chapter four:

     It’s amazing how the little things that we often take for granted can ultimately become the great things that we may miss the most after having a loved one experience a life-altering episode such as an Ischemic Stroke.    

     I can still taste the food like it was only yesterday.  As I did on most Sundays after church, I stopped by my Mama’s to get something to eat.  It was sort of a ritual; Mama would cook, and all of her kids would stop by to get something to eat.  On this day, the meal prepared was meatloaf, cabbage, and field peas and snaps.  It was very delicious, and I even went for seconds.  Mama wasn’t there when I stopped by, as she had gone to church that morning and hadn’t returned home.  After eating, I went home and rested for the day.  That would be the last time I would be able to enjoy a home-cooked meal prepared by her, as she would suffer her stroke the very next morning; but I can still taste my Mama’s food.

     As the months passed, a routine revealed itself, which I and my family began to follow for my mother’s care.  I looked forward to having every other weekend away from my home, as that was when my siblings would step in and take over the responsibilities of caring for Mama.  While it was often a three to four-day get-away, I looked forward to the time away, as it freed my mind from all of the things that I carried on a daily basis.  Believe it or not, while caring for Mama, I never stepped away from that which God had purposed for me, and my purpose continues to be a whole lot.  When my short vacation ended, I easily jumped back into the role that mattered the most.  I would describe myself as an early riser, and I have probably acquired this trait from my Mama, as she is known to rise at the break of dawn, even to this day.   As the sun rose, it also signaled a variety of tasks that needed to be addressed.  I could not afford to ignore any of them as my Mama’s survival depended upon them.  She needed her medicine, breakfast, cleaning, and more than anything, my Mama needed comfort and attention from a trustworthy source, and who better to administer all of these than me?

     One memory that I have of my mother is of her reluctance to go to her doctor on a regular basis, as well as her comfort in taking a pill for any known ailment.  If she had a headache, she would take a pain pill.  If her legs hurt, she would take a pill.  Regardless of what may have bothered her, it appeared that my Mama believed the answer was by taking a pill or some form of medication.  As a child and even as a young man, I never questioned her methods for self-care, and why should I?  She has lived a lot longer than I, and during the times when I was sick or hurting as a child, my Mama had the answers.  Regardless of how bad it hurt, her kisses made it all better. 

     The time would arrive when Mama would have to visit her new array of physicians.  Because she was diagnosed with suffering a brain injury, Mama would be under the care of a Neurologist.  This would be in addition to making regularly scheduled visits to her Cardiologist, Endocrinologist, and PCP.  To my surprise, being her primary caregiver meant that I would have to manage all of her visits.  For me, this was such an unexpected welcoming into the world of caregiving.  

     On one visit to her Neurologist, things didn’t go so well.  Due to the damage and affected areas of my mother’s body the stroke caused, her Neurologist recommended that she get regularly scheduled Botox injections into her arm, which was seized with paralysis.  Injections meant needles, and my Mama is no fan of needles.  When it was time for her injections, my Mama had no clue as to what was about to happen.  The syringes were about nine inches in length and would have to be administered several times within a short period of time.  Mama looked at those needles and then looked at the physician, and without taking a breath, my Mama blurted out two bad words that were directed at the short and seemingly pleasant healthcare representative.   I said, “Mama, No,” but my resolve had no impact at this point.  Mama was defiant, and she had no desire to be stuck.  It was then that I learned that my Mama had a “Potty Mouth”.  In the months to follow, and even to this day, those words continue to flow with ease.  I love my Mama, Potty Mouth and all.