Southwest Sierra #70 — We Are Each Other’s Angels, Part 1

Last week I shared my mother Audrey’s preliminary diagnosis and explained that my husband and I moved back to Alleghany in 1992 to help take care of her. Despite all efforts to keep her exercising and eating well her symptoms got steadily worse. In early 1993 UC Davis gave her an official diagnosis of “Chronic Progressive Multiple Sclerosis.” I remember sitting in the examination room at UC Davis that day and making the doctor visibly uncomfortable with my questions. I bluntly asked him: “How long will she live?” He explained that with this diagnosis (at that time anyway, things may have changed since then) most people die within 10 years of the onset of symptoms. He also said that it was unusual for an adult to have that diagnosis, and that usually it is only children with MS who are Chronic Progressive. That really put things into perspective, I thought how lucky we were that Mom had raised all her children before the illness. I felt great empathy for the parents of chronically ill children. In 1992 Mom could sit in a wheelchair and answer basic “yes” and “no” questions, but by 1994 she was completely bed-ridden and rarely spoke. She did still follow verbal commands. Time seemed to slow down during those years.

I remember one tragically funny morning in 1992 when I was transferring Mom from her bed to the wheelchair and something made us both start giggling. I instantly lost my strength (laughter does that) and we managed a gentle slide to the carpeted floor. We landed facing each other and we just laid there looking at each other laughing, until finally we calmed down. Even though Mom’s brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, her love and beauty shone through for me. When I looked at her, that was all that I saw. Many years later I came across a picture of her in her hospital bed and she looked pretty bad, but I had no recollection of her ever looking like that!

In 1991 while I was still living in Nevada City we signed Mom up with Sierra Nevada’s visiting nurse program. All the nurses were amazingly kind and supportive. The first nurse, Pat even let me ride to Alleghany with her whenever she went to see Mom. Mom’s last visiting nurse was named Teresa with a few in between her and Pat. Teresa came once a week for several months. I remember one morning, I said to Mom: “Teresa is coming today.” Mom said: “Take a deep breath.” I was stunned because she rarely spoke and an entire sentence was unheard of! Part of the check-up routine with Teresa was lung sounds where she instructed Mom to: “Take a deep breath.” That phrase has become a touch stone for me. I try to remember to “Take a deep breath” whenever I feel sad, or anxious, or angry and it helps tremendously! I think of it as ongoing advice from Mom, and I encourage you dear reader, to do the same.

About a year ago, I was thinking about Teresa the nurse and wishing that I could share the “deep breath story” with her. Shortly after I had that thought, we were invited to Dena and Rose Hall’s house in Nevada City. Their dad Tom was visiting from Colorado, and we had a little reunion of old friends and family with dinner in the yard. I was so surprised when Teresa the visiting nurse walked into the yard! I hadn’t seen her in years. I was delighted to learn that she and her husband lived next door and had become good friends with the Hall girls. (to be continued)