"Find this place" she chants over and over. "Find this place. Find this place".
"Here's the chair, Mom" I tell her, calmly trying to distract her.
"Where am I supposed to go?" she asks, confused.
"Let's just turn around and sit down in the chair" I say.
She glances from side to side trying to make sense of whatever it is she is seeing.
"Here?" she asks pointing to the sink.
"Right here" I say pointing to the wheel chair. "Just turn around and sit down here". She grabs at the wheelchair and stands from the toilet determinedly looking down at the seat of the chair. Her legs wobble. "Oh, dear". She begins to whimper and sits back down on the toilet.
"Stand up, Mom" I tell her with an assuring tone. "Stand up and put this hand here" touching her hand and then pointing to the arm of the wheelchair. "We'll just stand up and turn around and sit in the chair".
She begins to cry.
"Let's just sit here a few seconds, Mom, so you can get your breath." I tell her. "I'll get you a little glass of water." I pull the wheelchair out of the bathroom with me so that she won't try to stand up on her own. I get her some water hoping that she'll calm down enough to catch her breath so that we can try again to get her into the chair.
She starts panting, and tears start falling over her cheeks. "Oh, dear. I can't breathe. I can't breathe." She's starting to panic. She gasps with a low gutteral sound.
"Just slow down, Mom. Just try to breathe through your nose. Try to sniff, like this" I say demonstrating with a large sniff.
She pants, then closes her mouth and immediately opens her mouth again gasping and panting.
"We're going to just sit her for a minute, and then I'll get someone to come and help you with a nebulizer. We're just going to sit for a minute."
"I can't breathe" she moans and then starts to sob.
"I know, Mom. We're just going to sit her for a few seconds until you can get some breath." She sits, breathing heavily for about 30 seconds.
I've brought the wheelchair back with me and she begins pulling at it, pulling it toward her.
"Do you want to try to get into the chair again?" I ask, trying to appear calm.
"this place..find this place.. this place.. my self..find this place myself.. this place .. find this place". She starts to stand, and I clue her hands to the right location so that she can turn and get into the wheelchair. "this place...this place." She shocks me with her perseverence as she shuffles her feet into the right position, grabs for the chair, turns, and flops down.
"Good for you." I say, relieved, trying to stifle the panic in myself. I pull the wheelchair out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
We sit quietly for another minute or so, and then I suggest that she get back into bed. I've pushed the wheelchair close the the grab bar on the bed. "Here?" she questions pointing to the bed.
I say "you can use this bar to pull you up." She reaches for the bedspread and pinches it between her thumb and index finger trying to hold onto something.
"Put your hands on this" I say as I take both of her hands and place them on the bar. She grabs hold and pulls herself up, turns sideways and backs into the bed while chanting "this place...this place".
I help her put her feet up, lifting them like a child. She's wheezing and laying flat on the bed. I prop up some pillows behind her trying to get her into a seated position.
"I'm just going to go find someone to help you now, to give you a nebulizer. I'll be right back. Just try to slow down."
She has huge tears falling from her eyes. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe."
"I know, Mom. I'm going to get someone. I'll be right back."
I leave the room, go into the hall, look for an aide. There's no one in sight, so I walk down to the office. I still don't see anyone. I hate to bother them. I'm afraid that they may tell me that my mother's need for increased attention will exceed the requirements for her staying there. I'm afraid that they will tell me that she really doesn't need help, that she really doesn't need medication, that she's getting too much medication, that she is just being troublesome. I know she is struggling. I have to find someone. I go back to the apartment.
"Mom, I'm going to call someone." I tell her as I pick up the phone and dial the 'call for help' number. She is still wheezing, but more quietly now, having caught her breath while I was out in the hallway.
One of the aides answers and I tell her, as calmly as I can, that I think my mom needs a nebulizer, that she is a little breathless and feeling anxious. I purpously understate the urgency hoping that they will respond quickly regardless.
