Archive Notes: This is an English translation and rewritten version of a blog post originally published in Japanese on May 30, 2019. [Japanese version]
I wonder where I’ll be and what life will look like for me on this exact day next year.
What will I be doing?
To be completely honest, right now I am mentally and physically exhausted.
My parents lived through the hardships of pre-war, wartime, and post-war Japan.
I was told that my mother lost her birth mother when she was just two years old. After that, she was raised by a stepmother, and at the age of 15, she was adopted by her birth father’s older sister. At 22, she gave birth to my older brother, and later, she had me. She cared for her adoptive aunt until the end of her life. That was her journey, leading up to where she is today.
And now, she is lying motionless on a hospital bed, unconscious—a place and a situation that was never part of her life plan.
It’s been four days since Saturday. Her condition hasn’t changed at all.
When I visited her room today, they told me she had a fever of over 38°C (100.4°F). The nurses had placed cold water pillows under her head and armpits to help bring the temperature down.
The only difference from yesterday was that while her bed was empty during her CT scan, they installed a pressure-relieving mattress for her. Even though the staff regularly changes her position, just watching her lie there looks so painful. It breaks my heart.
I researched it later and learned that when a hemorrhage occurs in the thalamus region of the brain, it often causes severe headache and vomiting. Knowing that now makes it even harder to bear.
She must have been so scared in that moment.
It must have hurt so much.
It was probably about two hours before my father noticed something was wrong. During that time, ignorance was bliss for me, but the thought of what she went through alone is devastating.
I used to think that as long as my parents lived together, they could look out for each other, and I didn’t have to worry every single second. But now that my father is left all by himself, I can’t take my eyes off him for a moment.
Even so, since we live in separate buildings, I can’t check on him for about 12 hours during the night, and every 3 hours during the day is the absolute limit for me. Right now, I visit him in the morning, before noon, in the late afternoon, and at night.
On top of that, I have to visit the hospital, pick up the kids from nursery school, and manage endless household chores. I don’t even have a single second to catch my breath until it’s late at night like this.
Today, as expected, I didn’t even have time to eat breakfast. I went straight out to buy the groceries my father asked for. Around noon, I finally tried to have my first meal of the day, but my heart felt so heavy and painful that I couldn’t even put away the groceries. I just collapsed on the sofa.
I had drank a fresh recovery juice in the morning, so my stomach wasn’t completely empty, but I think moving around too much without real food finally caught up with me.
Lately, I barely feel hunger anymore. Caring for myself always comes last. Maybe that’s why even when I try to eat after more than six hours, I have almost no appetite. My brain is so overwhelmed that my body’s hunger signals seem completely numb.
My blood pressure is perfectly normal, though. I checked it a little while ago, and it was 109 over 68. My resting heart rate is slightly high at 75 bpm, but nothing extreme…
Tomorrow, a special oral care gel and moisturizing gel for caregiving are supposed to arrive, so I’ll probably take those with me to the hospital. I haven’t been able to speak with the attending physician since the day she was admitted. I requested a meeting, but yesterday and today our schedules just didn’t line up. I hope I can talk to the doctor tomorrow, but I don’t have time to wait at the hospital for hours, so it might not happen.
I have no idea where I will be or how I will feel on this day next year. But for tomorrow, it seems like it will be another day just like today.
I just pray, from the bottom of my heart, that no more burdens are added to this load.
