Snow Week

This past week has been interesting, to say the least. Snowed in for the past four days with just my 88 year old mom, my husband in Florida taking care of his parents for a week longer than he said he would, the key to the shed (where the snow shovel sits, unused) in said husband's pocket. I really did not plan on it being this crazy. It was supposed to be fun, getting snow. Building a snowman.  Beautiful, beautiful snow. I am sick to death of snow right now. Probably because I am stuck here in the house, or at least within the confines of our driveway.

For the past week and a half I have been the sole caregiver for my mom who is, at best, difficult. Not complaining. Just stating how it is. First I was sick, then she got sick, then she got better, then she got sicker. She won't listen to me when I tell her to drink water, or eat, or to move around. She is dehydrated. And dizzy. And uses a walker. But she has no sense anymore. She walks on a wood floor with just socks and wonders why she slips. She leaves the walker in the other room all the time. She touches her ostomy opening and then puts her hand near her face (or near my face). She hasn't showered in over three weeks.

Today was the culmination of craziness. I found her on the floor in her bathroom earlier this afternoon, lying on her back, with two really angry looking flap wounds on her legs. Put big bandaids on them for now. Got her back to bed, and helped her with her ostomy care. Managed to get her to eat a banana, two sips of broth, an orange, and some crackers. Got her to drink about 16 ounces of fluid. Then she had to go to the bathroom again.  Helped her....this time let her sit on the walker as I pushed her in there. She began to fall backwards against the bathroom wall, and looked really weird at me, not focusing on anything at all. Like she was totally out of it. Got her back to bed, gave her more liquids. Called the nurse. Was reassured it was probably dehydration, that if she got worse, call 911. Yeah right. I am snowed in. Then, took a bath and went to bed. Tried to go to sleep. It was after midnight. Kept hearing her say "ow, ow, ow" but that is her normal talk. Says it constantly. But then it got more distant, more urgent, and her stupid dog started barking.  Knowing it was more than the normal "ow ow ow" this time, I got up, went downstairs for the umpteenth time today. Found her on her bathroom floor, with her head wedged between the wall and the toilet, and  was furious at her for going in there by herself. Furious at myself for thinking I could handle this on my own.  Furious at my husband for not being here. Furious at God for not preparing me for all this.

Then I saw my face in the mirror of her bathroom--I looked furious, foreboding, angry. So I took a deep breath, whispered a prayer, and did what I needed to do. Ostomy care, love, attention, and a patient spirit. Helped her clean up. Went upstairs and got a clean cup of water for her. Put her back to bed for the 8th time today. Took another deep breath. Said another prayer of thanks, for His grace.

And looked up into the hills, from where my help comes from.

In Christ I can do all things. All things. Even gross things.