tegdirb
12-07-2003, 06:44 PM
This is an article i wrote about my mom for the PVA, who is also my caregiver...
The Definition of Love
Hello readers of the Desert Oracle! My name is Bridget Bauer and last month I wrote the article MITROFAWHAT?! This month I would like to introduce you to someone very special to me. I think almost anyone with a spinal cord injury or cares for someone with a spinal cord injury can understand and relate to this article. Thanks for reading and take care! Bridget
When I first started getting over pneumonia after being in the hospital for about a month after my spinal cord injury, I wanted to die. Anyone that has ever been told by doctors that they were going to live the rest of their lives in a wheelchair can certainly understand the way I felt. While I had pneumonia, I didn't think about the extent or seriousness of my situation because all I could think about was how scary it was not being able to breathe. So when I was first transferred to rehabilitation, I cried my eyes out and seriously wanted to die. I wasn't exactly sure how I should have felt. I kept thinking I don't want to live like this and why did this have to happen to me? This shouldn't have happened to me; after all I was young, smart, pretty, and healthy. Terrible things like this just don't happen to people like me, but then who should they happen to?
The only person that took the whole situation harder than I did was my mother. She was devastated and didn't want to believe I wouldn't be able to walk again, but she didn't show it. Instead of having a nervous breakdown, she hung in there for me. Every time I woke up in the ICU she was there holding my hand and telling me I would be okay. She would rub my fingers because I couldn't move them and wet my lips and mouth because I wasn't allowed to drink. I had all kinds of tubes going in and out of my body, which would make any mother's heart break.
The nurses in rehab kept referring to me as a quad which concerned me quite a bit because I had no idea what it meant. They talked about me like I wasn't even in the room. I was just another patient as far as they were concerned. This was the first time I had ever been hospitalized and so far it wasn't the best experience of my life. I didn't like this word quad, especially because it seemed to define me as a person in this place. The rehab room was so impersonal and cold that just being there could make a person sad. Between being called a quad and the whole rehab setting, my anxieties and fears were escalating. I had a roommate too, which made matters worse because I had always been a very private person and really didn't feel like seeing anybody. Family and friends came to visit when they heard the shocking news, but one by one they started making themselves scarce. That didn't help the situation either.
Even though in the beginning of my rehabilitation my mother was as scared and nervous as I was, she was much stronger than me. As I laid there crying in the hospital bed wanting die, she held my two hands within hers and said with tears in her own eyes, "I'm your mirror, when you are sad, I'm sad; when you're happy, I'm happy." Then she gently touched my face and wiped my tears away. I've never forgotten her words and never will. I finally understood how much I meant to her. From that day on, I had decided that I was going to give this rehab thing a try and get through this. She had saved my life that day (and many days since) and without her I don't know what I would have done. I am not going to say that since that day everything between us went smoothly, but if they didn't it was because of me.
Although my mother was the only one there for me, I would still get very angry at her. The truth of the situation was that I wasn't angry with her, but rather my anger was displaced. It was with me. She took my fears and anxieties away that night, but nobody could have taken away the anger and frustrations I had with myself. I was in a different body, one that I did not want to be in, but I had no choice. I couldn't move like I did before. It was as if I had been in a cocoon and I was so afraid.
Since my mother was the only one there, I had no one else to take my aggressions out on, which of course was not fair to her. My father had just passed away from lung cancer nine months before. We were still getting over that tragedy. My mother was also the only one who took care of my father. He went through radiation and grueling chemo therapy treatments; his whole right lung even had to be removed. It was often very difficult for him to breath and he would get very ill. Through it all, my mother was there without complaint. My father never wanted to admit how sick he really was; I guess he was scared too. On April 9th, 2001, at 9:10 p.m., my father past away. The cancer came back and had spread too quickly to treat. He was the best father a girl could have had. My mother and father were happily married for twenty-six years.
Every time I was upset with my mother in the hospital, she would never become angry with me. Instead, she really didn't say anything. This is very unusual for her because she loves to talk. She remained very calm and always patient. She would leave my hospital room for a little while and come back after I cooled off. The only time she left the hospital was to sleep and shower. Quite often she stayed over night at the hospital, sleeping in the hall or on one of the therapy mats. We didn't live in Phoenix at the time, so she stayed with relatives until she found an apartment to rent. As soon as she found out I was injured, she decided to sell her business and house in Prescott to move down to Phoenix. She wanted to be closer to me. She also thought that after I got out of the hospital, I would receive better therapy in Phoenix. She gave up everything for me.
Through a lot of difficult times, my mother has never left my side. I know that in this lifetime, I will never be able to repay her. Some people have not been blessed to have a mother as loving, wonderful, and extraordinary as I do, which is very unfortunate. Sometimes I look at my mother and I wonder how she can still remain so beautiful after all she's been through. She's not only kind to me, but is kind to anyone she comes in contact with. Her strength and hopes have kept me alive. I truly know the definition of Love because of my mother. Thanks, Mom.
