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Monthly Archives: February 2009

It’s funny, the last post I wrote was about the fallout of death, and then I just disappeared for a couple of weeks. Let’s face it, it wasn’t the best post to end on, was it?  LOL! Some wondered if I was still around. I’m right here, but I’ve been very, very sick.

In fact, I believe this is the sickest I’ve been since I had pneumonia many years ago. I didn’t have pneumonia this time, but you wouldn’t have known it by the sound of my 24/7 cough. My friend says her husband sounds like he’s “coughed up a lung.” Well, I sounded like I was coughing up both of them, and a few organs as well.  Graphic illustration, but a truthful one. I caught a cold or the flu right before Valentine’s Day.  Then I got bronchitis. I went to the ER very quickly, so it wasn’t due to my delay in getting treatment. It’s just that no one suffers from colds like I do. I rarely ever just have a simple cold, and then get over it. It always turns into the night of the living dead. I’m not kidding. I would have these choking spells 3 or 4 times a day, and I really felt like I couldn’t get my breath.  It was frightening!!!  At any rate, I’m on my second round of antibiotics, and I feel like this thing aged me ten years. I have been soooooooo sick. Seriously, for 10 days I coughed day and night, sitting up or lying down. I never got any sleep.

I don’t even want to talk about the amount of medicine that’s been thrown at me, and I had to make some serious decisions about how much was too much. I thought that doctors were to “first do no harm.” But I think they’ve long  forgotten that oath.

Because I can’t take penicillin or its derivatives, I first got Clarithromycin from an ER doctor. Then my physician gave me her favorite (and the one I hate most) fluoroquinolones. I hate this class of drugs because they have serious side effects, and they seem like the only drugs my doctor knows about.

I have had a complete tear in my rotator cuff (shoulder), and I suffered for a solid year with excruciating pain. Most everyone I know that’s torn a rotator cuff HAS to have surgery. but I opted not to. I was busy caring for my mom, and trying to keep my head (and hers) above water. Well quinolones are famous for causing torn or ruptured tendons. And this can happen, not only while you’re taking them, but several months afterward. So that is risky enough for me, but if the bacteria wasn’t responding to the other antibiotic, I know I probably had no choice.

However, if you take steroids (oral or injected) at the same time you take quinolones, you really up your chances of a ruptured tendon. And guess what? My doctor gave me 2 different kinds of steroids. And guess what again? I didn’t take them. When I take steroids, my blood sugar goes up to 400 or 500 also, and I just don’t feel like going there either. Steroids elevate your blood sugar for quite awhile. Plus the last time I came off of them, I had terrible night sweats and was miserable.

Now along with the 2 antibiotics, a steroid pack,  and an oral corticosteroid (Advair), I also received prescriptions for 2 antihistamines, and a narcotic cough medicine. I was already taking Mucinex every 12 hours as well.  One of the antihistamines was Clarinex, and my insurance would not cover it to the tune of $147.00. (I opted to not take that one for sure.) The druggist said it was the same as Clartin over the counter. 

So when I got home, I had to sort through my goody bag, and decide how much more my poor body could take. Of course, I’m between a rock and a hard place, because I’m still badly congested, coughing and running a fever, so I have to do something.  But quite frankly, I’m mad. This was too much medicine, and too many risky combinations.

I opted not to take the steroids, or the Advair due to the increased risk of ruptured tendons. I took the horrible quinolone antibiotic, Avelox, and have 3 more nights to go. It makes me dizzy and headachy. I literally cannot walk straight, and keep falling around.  I haven’t been able to drive due to the dizziness.

I have taken the narcotic cough med as a last resort, and while it did help my cough, it made me loopy and dizzy also. So I’ve tried to stay away from it as much as possible. Narcotics and I don’t get along, thank the Lord.

I take 9 prescription meds already, and I don’t think my body could have handled the 6 more that I was given. So I made an executive decision. I would take the antibiotic, one antihistamine (my faithful Benadryl) and my Mucinex. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m sure it will be WWIII when the doctor hears my decision, but so be it.

I hate drugs!!!! As patients, most of us know far more about our medicines than the doctors do, and if we read the warnings and become educated (as we should) then they get upset. The drug reps only tell them the good things, and minimize any bad side effects. You can’t reason with most doctors. But in the end, it is our body, and our health that is at stake.

So I’m fighting my way back from the grave, with probably more fighting to come (when I see my doctor in a few weeks for a follow-up.) Let me be clear. I do not trust doctors, and I never will. Too much has happened to me and my family to be naive.  While I wouldn’t want to live without them, I also find it hard to coexist with their drug pushing ways. (It’s all they know in most cases.)