"That's no problem." she says. "I'm just finishing up with someone here, and I'll be right down".
I set the phone down and turn to mom who is staring at nothing with large teary eyes and quietly wheezing. "Someone is coming right down to help you, Mom. They'll be here in just a few minutes." She nods, and as she does some tears fall over her cheeks.
"Here's a kleenix" I tell her, offering her a couple of tissues.
She blows her nose. She seems to be calming down, but she is still wheezing and looking worried.
"It's Sunday today" I say, trying to put her mind on something other than her breath. "Well, not quite Sunday" I babble. "It's almost Sunday. It's just about Midnight."
"I can't breath" she moans.
"I know, Mom. Someone is coming right now. They'll be here really soon."
Her breaths are getting shallower, and she's clutching at her chest.
"Would you like another sip of water?" I ask. She shakes her head slowly from side to side and holds her hand up to stop my offer. I stand up and walk back out into the hall. I still see no one, and I don't know what to do. I go back to sit by my mom. I feel helpless. I'm watching my mother suffocate. I sit beside her and listen to her wheeze.
Very soon, Julie arrives. She goes immediately to the medication chest and starts to prepare the solution for the nebulizer.
She says "How are you doing, Beulah?" Mom answers "I can't breath. I can't breath."
Julie says "I'm getting a nebulizer for you right now." She moves calmly but with complete assurance. She places the solution in the cup, attaches it to the mask, and then says "Beulah, I'm going to put this mask on your face. Can you lean forward so that I can put this over your head?"
She gently holds my mothers head in her hands and slips the mask and its elastic band into place. I'm filled with indescribable gratitude. My mother knows this routine. She clasps the medicine cup in her hands, and Julie turns on the machine. I watch the mist filling the mask and then being pulled into my mother's mouth. At first the mist disappears in short small bursts, and then as my mother relaxes, it swirls around in the mask before disappearing. My mother's breathing slows, her heaving chest relaxes. We are all quiet, mom with her eyes clenched shut and her hand around the medicine which is saving her life, Julie standing on her right side slowly petting her shoulder. I stand on the left feeling useless.
After 15 minutes, the nebulizer is done. We leave the machine on and continue in the same positions for another 5 minutes.
Julie says "I think it's done".
I say "Mom, I think it's all done now. Shall we take the mask off?" Mom doesn't respond.
Julie says "Beulah, I think this is all done now."
She switches off the machine.
"Let's take this mask off." Mom is still clutching the medication basket of the mask. Julie reaches behind her head and gently lifts the mask off her face. Mom slowly opens her eyes and turns to stare first at Julie then at me.
Julie says "Are you feeling better now, Beulah?" Mom nods and says "I hope so".
"Do you think you can try to sleep again now, Mom?" I ask. She says "Yes, I think so."
Julie and I arrange the pillows so that she continues to be propped up. "She's breathing much easier now." Julie says. "Maybe now you can get some rest, too" she says kindly. "I'll try" I respond with no confidence.
Mom has already closed her eyes and appears to be dozing. I thank Julie for coming so quickly and for being so kind.
"It's no problem" she says. "We have these medications that can help her and if we can do that, we will." She is doing her job but I can see what a kind person she is, how compassionately she treats my mother.
I say "well, thank you again. I'm just so glad that this place is so nice and you are all so kind."
I feel like I'm mouthing trivialisms. I want to sob on her shoulder and thank her for saving my mother's life. "Call anytime" she tells me as she leaves.
I look in at Mom again. She's sleeping in a mostly upright position and seems to be breathing camly, still through her mouth.
I return to the little mat that I've thrown down on the living room floor. I lie down and listen to every sound. What I hear most clearly is the regular breathing from the next room. It seems like a long time before I fall asleep.
I wake suddenly, sitting bolt upright and hearing, as a mother with a newborn child hears, a change in the sounds from the next room.
"Find this place" she is whispering. "Find this place. Find this place.. this place .. this place...".