Even if your body cannot move, you can still think and meditate ~Dalai Lama~
The Definition of Love
Hello readers of the Desert Oracle! My name is Bridget Bauer and last month I wrote the article MITROFAWHAT?! This month I would like to introduce you to someone very special to me. I think almost anyone with a spinal cord injury or cares for someone with a spinal cord injury can understand and relate to this article. Thanks for reading and take care! Bridget
When I first started getting over pneumonia after being in the hospital for about a month after my spinal cord injury, I wanted to die. Anyone that has ever been told by doctors that they were going to live the rest of their lives in a wheelchair can certainly understand the way I felt. While I had pneumonia, I didn't think about the extent or seriousness of my situation because all I could think about was how scary it was not being able to breathe. So when I was first transferred to rehabilitation, I cried my eyes out and seriously wanted to die. I wasn't exactly sure how I should have felt. I kept thinking I don't want to live like this and why did this have to happen to me? This shouldn't have happened to me; after all I was young, smart, pretty, and healthy. Terrible things like this just don't happen to people like me, but then who should they happen to?
The only person that took the whole situation harder than I did was my mother. She was devastated and didn't want to believe I wouldn't be able to walk again, but she didn't show it. Instead of having a nervous breakdown, she hung in there for me. Every time I woke up in the ICU she was there holding my hand and telling me I would be okay. She would rub my fingers because I couldn't move them and wet my lips and mouth because I wasn't allowed to drink. I had all kinds of tubes going in and out of my body, which would make any mother's heart break.
The nurses in rehab kept referring to me as a quad which concerned me quite a bit because I had no idea what it meant. They talked about me like I wasn't even in the room. I was just another patient as far as they were concerned. This was the first time I had ever been hospitalized and so far it wasn't the best experience of my life. I didn't like this word quad, especially because it seemed to define me as a person in this place. The rehab room was so impersonal and cold that just being there could make a person sad. Between being called a quad and the whole rehab setting, my anxieties and fears were escalating. I had a roommate too, which made matters worse because I had always been a very private person and really didn't feel like seeing anybody. Family and friends came to visit when they heard the shocking news, but one by one they started making themselves scarce. That didn't help the situation either.
Even though in the beginning of my rehabilitation my mother was as scared and nervous as I was, she was much stronger than me. As I laid there crying in the hospital bed wanting die, she held my two hands within hers and said with tears in her own eyes, "I'm your mirror, when you are sad, I'm sad; when you're happy, I'm happy." Then she gently touched my face and wiped my tears away. I've never forgotten her words and never will. I finally understood how much I meant to her. From that day on, I had decided that I was going to give this rehab thing a try and get through this. She had saved my life that day (and many days since) and without her I don't know what I would have done. I am not going to say that since that day everything between us went smoothly, but if they didn't it was because of me.
Although my mother was the only one there for me, I would still get very angry at her. The truth of the situation was that I wasn't angry with her, but rather my anger was displaced. It was with me. She took my fears and anxieties away that night, but nobody could have taken away the anger and frustrations I had with myself. I was in a different body, one that I did not want to be in, but I had no choice. I couldn't move like I did before. It was as if I had been in a cocoon and I was so afraid.
Since my mother was the only one there, I had no one else to take my aggressions out on, which of course was not fair to her. My father had just passed away from lung cancer nine months before. We were still getting over that tragedy. My mother was also the only one who took care of my father. He went through radiation and grueling chemo therapy treatments; his whole right lung even had to be removed. It was often very difficult for him to breath and he would get very ill. Through it all, my mother was there without complaint. My father never wanted to admit how sick he really was; I guess he was scared too. On April 9th, 2001, at 9:10 p.m., my father past away. The cancer came back and had spread too quickly to treat. He was the best father a girl could have had. My mother and father were happily married for twenty-six years.
Every time I was upset with my mother in the hospital, she would never become angry with me. Instead, she really didn't say anything. This is very unusual for her because she loves to talk. She remained very calm and always patient. She would leave my hospital room for a little while and come back after I cooled off. The only time she left the hospital was to sleep and shower. Quite often she stayed over night at the hospital, sleeping in the hall or on one of the therapy mats. We didn't live in Phoenix at the time, so she stayed with relatives until she found an apartment to rent. As soon as she found out I was injured, she decided to sell her business and house in Prescott to move down to Phoenix. She wanted to be closer to me. She also thought that after I got out of the hospital, I would receive better therapy in Phoenix. She gave up everything for me.
Through a lot of difficult times, my mother has never left my side. I know that in this lifetime, I will never be able to repay her. Some people have not been blessed to have a mother as loving, wonderful, and extraordinary as I do, which is very unfortunate. Sometimes I look at my mother and I wonder how she can still remain so beautiful after all she's been through. She's not only kind to me, but is kind to anyone she comes in contact with. Her strength and hopes have kept me alive. I truly know the definition of Love because of my mother. Thanks, Mom.
Even if your body cannot move, you can still think and meditate ~Dalai Lama~