The burden of my choice weighed heavily. An impulse decision to help an aged friend had landed me in a desert landscape riddled with desert guilt. My insides gnawed. I had not properly thought through the potential implications of my offer to help.
My cousin, Sue, and I tag-teamed Pam’s care at Mum’s house (refer backstory: https://carolinmparadis.com/2024/03/24/desert-drive). There was no other accommodation. We couldn’t trust Pam to be left unsupervised, so we slept at Mum’s place in shifts. Her room at the retirement home wouldn’t be ready for another week.
During my shift on Saturday, I lucked into a four- or five-hour window where the old Pam suddenly re-surfaced. I sat with Mum and Pam reminiscing about old times, as best as Pam’s hearing loss permitted. Perhaps she was getting better, and this change signaled the beginning. It encouraged me.
Desert Destruction
The next day, Sue called with an update on her shift with Pam. It wasn’t good.
“Yeah, I took your mum and Pam for a walk down the street and Pam tried to push your mother.”
“What! You’re joking, right?” Was my incredulous response.
I was stunned. This was terrible. My mother was an arthritic ninety-year-old needing a knee-replacement she was too old to receive. In her house, she walked with a cane and outdoors with a walker. If she fell or, heaven forbid, she got pushed, it would likely be a death sentence.
“I don’t understand. Pam was almost her old self yesterday. We had a splendid afternoon talking about old times.”
We had even played Scrabble. Albeit Pam had needed help to play. She had seemed like the old Pammy. The one we knew and loved.
“Yeah, but not now,” Sue continued. “Pam’s been careening around the house without her cane, staggering and lurching from side to side, knocking over stuff. She’s finally sitting down on the couch, but she’s glowering at me. I can manage for now, but you’d better get over here first thing tomorrow.”
Desert Guilt
Desert guilt swallowed me whole. It was my fault. I’d agreed to help, and now I was stuck. I had no authority to make decisions on Pam’s behalf, and Pam was out of control in my mother’s house. How could I protect my mother from Pam, and Pam from herself?
Close to panic, I sat across from my husband on the family room couch relating the telephone call from Sue.
“Mike, this is a mess. I don’t know what to do. It’s my fault and I am so, so sorry.”
In agreeing to help my mother’s friend, I had compromised my mother’s safety, my family life at home, and my work life. I couldn’t assume around-the-clock care for a senior with physical and psychological challenges. The guilt gripped like tentacles around my windpipe, squeezing away life-giving oxygen. I could barely breathe.
“Dear Lord,” I prayed, “what am I supposed to do?”
Desert Thought
My one solitary thought was to call my mother’s doctor. Maybe he would accept Pam as a patient. It was Sunday afternoon. I made an emergency call, not expecting any response before office hours opened on Monday morning.
When my cell rang a couple of hours later, I was a surprised to see Mum’s doctor’s name on the call display. Was my prayer about to be answered?
I didn’t like what the doctor said as he explained step-by-step what needed to be done to secure Mum’s and Pam’s safety. The instruction was to call 911. The police would need to be involved. I balked. Why on earth were the police needed to deal with an ailing ninety-one-year-old who barely registered eighty pounds? But with no authority, the tool for help was the Mental Health Act.
When in Montreal, I hadn’t slept well. That night, sleep was impossible. My thoughts churned and recycled over how my choice had compromised the people I cared about most. And tomorrow I was going to call the authorities to remove from my mother’s home a tiny, vulnerable, old, and feeble friend. They would take her to hospital, but no one could accompany her or visit because of COVID restrictions. Pam was already paranoid and fearful. My heart ached.
Desert Meditation
At Mum’s the next morning, I was exhausted and rattled. Sue handed me her phone and ear buds.
“Take five minutes to meditate before you make the call,” she instructed. “Just press this button to turn on the music.”
This was good counsel. I had been practicing Christian meditation for a year (refer: https://www.wccm-canada.ca/). Hitting the play button, I recited in my head the often-recommended mantra used in Christian meditation. Slowly, rhythmically, I repeated in my head the special word: “Maranatha,” Aramaic for “Come, Lord Jesus.”
Soon, a familiar calm returned. With my mind eased from churning thoughts, five minutes was enough to settle my nerves. At least to the point I could call 911 without my voice shaking. Clear communication was important to get Pam the help she needed. I picked up the phone and related the situation to the dispatcher.
Desert Rescue
The hand-over to emergency responders was almost laughable. If it hadn’t been so stressful. As Pam feebly kicked in protest, two strapping six-foot plus men lifted her like a piece of paper and gently placed her on a stretcher. They had patiently talked to her for forty-five minutes, trying to convince her of the need for medical attention, and to come with them willingly.
As the emergency responders negotiated with Pam, masked and at a distance because of COVID safety protocols, a first-responder supervisor interviewed me. It was exhaustive. I described the litany of events leading up to the 911 call.
Ensconced safely in an upstairs bedroom, my mother waited with Sue; away from potential COVID contamination and the six emergency responders crowding her living room.
And then they were gone. The ambulance whisking Pam to hospital and the police driving to their next call.
Reminiscent of emerging from a bomb shelter after an attack, Mum and Sue crept from the upstairs bedroom into a deathly quiet house.
Finding her first casualty Sue looked into my dazed face. Wrapping her arms around me she held tight as the tension broke. Like a dam unleashed, tears poured out bridging my usual reserve. I was sorry to distress my mother with grief, but the camel’s back couldn’t support that last straw. Desert guilt had broken my heart.
I don’t take pills for sleep or anxiety, and although it was early afternoon, Sue handed me one of hers and told me to go home and go to bed.
To be continued…