I started this blog with the idea that I can, essentially, journal my way through this crazy life as we travel the U.S. on the wheels of a motorhome, and eventually we take our adventure on the water via a sailing catamaran. I wanted to be consistent. My goal was to post a new tale every Tuesday about the previous week's endeavors. I am intentional about capturing moments because I want my words to be accompanied by pictures to tell a story. A story that I can look back and reminisce about. A story that makes me smile as I read about this fortunate thing we call our life. With this blog, our friends and family can follow along with us as well. And that feels special. A way to keep close to my family that I cherish the most albeit from hundreds of miles away.
So here it is Tuesday night, and I haven't shared my story from the last week. I haven't excitedly set up the laptop at our tiny dinette table in the RV, settling in for a couple hours as I get my thoughts organized and conveyed through my writings. I have the stories, anecdotes and laughs to share. Last week we were in Yellowstone seeing bison, geysers, and the giant skies of Wyoming. Living a surreal family legacy with our boys that I deeply cherish.
But my heart isn't in it today. I wasn't going to write my thoughts at all this week. I figure when it "gets better", I'll write again. Share some light-hearted, amusing stories of our latest adventures and mishaps. Then I got to thinking. My outlet for stress, anxiety, depression is writing. Write it all out. Throw all my words on paper or laptop, and feel the pressure lift from my shoulders and heart. This blog does have "musings" in the title, and by definition I think this website calls for some introspection and consideration. So here goes...
As I said before, last week we were still in Yellowstone National Park. Living the dream and taking in one of the Earth's greatest wonders. We stayed four days by a lake, off grid, minimal internet, no hook-ups for the RV, and kept life simple. Jason pulled a full day of driving on Friday and got us back to home base in Hermiston by 5pm quittin' time. Saturday I spent making a last minute birthday cake for our youngest, Cord's 8th birthday party. Sunday was lunch with Jason's family, then a birthday dinner with my family to celebrate Cord. I remember thinking at the party that this may be the last time for a few weeks, perhaps even months, before I see my family again. We have an Oregon Coast trip planned with Jason's family that we do every year and it's coming up this week, starting Thursday. After that trip, we're free to hit the road... and keep going. No circling back, just keep on, keepin' on down the way. So the Sunday dinner party with my family was sort of my farewell to them. For awhile anyway. Then I received the text from my oldest sister, Jody, yesterday.
My mom was in the ER with kidney failure. It didn't make sense. I just saw her the night before at Cord's party. Talking, sharing, joking with all of us. We were teasing her about needing her hearing checked - a common topic these days with my mom. She has bigger, more pressing issues now. Her kidney has failed her. 9% is not good. Since COVID protocols are strict, only my dad was able to be with her in the hospital. I'm grateful he could be there with her. But that also meant Dad was our point person for any information on my mom. If you know him, you know he can take any car, dismantle it to the frame, put it back together, sew all the upholstery, then paint the exterior and the rig goes to a classic car show and brings home trophies. He's incredible with his craft. A perfectionist. But a techie? Or a communicator? He is not. Bless him. Dad was at overwhelmed status the moment he got to the E.R. Dad had four daughters' questions to deal with: What's going on? How long until she's better? What are the options? Did the doctor say anything about dialysis? Transplant? What about you, Dad? Need dinner? Need some clothes? You staying the night? Talk to us, Dad!
Our poor dad. His wife is in the E.R. The caretaker of the home and his best support system is now in need. Helpless in a hospital bed and unable to fix the chaos or manage the triage.
The hospital mom was at yesterday afternoon ran tests, pulled blood, provided comfort care, but they did not have the "machine" (dad's words) needed to truly help with mom's kidney functions. So the hospital called around to other facilities searching for a place for my mom. Beds were hard to come by - thank you, COVID, but eventually they found a place in Portland, Oregon. Dad sent a quick text, "they found a place not sure when she will be transported. more later". Before I could finish with all my questions in a response back to him, he text again, "they're here to take her. more later". I had so many questions. We all did. He did! But no answers. Mom was swept away in an ambulance before any of us could even process the words "kidney failure".
Mom reached the Portland hospital about 11pm last night, and the tests, shots, pills, questions haven't stopped since. My dad is struggling to keep up with reality and also deal with the day to day. Fortunately, my sisters have been able to keep him focused on Mom, while they handled the bank run, hotel booking, dog food shopping, dog sitting, and the mindless stuff that dad was also worrying over. When Mom called last night upon her arrival, she told Dad that there were to be ZERO visitors due to COVID and construction. Dad's not having it. He took off and headed to Portland to be by his wife's side. He said he'll just keep pacing outside the hospital and wait.
Meanwhile, I'm sitting in our RV, waiting for texts and calls. When they don't come, and I've worked myself up and into seriously dark outcomes, I call Mom. That's what you do, right? When things get to be too much, when life gives you lemons, or even when life gives you rainbows, you call your mom to vent, share, cry, laugh. I call Mom and she tells me what's happening - which is a lot of waiting on the pills and shots - and she calms me down just by hearing her voice. I've been able to talk with Mom twice today and her spirits are good. She's keenly aware that her condition is not reassuring, but her and Dad will figure it out. She's always had a way of making me feel secure, solid in my footing again.
And now it's 10:30pm and too late to call. I'm writing in hopes my tears will dry a little and I can create some peace with the unknown. That might be the worst part - the unknown, that lost, helpless feeling of having no idea where to go from here. More waiting, more tears. Perhaps tomorrow will come with some answers, a light in the tunnel. If not, we'll handle that, too. My family learned, in a very abrupt, real way years ago, that we can get through hard things. We rally the troops, circle the wagons, and lean in.
So here's to less questions, more answers, and Dad becoming a better phone user.
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