So that’s the scoop.  I do feel some better now, and I hope I feel a LOT better, once I’m finished with this second antibiotic. Say a prayer for me…


Wouldn’t it be great if we could just spend a week or two grieving for a loss, and then it would be done? No more sharp knives in the heart, no more waking up in the middle of the night, no more memories to constantly invade an otherwise routine day. But it seems like grief is the gift that keeps on giving. Attachments are made in this life, and love just naturally occurs. Severing that bond feels anything but natural.

My birth dad died several years ago, and his funeral was on New Years Eve. I had  never really cared for the holiday day before that, and I will never forget flying into our small town airport, having been through a tearful day of “good-byes”, as well as “hellos” to those I had not seen in a long time.  I knew that all I had hoped for in my relationship with my dad, would now never come to pass. We had known each other only on the surface, but had both longed for so much more. Distance and busy lives separated us, and sad to say, we let it. (You always think you’ll have more time.)

Not long after his death (about 5 months) my stepfather died. He had been in my life since I was age 7. Our relationship had been stormy initially, but developed into one of  the greatest miracles of my life. After I was married, and through the future years, we grew closer. He wasn’t one to have long heart to heart talks, but he often said “I love you” for no reason at all (other than the fact that he did.) The day that we found out that he needed triple bypass surgery, instead of being able to correct the problem with a stent, I cried in my car like he was already gone. My husband couldn’t understand why I  took it so hard that he would need the heart surgery, but there was a “knowing” in my spirit. I didn’t feel good about it, and I couldn’t stop crying. (Of course, I didn’t cry in front of him.) He came through the triple bypass fine, but succumbed to hospital acquired infections including pneumonia, staph, and serratia. We watched him dying through many long weeks of gasping for breath on a respirator in the ICU and CCU, and it was like a daily nightmare. Seeing him like that was so painful and heartbreaking, and even though I desperately wanted to have faith for him to live, it was apparent that minus a miracle, he wasn’t going to make it. When he died, we spent some moments as a family in his hospital room, that was eerily silent. No machines whirring, no beeps, no gasping for breath. Just a strange, stark silence.

He looked so big lying there. He was 6’4″, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. When the doctor had told us that he didn’t think Sam would make it, my mother said, (as we walked down the hospital corridor) “What am I gonna do?”

What were any of us going to do? He had represented strength to us, and a knowledge of so many things. He knew the answer to almost every question we had, and as long as Sam was around, every problem had a solution.

But once he was gone, life was brutal for my mom and me. Every day brought new discoveries of things that Sam had taken care of, that now we had to struggle with. Things like dragging the huge trashcan to the curb, wrestling to get groceries in the house after a full day of errands, a myriad of  doctor’s  appointments for my mom, bills and paperwork, house maintenance, applying for home insurance when their former insurance company left town (and being turned down by the first one, because there were too many things wrong with the aging house.)

Sometimes it seemed like all we did was fight to keep our heads above water.  I cried from exhaustion when alone at times, but mostly I just gritted my teeth, and forced my body to function when it was way past its ability. No one will ever know the toll those days took on us. I tried to compensate for what my mom couldn’t do, struggled to make sure that all her medications were filled on time, and taken properly, and was continually concerned about her diabetes, and her unpredictable episodes of low blood sugar that often scared the life out of me, until I could bring her around. Days were spent worrying about her, and nights were spent tossing and turning, with a cell phone always on and by my bed, waiting to proclaim the next catastrophe. This went on for 3 1/2 long years, and I could tell that my physical health and emotional health were declining rapidly. It felt like I was drowning, and I was trying to keep her head above water, while mine was going under for the third time. (I had lost both of my dads in the span of  5 months, and really had no chance to grieve, because there was always another crisis to get through. But no one seemed to see or care what I was dealing with. It was enough to break anyone, and there is no shame in that.)

I cried out to people around me, though honestly our family had gotten so small, there was really no one to cry out to. No one that could physically make a difference, except my brother. His total contribution had been to buy the groceries and eat them, on his lunch break every day. I never felt like I could ask him to do more, or that he would be willing to. My uncle, who lived in Atlanta, was a good sounding board, and seemed to “get” how terribly difficult this was becoming for me. He never made me feel guilty for feeling like I was about to collapse, and even though he is my mom’s brother, he advised me to do what I had to do to get out of the situation, if necessary, to protect my health.

