It was a hot late-July day and my sister was trying to tie up some loose ends before having her third hip surgery (one hip replacement, two repairs) on the last day of the month. She had various appointments to schedule and/or go to, and got on the phone to schedule another. Liz mentioned that she needed to try and squeeze in (pun intended) a mammogram, also known by many as a "boob sandwich." I think that calling it a panini is more fun, but I digress.
I wasn't paying much attention when Liz got on the phone to see if she could schedule the appointment, at least not until she told the person on the other end of the line that she had to schedule an MRI. I thought it was odd; she hadn't mentioned anything that would necessitate such a major test. But hey, what do I know? While she was on hold being transferred to the scheduling desk, she turned to me and asked, "What is the thing with an M for the boobs?" When we established that she needed to schedule a mammogram rather than an MRI, she disconnected and called back.
Liz managed to charm her way into an appointment before her surgery date. After going over the times and actually scheduling the appointment, the scheduler wanted to make sure that Liz knew the basic rules for the test, like no deo for B.O. and no perfumes and such. Liz tried to beat her to the punch by saying that she knew what to do to prepare - no deodorant, no perfume, no underwear. I guess that scheduler finally had something out of the ordinary to talk about after work that day! After she quit choking from laughing so hard and told all of her co-workers first, that is.
In the time leading up to the surgery, Liz forgot to tell us the name of the hospital where the surgery would be performed. She had a last-minute test on the morning of surgery which would determine whether the surgery would be performed or not. (She had an irregular-looking EKG at the doctor's office, but everything turned out just fine.) She drove to the hospital for the surgery and spent two nights in the hospital before we brought her home on Wednesday.
Wednesday was a quiet evening. Liz was pretty tired and the pain pills and muscle relaxers helped her drift off to the land of sleep. So far, so good. Until Thursday. We actually had a nice day on Thursday. Of course, the time from the surgery on is pretty fuzzy for Liz because of all of the medications. Sadly, Trent and I have no such memory shields in place.
When I am acting as a caregiver, I try to make sure that the person I'm helping has settled down for the night before I go to bed. I fall asleep listening to an audio book, so I want to make sure that last-minute needs like beverages and potty excursions are all done. So on the first Thursday post-op (after surgery on Monday, mind you) I went in to check on Liz before I went to bed. Liz was sitting up in her bed with a drawer next to her, going through it and sorting stuff in piles and generally making a mess and making Nurse Lunatic a wee bit concerned. And then the show began.
In the space of perhaps thirty seconds, she told me that she fell when she pulled the drawer out, that she took two Ambien and it didn't help her sleep at all, and that she had to pick someone up and drive them from our northern suburb to a courthouse in a southern suburb the next morning. Let's call her Friend 1. I calmly reminded her that she had only had surgery three days before, and wasn't supposed to drive for four to six weeks. She was undeterred. I suggested many alternatives, including an Uber or Lyft bringing her friend here, and her friend driving Liz's car from here. My suggestions fell on deaf ears, but I still remained calm.
She kept saying that she promised, so she had to give a ride to Friend 2. And that she might have to sit around and wait for a ride home. She explained it to me like the idiot I was when I said I was getting confused on who she was talking about and why she might have to wait. And I remained calm. Then she said she had known Friend 2 since before she knew Friend 3. And that she needed to get dressed.
I kindly but firmly told her that she needed to put away the drawer and get some sleep. When I went to make her some super-strength chamomile tea (rather that the "either coffee or hot chocolate" she requested, and told her that no, there weren't any burritos in the fridge ) she partially pulled out two more drawers and rifled through them. I talked her down off that ledge and told her that I wanted to go to bed. Liz's response? "Is Trent going with you?" What??? "Is Trent going with you where you're going?" I told her I was going to bed because it was after midnight. And then she got up and got dressed because, as she said, that's just the way she is. And I remained calm.
After telling her numerous times that it was after midnight and not 7:30 a.m. (because her clock battery had run out at 7:30) I was hoping we were done. Then the drive discussion recommenced. I once again quietly explained why she shouldn't drive and was told she is rebellious, to which I kindly replied that it was more like self-destructive. More discussion about driving and I was told not to act like her mother. I gently replied that I was acting like a caring sister. I finally got her to get into bed.
After I gave Trent a run-down on the events and relaxed, I was eager to sleep. About ten minutes after I entered Snoozeville, Trent nudged me awake. Liz had left the house at a little after 2:00 a.m. When I finally managed to reach her, she said that she realized what time it was and that she would turn around and come home. An hour or so later, after a botched visit to Taco Bell and lots of driving around in circles, Liz came home. She was in a huff about the food she didn't receive before she left the drive-through window, and I offered to make her something to eat. She went to her room, and we ours, and a few minutes later I texted her and again offered to cook her a meal. I got her response about an hour later, just as I was once again dozing off.
I cannot tell a lie - since I didn't get to sleep until after 4:30 Friday morning, I was pretty grateful that Liz slept like a stone all day Friday. I think I may have managed to get a nap, but I can't remember. Liz was stunned when we told her what had happened the night before, and probably more than a bit worried since she couldn't remember anything except the Taco Bell part.
I have now seen one of the unusual side-effects of sleeping pills firsthand. Some people will get up and drive somewhere or prepare and eat a meal, all in the middle of the night and with no recollection of doing so. And Liz had taken a double dose. And I have learned that when I am the unimpaired caregiver in that situation, I can still interact gently and remain calm. Until I leave their presence, that is!
An important note from The Lunatic: Please exercise the utmost caution with sleeping pills, whether prescription or over the counter, especially if you are taking other medications. Luckily for all of us, nobody was hurt and we had a happy ending. But we all know that things could have gone much differently.
Be well, be safe, and be calm, my friends!
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