By Amy McGarry
The phone woke me up at 5:13 a.m. My automatic response was dread. It’s never good news when the phone rings during sleeping hours. I was actually relieved when I saw that the call was coming from my brother’s assisted living facility. Due to a biological glitch, my brother’s blood pressure can escalate too high, or plummet too low. It always regulates itself after some time, but the facility is required to call us and ask if we want them to call the ambulance to take Denny to the hospital. Of course, if there are symptoms in addition to the blood pressure, such as dizziness or shortness of breath, the EMTs are called automatically. Thus, I am all too familiar with ER visits, as are my two sisters living in Spokane who also help with our brother.
Denny is 76 years old and, despite the blood pressure issues, has been quite healthy. He requires assisted living due to dementia. His dementia has progressed so much, it’s hard to believe it’s only been a year. These days he can’t find his bedroom or work the elevator. He’s known to wander the facility with no direction in mind. He struggles to communicate. There are more disturbing behaviors that I won’t share in respect of Denny’s dignity.
When I answered the 5:13 a.m. phone call, I expected to hear that Denny’s blood pressure was too high or too low. Instead, the med tech, who I know very well and am quite fond of, sounded distressed as she told me my brother had fallen, hit his head, and scraped a lot of skin off his arm. EMTs had already been called. She assured me he was conscious and alert, but he was bleeding from the head.
Spoiler alert: In the end, there were no serious physical repercussions from the fall that we know of.
I live close enough to the facility that I was able to get dressed and be there within five minutes. My sisters and I are all gifted with the ability to stay calm in emergencies. I save my overreacting, drama, and freaking out for life’s minor annoyances and petty grievances. So, when I arrived at my brother’s room and saw him leaning on his bedroom floor, bare chested, with blood dripping down his head, I jovially asked him, “How ya doin’, brother?”
He gave a half smile and said, “Uh, not so good at the moment.” It was a huge relief to hear such a coherent answer considering he often can’t find the words he wants, or sometimes any words at all.
Meanwhile the EMTs were asking their questions and taking his vitals and getting him onto the stretcher to get him to the emergency room at the Valley hospital. I promised my brother I’d meet him there.
I’ve learned a lot during my time with my brother’s ER visits. Some things you can always count on. First, everything takes longer than I expect it to, thus, there will be waiting. Second, my brother will sleep the majority of the time he is in the hospital bed.
Being all too familiar with the ER of the Valley hospital, I make myself at home. I wander around. I joke with the nurses. “I’m disappointed. This place isn’t nearly as exciting as ‘The Pitt.’”
“You’re at the Valley hospital. You want real excitement? Go to a downtown ER,” one nurse replied.
One thing you can never predict is the level of friendliness you will receive from nurses and doctors. From the wonderful, to the less than wonderful. They are human with flaws like us all. And they have a very stressful job.
One thing my sisters can count on is that I will fill my ER waiting time with countless texts updating them, even though I know they are sleeping and will not see the messages in real time. This rapid-fire texting is totally unnecessary; since it’s not life or death, all of this information can wait. But by golly, I have to communicate the information in real time. I’m not sure why. But it’s definitely a compulsion I can’t fight.
One more thing I can count on is both of my Spokane sisters will offer to come to the hospital to relieve me or keep me company once they wake up and see the hundreds (okay, dozens) of texts I’ve sent them.
What’s unpredictable during these visits is my brother’s level of lucidity. I’m going to chalk it up to shock, but he was more lucid during this ER visit than I had seen in ages. My favorite example is when he asked me how old he is. I told him 76. He said, “No, I think I’m closer to 90.” That might not sound lucid to you until you know that I had asked him, “Are you preparing for when the nurses ask you how old you are?”
“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly.
He didn’t know how old he was, but he remembered he would be asked this question by hospital staff. And he wanted to be able to answer. Amazing.
As mentioned in my spoiler alert, my brother was fine and was in fact cleared for release as soon as his arm was bandaged up.
My sisters and I checked up on him frequently that day and the following few days. Then we got the news from the staff at his facility.
Denny had been found outside the building in the parking lot. This is behavior his facility calls “exit seeking.” In reality, I do not believe my brother is “exit seeking,” as that implies he is trying to leave the facility. I think he is just wandering. But the guidelines at this facility are clear: any attempts to leave the building without permission are a no-no. Between the “exit seeking” and the fall, the facility staff, with tears in their eyes, let us know they were not equipped to keep him safe. He needed to move to a facility with a higher level of care. In elder care vernacular, it’s called memory care.
For my sisters and I, who have shared this journey, this labor of love, much longer than the year Denny’s been in assisted living, this news was both relief and heartache. Relief, because with such a rapid decline in his dementia, we knew his safety was becoming an issue. Heartache for many reasons.
Because the move will be devastating and scary for my brother who is comfortable with his caretakers.
Because the caretakers at his facility truly love my brother.
Because my sisters and I have developed real relationships with not only Denny’s caretakers, but with many of the residents we interact with when we visit Denny.
Just last week I learned that Don will be celebrating his 95th birthday the same week Denny will be celebrating his 77th.
“We can have a party celebrating you both!” I exclaimed. Don, who is still sharp as a tack but in a wheelchair, has become my favorite resident.
Don looked at Denny and said, “And we can wear funny hats!”
Denny smiled with chagrin.
Only time will tell where this journey takes us.
Amy McGarry grew up in Spokane Valley, Washington. After a 20 year hiatus, she moved back to Spokane Valley where she lives with her husband, daughter and two cats. She is the author of I am Farang: Adventures of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Thailand, available on Amazon.com.
