From the posts we made thus far and the photos, it would appear that we had a very normal, good vacation. However, our Tokyo trip this time around was flavored with some serious grown up responsibilities. My mother, who has had some health issues recently was admitted to the hospital the day after we arrived with a bowel obstruction. This is the same condition she had earlier this year which kept her in the hospital for 5 weeks and led her to lose a ton of weight. She had been well since then, but a couple days prior to our arrival, her loss of appetite reappeared and when she went to see her doctor, he told her that the condition was relapsing and she needed to be admitted right away.
She seemed to be in bit of shock and I helped her pack for the hospital with my father and two of my teen-aged nieces who came down from their home upstairs upon hearing the news. My mother was moving around slowly trying to gather things, but between her stomach being uncomfortable and her back problem, she had to lie down in between packing things. I made her instruct me and I got everything she asked for in bags she wanted, and my father drove her away. The next 2-3 days were a bit sketchy. My mother had a massive amount of gas which caused a great deal of discomfort, robbing her of sleep. So they put tube down her nose to release the gas. At the same time her interstitial pneumonia -- a chronic cough that acts up whenever she tries to talk -- was flaring up and she was having trouble breathing so they put her on oxygen. When I went to see her two days after she was hospitalized, she did not look well. She was small, weak, couldn't talk and was having difficulty breathing. A list of things went through my head. What would it take for me to stay longer? How do I take care of Yuki and Philip going home by themselves, not to mention my work? I was due to start directing a show one week after I got back and I was starting to strategize who could take over. My father, on the way home blurted out, "I thought we were done with this..." and I felt a tremendous amount of stress.
And so the unexpected routine was established. I would go out with Kid and Husband in the morning to our planned destination, and we would head home by around 3 or 4 o'clock. I would then part from them at the station, and they would go home and I would head out to the hospital. I would meet up with my father there and we would visit with Mom, and come home with a list of things she wanted from home. My sister-in-law upstairs would cook dinner and we would go up to eat. After returning downstairs to my parents' house, I would bathe Yuki, put her to bed, and then go gather things my mother asked for, do her laundry and pack them all in a bag for my father to take the next day.
By the fifth or the sixth day, my mother started to look better. The IV treatment was taking effect and her stomach was starting to feel better. It was evident my mother was feeling better because she was becoming increasingly bossy. She had super-specific instructions to my father about the house, and she had all kinds of worries about some business she was neglecting.
My mother worries. She has a very hard time sitting still. It makes her crazy. My father, who is the total opposite, kept assuring her that the world would not end if these things waited. I was often just sitting there watching the two of them work stuff out about what was urgent and what was not. At home, my father impressed me. He, who is of a certain generation of Japanese man, knew when to take out which kind of garbage (a daunting task for anyone living in Japan), set up breakfast for all of us and just took care of things. I have friends whose fathers became incapable when their mothers became ill, and yet my father iss willing and able to learn tasks he has never had to do. My mother kept telling me that she was worried about his health (though she kept giving him lists) and asked me to please help him out.
About a week into my mother's hospitalization, my father asked me if I would come to a meeting with her doctor. The doctor was going to explain about her condition and the treatment plan. My father felt it would be good to have another family member there to listen in case he missed some things. This was new to me. I grew up with a brother who is seven years older and when it came to dependability, it was all on him. Throughout my childhood I was the baby whose opinion did not matter but suddenly my father needed me there. Surprised, I said "of course" and I went. The upshot of the doctor's talk was that my mother should have a colostomy. He showed us her X-ray and it was alarming. One part of her intestine was as thin as a thread, which the doctor said was extremely rare. He would normally recommend an operation to cut away that part, but because of my mother's respiratory condition, he said he could not safely put her under for such an operation. Hence the colostomy. He went on to say that the thought of living with a bag attached to your body for potentially the rest of your life made people hesitate to go through with it, but my mother, ever the practical one just said "let's do it" on the spot. That is how my parents are wired. They just take things in stride and adapt. No whining or complaining. They just do. Her procedure took place three days before we left, and I was able to see that it was a success and my mother was doing well in recovery.
