My older sisters, Anita, Jannetta, Mary Alice, Dorothy, Gladys and I, Carole, never expected to have any more babies at our age. After all, we ranged in ages 40 to 55. But, we ended up with one anyway – our very own mother.
Mom was 85 years old when she had a stroke on Oct. 21, 1983. Both my sister, Mary Alice, and I were with her. We has just finished playing cards when Mom decided to take a shower. It wasn’t but 10 minutes or so when we heard a thump. We ran to the bathroom and found Mom, half slumped and mumbling. We managed to carry her to bed and called the doctor.
Since Mom had a living will, the doctor knew she did not wish to be hospitalized. Nor did she wish for any life-sustaining treatment to prolong her life, depending on her condition. The doctor felt she had a stroke and could possibly die by the next morning. All the children were called (we also have four brothers), and one by one they came to say goodbye to their mother.
That night Mary Alice and I slept on either side of her. We cuddled her through the night while she experienced arm and leg spasms. After all, she had cuddled and stroked all 10 of us when we were children.
Alas, Mom proved the doctor wrong. As a matter of fact, she did so by living another four years.
Most young couples awaiting the birth of their first baby prepare a room for them. They paint walls in splashes of blue or pink. They hang colorful curtains and buy a crib. We, the six daughters, did the same for out baby, too. We made her bedroom into a mini-hospital room. We cleared dresser tops, replacing knickknacks with items the visiting nurse suggested we’d need for Mom’s care. We ordered a hospital bed.
In the months that followed, we did for our baby mother what most young mothers learn to do. We bathed her. We fed her. We dressed her. We changed messy diapers. We even learned “how to” operate a catheter.
At first, Mom’s speech was mostly unintelligible. She was able to say short sentences, even if they were a bit confusing. We were always pleased when she recalled our names.
Growing up with Mom, all of her children gained a sense of humor from her. It was Christmas time, when we were elated. Mom, though childlike, had regained her sense of humor, and kept it. Someone had placed a small Christmas tree on her dresser for the season. One day she insisted, “Put that Christmas tree away. I’m tired of it now!”
After Christmas, the sisters felt the brothers should help with Mom’s care. We then set up a schedule of 24 hour care for Mom. The boys usually had weekends, bringing along their wives or teenage girls to help with some of Mom’s personal care.
As time went on a few grandchildren volunteered to help us. We also hired a woman to help out that my sister knew.
One of the things we did in taking care of Pop (he had a stroke earlier and we took care of him for a year) was to keep a diary of sorts. We continued this process for Mom as well. It helped us all to know how Mom was doing on days we weren’t scheduled. We also passed on instructions from nurses, doctors, through Mom’s diary.
It wasn’t but a few months until Mom’s energy came back. We’d coax her to eat something, “Hmmm. Hmmm. Good.” With that, she pushed her soup toward us, “If it’s so good, you eat it!”
One had to be cognizant of everything with Mom. We’d lay her pills nearby her dinner plate and if our attention was drawn away from the table, she’d hide her pills. When we’d ask, “Did you take your pills?” always she’d grin and answer “yes.” Eventually, we’d find these pills under the water glass or dinner plate and sometimes in a mound of mashed potatoes.
The energy of our baby didn’t dissipate in the evening either. We all slept in a cot in her bedroom. Actually, we had spurts of sleep. Mom would beg to go to bed. Once there, she talked and talked, did exercises in the bed and stripped. I remembered how many times I used to find my tots taking off their clothes. Now it was our baby mother!
Hospital beds had bars – at least half way down – so patients couldn’t fall out of bed. We never had to worry about this baby of ours falling out of bed. Somehow she got herself to the opening of the bed, and managed the feat of sitting herself on the wheelchair nearby. Many times we were startled awake to find her in the chair. No amount of scoldings would deter her from performing her feat over and over again!
The catheter had been on Mom a year. At times it could create painful spasms in her stomach. We decided to potty train this baby of ours. The doctor was willing to take her catheter off, but felt potty training would be impossible. We proved the doctor wrong.
At first, when Mom called, “I have to go. I have to go. I have to go” (always 3 times), we’d rush her to the toilet. That became a hassle until one of us decided to do what nursing homes do. We put her on a schedule and kept a written note so whoever was next in line knew when Mom ‘went potty’ last.
The funny part about taking her to potty was she loved to sit there. She’d take each square of tissue, fold it and put it on a neat pile. After 30 minutes of “sitting on the pot” she’d scream when we insisted she had to go back on her wheelchair. Other than the toilet, she loved to sit at the picture window after breakfast, as we could then try to get a bit more sleep on the sofa.
I recall the day having moved the plants on her window sill at least six times, due to her pleading. I was tired of it. Then, she called, “Carole, Carole Mae, is that your name? Will you move these plants? Carole Mae, I love you.” She got me and she knew it. I moved those plants just one more time!
My sisters and I had a special relationship. Since our children were almost grown, we had our birthday parties – six of them – each year. We traveled, went out to eat, dressed up at Halloween or whatever the birthday girl decided. When we took care of Mom we held our parties at her house. And like children, we dressed in Mom’s Sunday hats, aprons and jewelry – Mom included. She enjoyed those dress up parties, because mainly, it was easier taking care of her in her nightgowns.
One year, our father’s twin brother treated us to a flight and weekend in Indianapolis to visit him. The brothers and grandchildren filled in for us, with Mom, when we were gone. Once home, Mom was so upset with us for leaving her, she wouldn’t talk to us. We asked if she missed us. “Not much,” she answered.
It was almost four years we had been taking care of our little one. It was tough. We had to make up vacation days or pay. We had to be there on holidays if scheduled, and not with our own children. One sister had a stroke at 50 and had a harder time in moving and lifting Mom. Some of us had back aches. We had to travel in snow. Some were semi-retired. Two of us worked and had teens at home.
Eventually, the majority of us voted to place Mom in a nursing home. Once Mom was in, the family received a letter from the administration. The nurses were having a hard time following doctor’s orders, which we the children initiated. If we didn’t stop, we’d be asked to move our mother to another nursing home. We acquiesced. We realized we were still doting on “our baby.”
Thankfully, Mom was only in the nursing home three months. She died on Oct. 9, 1987.
The rewards in taking care of Mom as our baby were soul-satisfying. I’ll always have these treasured keepsakes of memories. How much more rewarding can life be, when this gift of love returns to us, in bonding with our mother, our baby, through the last years of her life?
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to everyday stories.