Stage 1 Bedsore

After visiting the other nursing home with Elisa and visiting Country Villa (as she said hi to all her friends still working there), I decided to check Mom's behind just in case she might be developing a bedsore.

Sure enough, when I stood her up at the bar by the toilet, I saw a large red area maybe six inches in diameter, circling the lowest point of her spine. At the center of it, there was an even redder area, almost raw.

I went to report to the nurse in charge, and suddenly realized that Dr. Katherine Ward was sitting there at the nurses station.

"Oh hi, Dr. Ward. Good to see you. I just wanted to report to someone that my mother has a stage one bedsore." I said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, motioning to a nurse to go check on this problem.

Poor Mom had to stand up again, and the diagnosis was confirmed.

"It's not Country Villa's fault," I reassured them. "She got it in the hospital because I told them not to turn her at night, because she was frightened of the two men who came to turn her every two hours. She has fears of rape when strange men come to her bed at night. But I should have had her turned anyway."

"I'll write it in her chart and make sure it gets treatment," Dr. Ward said.

I was pleased with the fast action. After putting A & D zinc oxide cream on it, I set Mom back into her recliner.

Soon Dr. Ward came in and did a physical exam on Mom--vitals, listening to her lungs, etc.

Seeing a doctor so easily is definitely a plus--but now I was more worried than ever about Elisa's prediction of poor perineal care.

I asked Binda when Mom would be getting a shower, and she agreed to do one right away.

She wheeled in a white cart that seemed to be made of PVC, undressed Mom, set her on the cart, and draped a sheet over her.

Mom was very sleepy but soon she was wheeled off.

When she returned ten minutes later, she was awake and angry.

"Did you have a nice shower?" I asked her.

"NO! Not the way they do 'em" she retorted.

"Oh dear," I moaned, thinking I should have watched the shower.

Then Binda dried Mom and asked me to put on the perineal cream while she held Mom up.

I did it but first realized that the area wasn't even dry... it all seemed so hopeless, this violent shower followed by inadequate drying and then slapping on the cream.

I fled at 7:30 pm, heading to an Al-Anon meeting. But before going in I called Emily and Bill to report to them.

I felt desperate, despairing.

What to do next?