During all this, I learned that my presence was actually helpful. I had the daughter's touch that only I could provide. I bought her an iPod shuffle and had my niece load up about 10 of her favorite classical CDs and took it to her, knowing music provides her comfort. I had bought her the DVD of The King's Speech so I brought our portable DVD player to the hospital so my mother could watch (though teaching her to operate the DVD player almost caused me to bring it home and give up on the idea). I brought her flowers and took care of all the other flowers she received and managed her refrigerator at home so food did not go to waste--another thing this WWII survivor hated. I had Yuki draw her a card in which she wrote, "Don't ever never be sick." Then I brought Yuki and Philip to the hospital once she was better to cheer her up. I called my brother, who was tied up at his work everyday, to update on my mom's condition and discussed what would be best. I had never felt this helpful to my parents in my entire life and that part of it felt good. I was being a daughter and a mother everyday and that made me feel truly grown up. And not in a negative way, surprisingly.
It was also good to be with my childhood friends during all this. Not only do these people know me well, but they know my parents well so it was like talking to family. Some of them have experienced similar things so their words of encouragement had tremendous weight. I also saw some things I have never seen like, my father taking my mother's hand and kissing it. That may seem normal to some, but for an 85-year-old Japanese man it's a pretty big deal to do it in front of his daughter. It was confirmed for me right then that my parents have a model marriage and I felt blessed to have been raised by these people.
On the last few days of my visit there, my mother said, "you are a good girl and a good mother." I think she was in her "death bed mode" because she also said something about passing her entire jewelry collection to me to sort out when she died, to which I made a face because I know how much stuff she owns. Regardless, that was a good thing to hear. You can't get a bigger stamp of approval from your mother who you were once sure wasn't pleased with anything you did. With that, I felt I could leave. She was on the mend, and when I asked my father, he said that they would be fine if I went home as planned. He did say that it is not likely that they would be able to travel far anymore, so to think about coming home every year instead of every other year. And I'm OK with that. Looking at how much Yuki enjoyed visiting her cousins and hearing her use her Japanese everyday, I feel that would be good for everyone.
You think that your visit home will always be the same somehow. This was a wake up call that it was time for me to step up as a daughter. And a mother. It's no longer just about my needs to be home. Oh, and let's not forget that Philip braved Tokyo public transportation alone with a 4-year-old every day and took care of the kid so that I could tend to my mother. He also told me to stay behind if I felt the need to and not to worry about anything else. That there is another blessing.
All in all this trip taught me a lot. Most of all I learned that I serve a purpose in my family's lives and that no matter how far away I live, a large part of my heart belongs home with them.
She seemed to be in bit of shock and I helped her pack for the hospital with my father and two of my teen-aged nieces who came down from their home upstairs upon hearing the news. My mother was moving around slowly trying to gather things, but between her stomach being uncomfortable and her back problem, she had to lie down in between packing things. I made her instruct me and I got everything she asked for in bags she wanted, and my father drove her away. The next 2-3 days were a bit sketchy. My mother had a massive amount of gas which caused a great deal of discomfort, robbing her of sleep. So they put tube down her nose to release the gas. At the same time her interstitial pneumonia -- a chronic cough that acts up whenever she tries to talk -- was flaring up and she was having trouble breathing so they put her on oxygen. When I went to see her two days after she was hospitalized, she did not look well. She was small, weak, couldn't talk and was having difficulty breathing. A list of things went through my head. What would it take for me to stay longer? How do I take care of Yuki and Philip going home by themselves, not to mention my work? I was due to start directing a show one week after I got back and I was starting to strategize who could take over. My father, on the way home blurted out, "I thought we were done with this..." and I felt a tremendous amount of stress.
And so the unexpected routine was established. I would go out with Kid and Husband in the morning to our planned destination, and we would head home by around 3 or 4 o'clock. I would then part from them at the station, and they would go home and I would head out to the hospital. I would meet up with my father there and we would visit with Mom, and come home with a list of things she wanted from home. My sister-in-law upstairs would cook dinner and we would go up to eat. After returning downstairs to my parents' house, I would bathe Yuki, put her to bed, and then go gather things my mother asked for, do her laundry and pack them all in a bag for my father to take the next day.
By the fifth or the sixth day, my mother started to look better. The IV treatment was taking effect and her stomach was starting to feel better. It was evident my mother was feeling better because she was becoming increasingly bossy. She had super-specific instructions to my father about the house, and she had all kinds of worries about some business she was neglecting.
