Chapter 1: The Nightmare Begins

The Nightmare Begins

Just a few more tasks to complete and I would be done cleaning the post office for another week. I was in the middle of mopping the floor that snowy Friday in November, when the phone rang. "I've been trying to locate you since Wednesday!" the concerned voice on the other end informed me. "Your mother fell and is in the hospital!"

An icy chill moved down my spine as I felt momentarily suspended in time. This was not good. Daddy had suffered a stroke a year earlier, which had left him in an altered mental state...one similar in nature to Alzheimer's. If my mother had been in the hospital since Wednesday, that meant he'd already been alone for two days!

Because Daddy suffered extreme hearing problems, I knew he couldn't be reached on the telephone. Rushing home, I contacted the hospital social worder to get a clearer picture of what had happened and determine what course of action to take.

Finally I learned more information about what had happened. Mom had fallen in the dining room at home on Tuesday evening and was not able to get up. Dad was home and aware of her fall, but in his diminished capacity, he was unaware of how to summon emergency personnel. He did go outside to look for someone to come to her aid, but it was late in the evening and he found no one.

Going back into the house, Dad gently put a pillow under Mom's head and covered her with a blanket to keep her warm. He simply didn't know what else to do and thus she spent the entire night on the floor. Early the next morning he was finally able to find a neighbor who then phoned for an ambulance.

When admitted to the hospital, tests indicated she was severely dehydrated and disoriented. She was unable to give the nurses any information about how to contact her children...my sister Marlene and me." Sadly, because of Dad's stroke-related problems, he was also unable to be of any help in regards to contacting us.

My sister lived 1300 miles away in Florida whereas I lived about 250-miles north in Wisconsin. For just this very reason I had given my name and phone number to one of their neighbors, but as fate would have it, the emergency happened the very week they were out of town.

Because of the desperate need to locate a relative, the hospital contacted the local phone company which began a search of calls that had been made from my parents' home in recent months. The one recurring long distance number identified belonged to me, in northern Wisconsin. It was only then, some 50 long hours after my mother fell, that I was finally notified.

What to Do?

My mind was racing and I realized my immediate concern was my father. Without Mom around, I knew that his confusion would escalate, putting him at risk as well. The hospital social worker gave me the phone number of the Sheboygan County Department of Social Services, which had reportedly sent one of their workers to check on him.

My parent's dog, Max, was a fiercely protective animal and was a solid, 120 pound mass. No one except family could enter that house without using extreme caution. Sometimes even I hesitated, unsure if he would remember who I was when I'd come for a visit.

When the rescue team arrived to assess Mom's medicals needs, it was evident to all present that rushing in would be impossible. The numerous strangers at the door, along with the screaming sirens, had worked Max into a frenzy.

Daddy was relatively slow moving, in part because he was 81-years old; and in part because of the dementia he suffered from the stroke. Before anyone could enter the house, it would be necessary for Daddy to secure Max. He finally succeeded in grabbing Max by the collar and managed to drag him off to a bedroom. The paramedics quickly checked Mom's vital signs and whisked her off to the hospital. The police had made the referral to social services after witnessing the confusion and speaking with my dad.

Before leaving home for the long drive to Sheboygan, I called to speak to someone at social services. I was dismayed to learn they did not view the situation as an emergency, based simply on the fact that once Dad had safely secured the dog, he was able to convince the social worker that he needed no help.

I guess the fact that he knew how to shop for groceries and make his own meals, was enough to establish there was no reason for them to get involved. I tried to explain that Dad really was at risk without supervision, but what I said fell on deaf ears. Little did I know that just months later, a worker from this same department would not only be a key player in the lives of my parents, but would wield power that no one individual should ever have over another human being!

Off and Running

Shortly after 4 p.m. that Friday, I headed out for the trip to Sheboygan. While my mind was racing wildly, the drive itself was relaxing and helped to calm me. After driving for several hours, I stopped for a short break and a light meal. Even though eating was the farthest thing from my mind right then, I knew I would be expending a great deal of energy, especially mental energy, when I arrived at Dad's house, and eating was essential.

Just before 9 p.m. I pulled into his driveway. It was one of those dark nights where the moon was barely existent. I now faced my first challenge...getting into the house! I rang the doorbell which triggered the expected response from Max. He came running to the door, barking in a frenzy. I knew if he made enough commotion, my dad would soon follow.

Sure enough, minutes later I saw the shadow of my dad coming down the hallway. Opening the door just a crack...not far enough to actually see who was there, I began yelling, "Daddy, Daddy!" With his hearing disability and the noisy dog, however, he simply could neither see nor hear me. Assuming I was just another stranger, he called out, "The dog will bite! I can't open the door." At that, the door slammed shut, the porch light went out and I saw the shadow of my dad walking away.

At that point I was frantic. I had to get into that house! Scanning the neighborhood the only light I saw was in a duplex across the street. I didn't know any of the neighbors personally, but I did know a pastor lived there and felt certain I would be welcome. I was greeted by the pastor's wife and their little daughter.

Summoned by his wife, Andy, the pastor, told me he had seen the ambulance but hadn't heard what happened. I quickly filled him in. Grabbing his coat, he offered to go across the street to help me gain access to the house. To our dismay, every window and door was secured and the only one aware of our presence was Max. With the dog barking wildly, Daddy came to the front door once again to see what all the commotion was about.

