The Moo Moo Diaries Part 1

That’s my mother.  Leatrice Joy Roffe.  She was named for a famous silent movie star, Leatrice Joy.

(She was dubbed “Moo Moo” by her first grandchild, Natasha, and the sobriquet stuck.)

True, both women were beautiful.  But I bet that’s where the resemblance ended.

My mother is one of a kind.

And that’s not always so great.

Let’s just say to save time and space, that at age ninety-two she’s not this.

She’s much closer to this.

She’s an angry force of nature.  Paranoid, combative and sarcastic.

She’s also smart as a whip, canny as a fox and stubborn as a mule.

But that’s not the point of this post.

The point is that around three a.m. on Saturday/Sunday she slipped on her kitchen floor and broke her hip.

She then crawled to her bedroom, called 911 and the police had to break down her front door to get at her.

They called my brother who went to the hospital at four in the morning.

He texted me at 6:30 and it’s been off to the races ever since.

Monday:

Our day started out on a very CSI note.  Kenny and I- armed with buckets, mop, rubber gloves, industrial strength Pine Sol and bleach- went to Moo Moo’s to clean up her kitchen. She had gashed her hand as she fell and there was blood spattered all over the floor.  It looked like a crime scene.  Whew.  Good thing I have an alibi.  Anyone who knows me knows how I feel.  (On the other hand, anyone who knows her wouldn’t prosecute me.)

We also met with the handy carpenter who was fixing her bashed-in door.  He was a wizard with that drill.  Hope Moo Moo’s hip can be fixed as easily.

I mopped, Kenny scrubbed, and together we got the kitchen back in order.

I felt just like this guy.

Then it was on to check out a brand-new Assisted Living facility that a neighbor had recommended.  Moo Moo’s not to be going home any time soon, we figure.

The place was swell.  We got a tour and a brochure.  The saleswoman couldn’t have been nicer.

But there was one tiny glitch.  Stacy, the helpful sales gal, mentioned the dreaded A Word.

Assessment.

Moo Moo doesn’t like questions.  And she doesn’t cooperate with the people asking them.

“What’s it to you?” and “It’s none of your business” are two of her more genteel responses to any direct question.

Stacy seemed nonplussed.

“We’ve had difficult cases in here before,” she assured us.  “Your mother won’t be the first older person who doesn’t want to move out of her home.”

Kenny and I exchanged meaningful looks.  That was the understatement of the year.

“We can come to the rehab center and assess her there,” she said.  “No problem.”

Okay.  But how do you you tell an unsuspecting person that she’s going to be assessing this?

We left Stacy to her illusions because it was time for us to hit the hospital.  We took the brochure and went up to see Moo Moo pre-op.  She had been sedated.

But not enough.

“Where’s my phone book?  Where’s my jewelry?  Where’s my watch? Why did they move me?  How much is it going to cost to fix the door?  What am I doing here? ”

The nurses looked shell-shocked.

And her primary care physician looked all in.

“I know she’s old and paranoid but golly she’s mean,” he said.

“Tell us something we don’t know, Doc.”

They wheeled her out and Kenny and I went to Once Upon a Bagel to grab a fortifying snack.  Then we came back and hunkered down in the surgical waiting room.

Three hours crawled by.

Finally her surgeon came out.

“Well… it was a little touch and go there.  She had two ana-somethings *** ( forgot the word he used) while she was on the table.  Luckily our team got her heart going again.”

“Did she have a heart attack?’ Kenny asked.

“Her heart stopped beating twice.  She’ll be monitored by Cardiology for tonight.”

The Roffe kids exchanged more glances.  She had survived the surgery but what was in store for her?

Rehab? Assisted Living?  A nursing home?  Moo Moo?  Blending gently into a new environment where she’d have to behave and conform to other people’s rules?

Houston, we have a problem.

Tuesday

Kenny and I arrived at Moo Moo’s hospital bed just in time to have her nurse tell us that she had just finished giving her a blood transfusion.

“And we gave her the sweetest blood we have!” sang out the nurse as she wheeled the paraphernalia out of the room.

Let’s hope it works.

Moo Moo did look better today.  Hair combed, lipstick on, a big improvement on the groggy, bedraggled wraith we saw languishing in the bed yesterday.

We made small talk and I showed her some videos of Sam, her great-grandson.

Then another Sam made his appearance.

Sam The Physical Therapy Man,

It was his task to get her up on her feet.

At first scream, Kenny fled.

I hung in there to cheer lead and lend moral support. (To Sam.)  Moo Moo was terrified and she was sure that this was against doctor’s orders.

“No, you don’t understand,” she said.  “I’m in pain and can not move.”

“I’m here to help you, ma’am,” replied patient Sam

She tried everything in her power to make him go away but Sam was in charge now.

Slowly he got her up on her feet.  She took a half step and then refused to go on.

Sam skillfully got her into a chair and explained to her that it was vitally important that she sit up for awhile.

I went out in the hall and gave Kenny the all clear signal.  He came back in the room.

Moo Moo was beat and so were we.

Kenny gave me the high sign and I put on my coat.  Poor Moo Moo.  She looked wrung out.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Kenny assurred her.  “And we’ll bring you your crossword puzzle book.”

To be continued…

Now take a look at this family in an alternate- and gentler- universe.

Until Sunday, with love from Princess and Bud.