February 4, 1980 - we flew, the three of us, to Rochester, Minnesota. It was COLD, COLD, COLD. Snow everywhere. In fact, it snowed every day we were there. We went first to my motel to check in and leave a bewildered Skipper. Then on to St. Mary's Hospital where Mom was admitted and "tagged" for surgery. The hospital was HUGE, and Catholic, a great deal of comfort to me. There was a chapel where Mass was said twice a day, and a convent with about 25 nuns, mostly nurses, but some retired also. I got to know them all, and they me (and Skipper).
My motel had a shuttle that went to the clinics and hospitals four times a day. I usually took the early shuttle there and the late shuttle back to the motel, staying with Mom all day, and Skip at night. He was so good, never messed in the room, waited patiently for my return each night and I thanked God each night for him as I cuddled him close in bed and sobbed into his fur. I was so alone. I was so scared.
February 8, 1980 - Mom's surgery started at 7:00 a.m. and lasted for fourteen hours. I waited in the surgery waiting room, which by the way was HUGH. It had about 20 sofas, as many chairs, and about 20 tables. On each table was a jigsaw puzzle that people worked while they waiting for "visiting times". I worked every single puzzle in that room. I saw a lot of people come and go. They got to leave - I got to stay.
Mom had a quintuple by-pass and all 3 valves replaced in her heart. They had a hard time stopping the bleeding and she did not do well. She remained in intensive care throughout the remainder of her stay there. Since I could only see her for 15 minutes five times a day, I decided to look for a place closer to the hospital. I found the perfect place (and yes, they accepted pets) right across the street at "Maria's Apartments". Maria was a hoot! A tiny, but spry hispanic lady, she also had a little dog she called "Chico" and knew how much comfort a little dog could bring. She also had a small grocery store and now I could fix my own meals and go back to the apartment to wait for my time with Mom. I could watch tv or take Skip for walks, or nap. It was not even as expensive as the motel and if I needed to get to the hospital in a hurry, I could. I paid Maria by the week.
And that week turned into the next week and the next week and the next week. Mom did not improved. Her heart was worked fine - you could even hear the valves clicking through her chest, but she could not get off the respirator. The doctor's were baffled. She ended up with a trach tube to make her more comfortable.
I spent hours in the chapel begging God to let her get better. He didn't seem to hear me or if He did He wasn't doing anything to help her. And then, on a quiet Monday in late February, in the chapel, at 10:00 p.m. I finally "shut up" enough to hear Him. "Not YOUR will my child, but MINE". A great peace came over me - and I think at that point - I knew - I was going to loose her. I talked to the doctors. They thought we should stay there for the duration. I wanted to go home. Most importantly, Mom wanted to go home. She made that very clear to me. I hadn't heard her voice since the surgery, but she mouthed to me very plainly - "TAKE ME HOME". I think she knew and she needed time to say goodbye to family and friends.
NEXT ENTRY: The trip home
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