My cousin Jack (who was more like a brother, as we had been raised together until I was 7) also wrote me one letter saying that I could only do what I was able to do. But several times after that, I talked with him, and he seemed to be reluctant to even have an opinion. When things got so bad, before my estrangement with my mom, I wrote him an email and left a couple of messages (reaching out once again), but I never got a reply. (This hurt, as we had been fairly close because of our childhood together.) To this day, I’ve never heard from him.  I changed my phone numbers so my “family” couldn’t torment me anymore, but he has always had my email address, if he wanted to reach me. He was in town for Christmas, but I was gone.  However, I doubt that he will ever contact me again. His loyalties are with my mom and brother.  It seems like this whole situation is fraught with collateral damage that couldn’t be avoided.

And I guess that is what I want to address in this post. Bereavement can cause such stress and strife in families, and the loss of my stepfather is what ultimately led to the estrangement between my mom and me. The stress of her care all falling on me, the responsibility for her happiness and well-being, the pressure to try and do the things that he had done for her, while still having to manage my own family and life, along with my mom’s increasing physical and mental problems, was just too much for our relationship.

There was some troubling history there already, though I had tried to ignore it for so long. But the more overwhelmed and tired I became (with almost no help, and the increase daily in serious problems–a broken right foot, a broken left leg, a broken right hip, and increasing dementia) then the more stressful the whole thing became. She became more and more belligerent  and rebellious. She refused to use her walker consistently, and kept falling over and over again, until I was at my wit’s end.  Now it was horribly affecting my health and well-being also. I spent half my life, it seemed, in the emergency room. Then she called me horrible names after all that I had done for her, and that was the last straw for me. As soon as I got her settled in a wonderful assisted living, my brother took her out against all medical advice, with his eye on inheriting the house. (If she had stayed in assisted living, her house would have needed to be sold, to finance her living arrangements, and he was adamantly against that. I just wanted her properly taken care of and supervised.) So I have not seen either of  them since before Thanksgiving 2008.

As you can see, there is a fallout from death. If you have not experienced it, consider yourself fortunate. It changes the family dynamic–it brings out greed in some people, and causes others to have to bear tremendous burdens alone. Many marriages are strained because of the resulting changes, and people’s lives are in the balance. Everyone can understand the pressures when a widow or widower is left to raise a child (or children) alone, but few people understand the effect that a very sick, obstinate, demanding, angry (and often just plain mean) elder, with increasing dementia can have on a primary caregiver.  For me, the problems were overwhelming, as I predict they will also eventually be for my brother, though he has help during the day (thank the Lord) when he works. I suspect that he does not have to attend every doctor appointment as I did. I had no help at all. 

Sadly, I found myself driving by the house tonight, under the cover of darkness, hoping to get a glimpse of my mother. But all I could see through the open door was my brother, standing at the sink.  I am grieving, because I will likely never see my mother again. I cared for her (and loved her) with everything in me, and tried so hard to keep her alive for the past 3 1/2 years. At times I thought maybe I would die before she did. (I take 9 medications, have diabetes and high blood pressure, and many other chronic medical problems.) Many days are a struggle for me to get through.  I gave up all my friends and social contacts, and really had little time for my daughter and husband. (Even less for myself.)

Many just do not realize how the loss of a family member changes SO much, and not just for the spouse, but for others also. And especially for those left to care for an aging, ailing parent (or small children) alone. I felt overwhelmed every day of my life.

I wish I could say that I felt numb now, or that I never think  of her or miss her. But I can’t.  She is usually the first thing on my mind every morning when I wake up, but then I remember her hateful words, and the despicable comments from my brother. That is when I pray for God to take this pain from my heart, and to help me to forgive.  I still love my mother, but I don’t feel anything for my brother.  I think indifference is much worse than hatred. At least there’s some passion and feeling in hatred.

Forgiveness is just like grieving, I guess. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a process. Wounds take time to heal, and anyone who says differently has never suffered heartbreak at the hands of  others. But if God says that forgiveness is possible, then I will trust that He is right.

So I guess I just needed to get that out tonight. All in all, my life is a lot better now, though my physical health is still a problem.  I still suffer from a sleep disorder. My heart will probably ache for the rest of my life over how this turned out, but God can also heal broken hearts. There is a limit to what a person can endure, and my death would not have enhanced my mom’s remaining time here on earth. 

I know that my brother is getting a dose of reality, though she will never likely emotionally abuse him, as she did me (all my life.) When you feel loved unconditionally (as he is by my mom) things are certainly easier to tolerate. But she never loved me like that, no matter how hard I tried to please her,  and I’ll never understand why.

This song is for those who have lost someone that you loved, through death or otherwise…