Feeling Better

I spoke to Mom on the telephone today. Her voice sounded a little stronger and I could tell that she was breathing better. Of course, I have no way of knowing how long it had been before she took her last breathing treatment. Generally, her speech is much stronger and her breathing easier after a breathing treatment.

Mom said she was having a pretty good day and for that I am thankful. A nurse sent by Social Services from the hospital comes in twice a week to give Mom a bath and wash her hair. My mother really likes the young woman, and she seems to like my mother as well. Although taking a bath is something we all take for granted in life, my mother does not. Regretfully, she realizes it's one more part of her dignity that is being slowly chipped away.

Back in September, shortly after Mother was released from the hospital, the first thing she wanted to do was to take a bath. After purchasing a 'shower chair' that fits into the bathtub, my sister, Brenda and I carefully undressed Mom and helped her slide onto the seat from her walker. The tub was filled to the chair with warm, relaxing water. I noticed how Mom's skin has become extremely fine and delicate, almost like crepe paper. Carefully, I took the wash cloth to squeeze tepid water over her emaciated body. I didn't dare rub her with the washcloth or I surely would have hurt her.

Brenda kneeled down squeezing one wash cloth full of water over Mother's back while I did the same over and under her arms. We both tried to keep her as warm as possible, but she shivered uncontrollably. I sensed that she was embarrassed. "I can't believe my girls have to do this for me," she said, forlornly. "Oh, Mom, I answered. "How many baths did you give us girls during our lifetimes?" I asked, trying to ease her inhibitions. "I guess you're right, " she responded. "I did give you two a lot of baths in your day," she replied with a weak smile of memories long ago. She went on to tell the two of us how good the bath felt to her, saying it over and over. She "oohed and ahhed" each time we squeezed the soothing water from the cloths over her body. At that moment in time the simple joy of getting a bath meant more to our mother than anything else in the world.

Since I left Arizona, it's been the nurse from the hospital stepping in my place. I was glad to hear how well the two of them got along. Not to mention the respectful care this person was bestowing upon my mother. "She even put a few curlers in my hair," my mom said, pleased. "I bet you're beautiful again," I stated. "I don't know about that", she said, "but I sure do feel a lot better."

I hung up the phone feeling a little upbeat. Mom's day had been 'pretty good.' It was all I could ask for.