Sometimes You've Just Gotta Do What You've Gotta Do

Last night my sister and I and my mother made the difficult decision to have my Mom admitted to the hospital. A week ago her back and stomach pain had been so bad that I had taken her to the ER. They had wanted to admit her to the hospital but instead we went home with a prescription for Vicodin. Stay out of the hospital! was the mantra that day. We went back home with the hope that she could manage until her Wednesday appointment with the orthopedic specialist. By Wednesday she could hardly manage to get down the stairs and into the car to get to her appointment, but she did. The doctor diagnosed her with spinal stenosis, a deterioration of the spine, gave her more Vicodin, and scheduled her for a spinal epidural on Monday.

But the Vicodin never seemed to do what it was meant to, and by yesterday Mom had had enough. Jean and I teamed up to nurse her through the day, but gradually realized that she needed more than we could give her. After calling our brothers to let them know what was going on, we called the ambulance and after five torturous hours in the ER, she was finally in a hospital bed, hooked to intravenous pain medicine, and under the watchful care of capable nurses.

A hard decision for us all, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. (Yes, that's Grandma in the above photo with three-year-old Paul, who is all dressed up as a fireman for Halloween.)

Ben's brother, Johnny, came over today with his family and one of his four (yes, four!) newly sharpened chain saws. He had mentioned last November that he'd like to bring it over someday, but we hadn't discussed it with him again. Yet here he was, ready to do battle with our fallen trees.

We let him have at it. Sometimes a man's just gotta do what he's gotta do.