Unintended Destination

I am sitting in a hospital.  There was so much I wanted to write about but I can’t think of anything because I am sitting in a hospital, wondering what happened to her.  Not this particular time, or even last month when she was in this exact room, but in general, how did we get to this point?  How did mom become the 61 year old woman trapped in an 80 year old’s body?  How did her health decline so rapidly that now she requires a cane, and sometimes a wheelchair.  She requires constant care and has minimal energy.  

This was a woman who would be the life of the party, who would lighten up a room with her laughter, laughing so hard she would start crying.  But now its just crying.  No laughter, just crying--- hiding and crying.  How did this happen to her? 

I want to ask WHY did this happen to her but I know better than that.  I know that such a question will drive me quickly into insanity, there is no logical reason.  She is the type of person who has a wonderful heart and wants nothing but to give to others, to take care of others, but now she can barely take care of herself.

I look in on her in the hospital bed, she is sleeping.  Her pajamas are fitting clumsily and she is contorted, looking uncomfortable and so meek.   I pull that bedsheet down over her one perfectly painted exposed toe. This wakes her up.  She looks at me and smiles.  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be ok.” I've heard that phrase my entire life.

Her body has broken out in hives.  It’s an allergic reaction to something, what thing we still do not know.  Because of the allergy, she has a high temperature. On a normal healthy person this is not a cause for the emergency room.  But in Mom’s condition, we raced over to the hospital and demanded immediate attention.

The doctor, who is a family friend, calls my dad over and hands him a slip of paper.  My dad rushes over to the pharmacy.  In Pakistan, the hospitals do not supply you with any medications or tools for administering medications.  You are given a list of prescriptions and items needed for treatment, then you have to go pick them up and bring them back to the doctor.  

In this case, Dad had to pick up 3 injections, sterile needles, latex gloves, and some kind of alcohol swab for cleaning the area the shots were to be administered. 

After a total of 2 hours, 4 doctors and 1 false diagnosis, Mom was wheeled out on a bright blue wheelchair, an inappropriately cheerful color for its purpose.  

We waited for the driver while Dad filled out the paperwork.  The paperwork was given after treatment was administered… no information was taken before.  If the doctor was not a family friend, she would have had no idea of the name, age, or medical history of the patient.  

The entire bill came out to the equivalent of about $8.  Like they say, you get what you pay for.

P.S.- My mother is better now and at home resting.