My mother, in nursing home, has a face — and a story
In February, my mother fell twice in one weekend.
She was transported by ambulance two days in a row to the emergency room. A four-day hospitalization followed. Coupled with an illness and hospitalization in November, she was facing admission to a nursing home.
She had already spent six years in an assisted living home. She liked it there. I liked it there because she did. The environment was warm and supportive. Staff became friends. Her life, although difficult at times, was pretty good. As her daughter and primary care giver, it was very doable.
Every day I see the statistics. My mother, Kathryn Rodgers, is just one of so many elderly people dealing with the COVID-19 crisis, but every one of them has a face and a story. Each one of them lived a life, cared for someone, sacrificed for something. They are you and I, your next-door neighbor, best friend, workmate and family. Older, yes, and just as deserving and valuable.
My mom has never been an “easy” person. A force to be reckoned with, she never minced words. She said what she thought, and that was that. Small in stature (4 foot 10, if that, and not much heavier than the wheelchair she occupies these days), she is incredibly strong. A breast cancer survivor at 79, she started running again two days after her surgery. Not that her doctor wanted her to do that. She did, and she still does what she wants.
She was in the Senior Olympics in her early 80s as a runner. Whether in athletics or everyday living, running is her style. You can’t hold her down. She was known for walking multiple loops around the assisted living facility where she lived. She was fast, even in her 90s. Years ago, when I was 20, we ran in a road race together. She plowed past me, no problem. The only family member who was regularly faster than her was my brother, marathoner Bill Rodgers. She’s OK with it.
Located across the street from the skilled nursing facility where she now lives is the old Newington Children’s Hospital building. She worked there for 25 years as a certified nurse’s aide. The kids loved her. She worked hard and made them laugh. She was always making goofy faces for them.
She was a World War II veteran and enlisted in the Coast Guard in her early 20s, serving in New York City and doing supportive office work. She refuses to take credit for being a veteran, because she was not in combat like her brother, who was in the Battle of Anzio in Italy. In the front entrance of the facility where she lived is a plaque listing all veterans who resided there. She is the only woman listed. I wish she would take credit for her service to her country all those years ago.
Three years ago, while racing around her apartment, she tripped and fell and fractured her hip at 94. Everyone said that would be it for her. They didn’t know what I knew. Two months later, after rehab she was once again up and walking, but now with her shiny new walker. Physical therapy was always trying to get her to slow down, but she was always asking, “How long do I have to use this thing?” She finally accepted it and spent many a good day walking outside.
Needing to remain in a skilled nursing facility after her rehab in February, life has changed. Her cognition has improved, but she is more frail physically. She needs someone with her now when she walks. But never to let a challenge stop her, she is now able to walk around the back courtyard with her physical therapist.
My husband and I feel fortunate that she lives on the first floor. It gives us easy access for a daily visit through her window. We set up a bird feeder. She loves it.
Quarantine is a necessary evil. It’s done to keep us and the others around us safe. I fully support it — it’s just hard for me and my mom. It’s hard for her to stay in her room, eat her meals there, no outside visitors. But there are breaks in the clouds every day, thanks to the staff. They bring music, carefully arranged walks outside and Zoom meetings with family. I am extremely grateful. I see them each day at shift change, walking into the building, putting on their masks, getting ready to be incredibly brave caregivers.
My mother turned 97 in April and is looking forward to 98. She keeps asking me when that will happen.
“In a year, Mom, you only get one birthday a year.”
Then she says “Rats, I have to wait that long?”
Linda Rodgers Pranitis lives in Rocky Hill.
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