exercise rehabilitation facility

When the home attendant arrived for her morning shift, she found my mother sleeping on the floor. Clothing, furniture and mementos were strewn all over the bedroom floor. My mother, barely conscious, was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for the fourth time this year.

My sister arrived soon after our mother was moved into a room in the critical wing and found her extremely debilitated and drifting in and out of sleep. Her diabetes, kidney failure, and dialysis sessions have led to a considerable weight loss.

After a few hours, she finally woke and asked my sister whether our father had come home from working at the bodega. Our mother thought it was 1964. One moment she was pleased with how her “bedroom” was mysteriously redecorated and marveled at the angels flying above her bed, and in the next, she screamed at my sister to run for safety so the “bad man” couldn’t get her. She was strapped to her bed to prevent her from removing the various monitoring devices from her arms.

It was just a month ago, after a period where she went “missing” for 24 hours, that my sister approached our mother with “the conversation,” and she said she needed time to think about it. Unfortunately, her dementia has rendered her time up.

My mother’s doctor, the head nurse, and my sister explained to our mother that she would be leaving the hospital in a few days, but wouldn’t return to her home. Instead, she would spend a few months in an “exercise rehabilitation facility” where she would work on regaining her strength.

My sister spent most of her vacation week traveling from one nursing home to another trying to find one that offers dialysis on premises and that is convenient for her to visit at least five times per week. We’ll have to pass on her first choice because it has a waiting list and the hospital is ready to discharge our mother.

My sister is pretty incredible. She’s caring for a woman that has been a stranger to us all of our lives. Very rarely do I wish that I still lived NYCity, but this week I wished I did. My sister, who works full

time and goes to college at night, could certainly use a break.

I’ll pop up in the Bronx this weekend to meet up with my sister at my mother’s apartment (my first time ever seeing a place where she lived) to help pack personal possessions and to decide what will be donated.

My sister, she’s a great sister, a great mother, and, a lot later than we thought, a great daughter. Happy Birthday Big Sis! And remember that the 40's are the new 30's.