in life you hope you never have to visit again.
For me, the hospital is one of them.
This time, I’m not here as the patient. I’m here as a visitor and caregiver for my mother.
In 2023 and 2024, the hospital became a place I knew far too well. My first extended stay came after a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic. The second marked the beginning of my End Stage Renal Disease journey. Those experiences changed my life in ways I never imagined.
After each acute hospital stay, I was transferred to a physical rehabilitation unit. One of the most eye-opening lessons I learned was that simply lying in a hospital bed can cost you about 10 percent of your strength each day. It’s amazing how quickly the body can weaken when it’s not moving.
During rehab, the therapists asked me a question I’ll never forget:
“What kind of quality of life do you want to have?”
That question became my motivation.
The first rehabilitation stay lasted about two weeks. The second was about a week. Every exercise, every painful step, every frustrating moment had one goal—to reclaim as much of my independence as possible.
Walking through these same hallways today feels surreal. There are familiar faces everywhere. Several providers have recognized me, which is both heartwarming and a little funny. It’s strange when people remember you not because you were a regular customer, but because they helped you through some of the hardest chapters of your life.
Now the roles have changed.
I’m the one sitting beside the bed.
I’m the one encouraging someone else.
I’m the one helping navigate questions, translating when needed, and trying to bring a little comfort during an uncertain time.
Life has a funny way of bringing us full circle.
As difficult as hospitals can be, they also remind us of something important: healing doesn’t always happen the way we expect. Sometimes we’re the ones receiving the care. Other times, we’re fortunate enough to be the ones giving it.
If there’s one lesson I’ve learned, it’s that difficult seasons don’t last forever. They shape us, strengthen us, and prepare us to help someone else when their turn comes.
So today, I’m choosing gratitude—for the caregivers, for the second chances I’ve been given, and for the opportunity to be there for my mother the same way so many people were there for me.
Tomorrow may bring new challenges, but it also brings new hope. And hope is a powerful medicine.