My mother worries. She has a very hard time sitting still. It makes her crazy. My father, who is the total opposite, kept assuring her that the world would not end if these things waited. I was often just sitting there watching the two of them work stuff out about what was urgent and what was not. At home, my father impressed me. He, who is of a certain generation of Japanese man, knew when to take out which kind of garbage (a daunting task for anyone living in Japan), set up breakfast for all of us and just took care of things. I have friends whose fathers became incapable when their mothers became ill, and yet my father iss willing and able to learn tasks he has never had to do. My mother kept telling me that she was worried about his health (though she kept giving him lists) and asked me to please help him out.
About a week into my mother's hospitalization, my father asked me if I would come to a meeting with her doctor. The doctor was going to explain about her condition and the treatment plan. My father felt it would be good to have another family member there to listen in case he missed some things. This was new to me. I grew up with a brother who is seven years older and when it came to dependability, it was all on him. Throughout my childhood I was the baby whose opinion did not matter but suddenly my father needed me there. Surprised, I said "of course" and I went. The upshot of the doctor's talk was that my mother should have a colostomy. He showed us her X-ray and it was alarming. One part of her intestine was as thin as a thread, which the doctor said was extremely rare. He would normally recommend an operation to cut away that part, but because of my mother's respiratory condition, he said he could not safely put her under for such an operation. Hence the colostomy. He went on to say that the thought of living with a bag attached to your body for potentially the rest of your life made people hesitate to go through with it, but my mother, ever the practical one just said "let's do it" on the spot. That is how my parents are wired. They just take things in stride and adapt. No whining or complaining. They just do. Her procedure took place three days before we left, and I was able to see that it was a success and my mother was doing well in recovery.
During all this, I learned that my presence was actually helpful. I had the daughter's touch that only I could provide. I bought her an iPod shuffle and had my niece load up about 10 of her favorite classical CDs and took it to her, knowing music provides her comfort. I had bought her the DVD of The King's Speech so I brought our portable DVD player to the hospital so my mother could watch (though teaching her to operate the DVD player almost caused me to bring it home and give up on the idea). I brought her flowers and took care of all the other flowers she received and managed her refrigerator at home so food did not go to waste--another thing this WWII survivor hated. I had Yuki draw her a card in which she wrote, "Don't ever never be sick." Then I brought Yuki and Philip to the hospital once she was better to cheer her up. I called my brother, who was tied up at his work everyday, to update on my mom's condition and discussed what would be best. I had never felt this helpful to my parents in my entire life and that part of it felt good. I was being a daughter and a mother everyday and that made me feel truly grown up. And not in a negative way, surprisingly.
It was also good to be with my childhood friends during all this. Not only do these people know me well, but they know my parents well so it was like talking to family. Some of them have experienced similar things so their words of encouragement had tremendous weight. I also saw some things I have never seen like, my father taking my mother's hand and kissing it. That may seem normal to some, but for an 85-year-old Japanese man it's a pretty big deal to do it in front of his daughter. It was confirmed for me right then that my parents have a model marriage and I felt blessed to have been raised by these people.
On the last few days of my visit there, my mother said, "you are a good girl and a good mother." I think she was in her "death bed mode" because she also said something about passing her entire jewelry collection to me to sort out when she died, to which I made a face because I know how much stuff she owns. Regardless, that was a good thing to hear. You can't get a bigger stamp of approval from your mother who you were once sure wasn't pleased with anything you did. With that, I felt I could leave. She was on the mend, and when I asked my father, he said that they would be fine if I went home as planned. He did say that it is not likely that they would be able to travel far anymore, so to think about coming home every year instead of every other year. And I'm OK with that. Looking at how much Yuki enjoyed visiting her cousins and hearing her use her Japanese everyday, I feel that would be good for everyone.
You think that your visit home will always be the same somehow. This was a wake up call that it was time for me to step up as a daughter. And a mother. It's no longer just about my needs to be home. Oh, and let's not forget that Philip braved Tokyo public transportation alone with a 4-year-old every day and took care of the kid so that I could tend to my mother. He also told me to stay behind if I felt the need to and not to worry about anything else. That there is another blessing.
All in all this trip taught me a lot. Most of all I learned that I serve a purpose in my family's lives and that no matter how far away I live, a large part of my heart belongs home with them.
Comments
Thank you for sharing this post. You are so beautiful and wise.
Love,
Catherine
LT
xo
Love, ~Heather