The Carpenter Lady

The Carpenter Lady
My mother, the strong, independent Carpenter Lady, able to build furniture, put a new roof on a house or lay out a cement patio, of a quality that easily competed with the most skilled professional. The Carpenter Lady, whose strength physically and in spirit, and whose joy of life was unmatched by anyone. She would try anything once. The Carpenter Lady, who is unable to lift a hammer, let alone drive a nail.
I hear the phone ringing. It's for Mom. Mrs. Falck wants to talk with her about remodeling her entire upstairs. “She's not home right now; she is over at the neighbors' fixing their backed-up sewer drain. Where was she earlier? At the Wygant family's house giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the puppies their dog just had. Mrs. Wygant called, hysterical that the puppies weren't breathing after they were born. Mrs. Wygant knew Mom would know what to do.”
I now sit at her bedside as I try to understand the diagnosis-”Scleroderma.” “What is Scleroderma? Is that a form of cancer? Is that a form of arthritis? Do people die from this?” I am sure my questions feel like ammunition from a machine gun...not giving the doctor a chance to answer or even 'duck.” “Help me! I can't stand the pain!” I hear my mother scream. “How do you stop the pain? What do you mean she needs dialysis? We have to put her on the Kidney Transplant Recipient list? Can't you hear her screaming out in pain? How do you stop the pain?”
I felt helpless as I listened to the specialists' diagnosis. This had been a long time coming. My mother had been having problems for over a year now, unable to walk farther than 30 feet, with extreme fatigue and horrible pain in her joints. She went from doctor to doctor, (15 in all), trying to get help and none of them could explain what was wrong with her. The last doctor suggested she seek psychiatric help. Frustrated with these 'small-town doctors', I made an appointment for my mother with the specialists in the Rheumatology Department at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center for September 28, 1996. Dad brought her to my house that Friday so we could spend some time together before her appointment on Monday. Friday evening she began feeling short of breath and very hot. Then she began crying. This Carpenter Lady didn't cry very easily, so I knew she was in trouble. We decided to take her to the emergency room at UPMC. By the time we got her there and she was taken back to be examined, she was screaming out in pain. Just our touching her skin to remove her clothing was excruciating. The doctors said they couldn't find anything specific, and that she should keep her Monday appointment. I told them I wanted her admitted for observation. They finally relented, and said they could keep her for only 24 hours, (insurance these days, you know), and couldn't guarantee they would find anything.
Within 12 hours, her condition worsened and her kidneys were shutting down. She was coming in and out of consciousness, and the doctors couldn't understand what was going on. They said she may have lupus, or possibly polymyositis. They finally decided to perform a kidney biopsy. The tissue confirmed the worst-Scleroderma.
Scleroderma—a chronic autoimmune disease of the connective tissue, generally classified as one of the rheumatic diseases. Also known as Systemic Sclerosis. A disease in which the symptoms may be either visible-as in when the skin is affected, or invisible, as when only internal organs are involved. A highly individualized disease, its involvement may range from mild symptoms to life threatening. The cause is unknown. There is no known cure. The treatment is simply addressing each symptom.
I felt like I had just been punched in the stomach. I wanted to cry, scream in fear, run out of the room. I needed to be strong for my dad, however. That's what the Carpenter Lady would want.
All my life I watched this Carpenter Lady. I saw such strength, such passion for helping others, such confidence in the gifts God had placed within her. She could crochet the most beautifully intricate doilies, piece together a prize-winning quilt, and create a delicate rose with oil paints. I saw a love of life and a love for her family. I saw a woman who was untiring in meeting the needs of those around her. Whether they needed something tangible fixed, like a broken chair, some carpeting laid or their heart fixed, my mother, The Carpenter Lady was there. I wanted to be like her in many ways when I grew up.
Within six weeks, she had lost 124 pounds, and we almost lost her five different times. There were times when my father and I prayed that God would either heal her or take her, (It was so hard watching her go through this). He had other plans, though.
Her hands don't work well anymore, (the middle and ring finger on her right hand have permanently chosen to stay bent in against her palm), and she is no longer able to crochet, quilt, fix roofs or build furniture. I now watch her as she continues on in her life with what the Lord has allowed. She never was afraid of hard work. Now her hard work consists of getting out of bed every morning, of beginning to prepare supper for my father and her, even though she knows he will end up having to finish the job. Her hard work includes getting in and out of the shower. It's a good day if she's able to take one without assistance from Dad.
People still call on The Carpenter Lady to fix things, however. Her work of fixing hearts hasn't changed.
As The Carpenter Lady moves through her neighborhood in her electric wheelchair, the gentle puffs of her oxygen tank keeping beat with her own heart, her beautiful moon-shaped face, (moon shaped from all the steroids she must now take so her body doesn't reject her new kidney), she still smiles at everyone as she passes by them. “Hello, how are you?”, she says. “Sure is a beautiful day, isn't it? How are things going? Not too good, you say? Well, I will tell you, I have days like that myself, but I remember that God won't give me any job I can't handle. He won't give you anything you can't handle, either. Let me know if there's anything you need, okay? I will be praying for you!” And with the bent right hand, (the way her two fingers are bent in are the same sign hearing impaired people use to say 'I love you'), she waves and continues on her way, looking up at the sky, appreciating the beauty God still allows her to enjoy.
Still, I watch this Carpenter Lady. The strength others and I myself continue to see in her is her determination to live and her acceptance of the limitations she's come to know, as well as her passion to inject people with hope and the confident belief in that fact that her God sees her each moment and is in complete control of her destiny.
I stand in awe of this Carpenter Lady, my dear Mother! I am proud of her for all she's accomplished in spite of her condition, and although I am now a mother and wife myself, in many ways I still want to be like her when I grow up!