This is another post in a series, about a woman named Amara. Every Friday I will post another segment in this story.
Mother and daughter lay on the hospital bed, Joy weeping, while Amara whispered soft encouragements while holding protectively to Joy’s head.
Amara could remember vividly the last time that she and Joy were in each others arms. It was a time when Joy needed her mother so very much, and Amara had nothing left to give. Amara had carried the guilt of that failure with her all these years. It made her so aware that one moment of weakness on her part could change the course of her relationship with her daughter.
As Amara held her daughter an odd realization occurred to her, that she was not holding her young daughter, but an adult woman. This adult woman was laying on her bed, right beside her, and in her arms.
Amara screamed loudly, piercingly, but wordlessly, as her sounds slurred together.
The woman bolted upright in seconds, “Mom, mom, are you in pain? What is wrong?”
Amara screamed again, and again, and again, until someone looking like a medical personal came running in.
“Mrs. Jackson, step aside please,” the nurse said to Joy.
Joy stepped aside as the nurse asked her mother a handful of questions. Every answer was a mumbled mess of sounds. It became apparent to Joy that the recent news that her mother had had a stroke was probably true. It was painful to stand there and hear her mother unable to communicate clearly.
The nurse was able to get Amara settled down, and more relaxed, after having Joy wait outside the room. Joy was pacing, without knowing it, in the hallway, when the doctor, that the nurse had called in, came out of Amara’s room.
“Doctor, how is she? Did she have a stroke? Why was she so upset with my being there? Will she be able to speak again? Can she walk?” The questions in Joy’s head were pouring out all at once.
The doctor, a man in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a relaxed demeanor, waited patiently until Joy’s list of questions had all been aired. Then he said, “Mrs. Jackson, lets sit and chat.”
Once they sat, he spoke, “Mrs. Jackson, I am Dr. Lewis, I work in the same office as Dr. Faw. It does appear that your mother has had a stroke. I am not yet sure of the severity of it, or how long lasting her speech problem will be. We will be doing more testing today. There is more … are you okay to take all of this in with no one else here with you?” Dr. Lewis asked with sincere concern for Joy.
Joy wanted to respond what was on heart, that she had no one, no one, in her life to lean on anymore. Just thinking it caused a tear to slip down her face. She took a deep, lung cleansing breath, wiped the dampness from her cheek, then looked Dr. Lewis in the face and said, with forced confidence, “you can tell me.”
“Mrs. Jackson, your mother would also seem to have pneumonia, probably from her unplanned hiking expedition the other night. This will be her biggest battle,” he looked straight at Joy, “Mrs. Jackson, your mother may not be going home again.”
The words settled on Joy’s ears, but were felt throughout her entire being. In just a short period of time, her mother had gone from a strong and independent woman, in great shape for seventy-two, to a woman who would not be leaving the hospital. Joy’s head began to swirl with the weight of the doctor’s words.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, “Mrs. Jackson, you can ask me anything. There is no rush. This is a lot of information to take in all at once.”
“Dr. Lewis,” Joy was forcing herself to stay alert, “why did my mother respond as though she did not want me in her room?” Really that was the only question Joy had on her heart. The feelings of rejection were greater than any she had ever known … or maybe it was reminiscent of her childhood time when her mother could no longer be available to her?
“The Alzheimers would be the reason for that, would be my best guess. Perhaps, when she awoke, she was not able to recognize you, as her daughter, and it scared her. That would not be uncommon in someone with that disease. To be honest, it is nearly impossible to understand exactly all that one with Alzheimers thinks, so that is just my best guess.” Dr. Lewis smiled an understanding smile.
“What …” Joy’s voice trailed off, feeling heavy with the weight that today had laid upon her shoulders. “What do we do next?” Joy was asking, not just Dr. Lewis, and not just about her mother. Joy was asking herself, and about almost every part of her life.
itsawonderfilledlife 