It's been a full week, that's for sure. Family emergencies bring up all sorts of issues, and no matter how often we go through it we are not used to it. Thank God for small favors.
My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.
As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.
We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.
On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.
I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)
I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.
Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere. No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!
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