As he opened the door a mere few inches, I stuck my foot on the door frame to keep him from closing it. Andy quickly shouted, "Matt, your daughter Judy is here. Judy wants to come in!" My father said nothing but seemed to have heard my name. Thinking he was going to let me in, I took my foot out of the door as I turned to thank Andy for his help. Just then, however, Dad's confusion once again reigned and he called out that the dog would bite and promptly slammed the door.

I gasped in horror and knowing I needed to get him to open the door right away, I quickly punched the doorbell half a dozen times. When he wearily opened it a crack yet a third time, I seized the moment, made my move and pushed my way into the house.

Once inside where he could see me, Daddy immediately recognized me, as did the dog, thankfully. I hugged my father tightly and told him I would be there with him for the next few days. As always, he was happy to see me. I made us both a cup of tea and allowed myself to finally unwind.

My father was so confused that evening. He told me that Mom had fallen and was taken away. The most disturbing thing was that he was of the opinion that she had died. I quickly reassured him that she was just in the hospital and that she was very much alive. I cried to think that no one had been there for him to help him understand.

The Hospital Visit

I woke early the next morning after a restless sleep. Making breakfast, I explained to my dad that I would be visiting Mom at the hospital and then come back to the house. I was thankful he didn't ask to come along, as it would have made his confusion that much worse.

Arriving at the nurse's station, the social worker was summoned. She wanted to meet with me prior to my actual visit with Mom. "Your mother is in a very confused state," she began. "Her fall was the result of a stroke." It was unknown just how much of her disorientation was from the stroke versus the severe dehydration she was suffering from when admitted. "She may improve a little or a lot," the social worker advised. Only time would tell.

As if I didn't already have enough to absorb, I was also informed that her doctor felt it was imperative she now have a guardian to make decisions for her. She was in basic denial of her condition and wanted to return home.

So it was a stroke that had caused her to fall. Knowing how Dad's stroke had changed him, I was not optimistic. Entering her room, I tried to put on a cheery face but in my heart, I knew seeing my mother was going to upset me greatly. She had always been the "rock" of the family. Nothing could shake her, at least not visibly to those of us in the family.

Mom looked so frail and pitiful in that big hospital bed. At a mere five feet, she had slid down in the bed, and from the neck down she was basically lying flat, but her head was up at a sharp angle. I called an aide to help me get her moved back up in the bed so she would be more comfortable. I was pleased that she at least recognized me. I tried to carry on a little simple conversation with her about what had happened. "Yes, but I'm fine now," she said haltingly. 'Oh Mom', I thought to myself, 'if only you were!' Her smile was there but the brightness of thought and speech were missing. Sadly, I knew the doctor was right.

Mom could say short sentences, but anything actually requiring thought caused her to sputter, stutter and stop in mid-sentence. To make things easier for her, I just made small talk that morning, things that she could respond to with a simple "yes" or "no"...or just a smile. It was difficult for me to maintain my composure, but I knew there would be time to cry later, so I did my best to be strong for her.

The situation was clearly more serious than I had anticipated. Knowing a nursing home placement was imminent, I was faced with the dilemma of what to do with my father. The stroke he'd had a year earlier left him quite functional in many respects. He walked and talked well and in some ways, he was even happier than he'd been prior to his stroke. Some of the "edge" had been knocked off and now his main joys were his dog and puttering around the house and yard. But one cold fact stared me in the face--he could not live at home alone!

Calling home to discuss the situation with Bill, it was obvious that if Mom needed to be admitted to the nursing home, then Dad would need to be admitted also...at least until we could determine a less structured environment for him to live in.

Monday Madness

Early Monday I placed a call to the county social worker I had spoken with previously, explaining the urgent need for my father to accompany my mother to the nursing home. I was hopeful this department would now become involved, but once again, the social worker clearly stated they found no evidence that Dad needed their help. I was flabbergasted and momentarily stunned to a point where my mind was incapable of thinking.

In desperation, Bill called the admitting clerk at the county nursing home where my mother was being transferred that morning. After hearing the problem, she explained there was one other way Dad could be admitted..he could voluntarily admit himself!

Bill took it upon himself to simply explain the situation to my father, saying it would be good if he would go there to be with Mom for the time being. He wanted to be with my mother and since everything was being viewed as temporary, he agreed to sign himself into the nursing home. His main concern was his dog, Max, and we assured him we would take good care of him.

And so it was settled. Yet powerful, conflicting emotions of relief and anguish battered my soul. As much as possible, I shoved the grief down deep inside of me. Slowly we went through his closet and dresser drawers to pick out the items he wanted to take along. Knowing how sterile nursing home rooms look, I also packed his soft, plush blanket for the top of his bed and brought one of Mom's for her bed as well. I hoped these items would make the room more warm and inviting for them.

Later that day, I filled out a myriad of papers for the attorney and was sent home with others that needed to be filled out listing their various assets. Looking back, I realize now, just how terribly vulnerable I was at that time. In the midst of a true family crisis, I was thrust into the legal system without having time to research other options. My biggest mistake would prove to be blindly trusting the "experts" on how to proceed.