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Donna's Journal
No Man (or woman) is Unsuccessful Who Has a Friend

We have agonized over the sad state Mother had fallen into. Forever she was so active. No challenge became too great for her and she dedicated her life to helping others. Gradually, but surely, she became difficult, not open to anything reasonable. She was sad and cried a lot. My sister who had the lion’s share for her care was at a total loss as I was.

A friend I met on this computer, actually through the genealogy, a cousin on my husband line, responded to my emails asking for prayer. She told me her mother had trouble, too, but that their doctor prescribed an anti-depressant for her and in a short time she was back to her old sweet personality.

The sun was so hot on our little car that day I opted to keep the car running for the air-conditioning in spite of my having looked down on people who do this. My daughter was in the car and I wasn’t going to take her into the clinic or let her suffer the heat in the car while we waited for Mother to see the doctor. We had been in and out of appointments and I wasn’t convinced this doctor would do anything better for her.

A pretty nurse smiled and tapped on my window. “The doctor wants to talk with you,” she told me.

I felt like a kid who must face someone who was going to mete out some discipline. “What now?” I’m thinking.

The doctor thought he was calling my sister into his office and when he saw me he had to explain that she had asked about assisted care. This did not surprise me because I knew she was at her wit’s end. However, the look of despair and loneliness on my Mother’s face made me almost sick to my stomach.

“Doctor!” I began to try to communicate with him. “The only thing wrong with my mother is that she is severely depressed. She is weak, can’t drive, doesn’t have her husband, and has lost a lot of her old friends. She cries in the afternoon from around three o’clock onward. A friend who has a degree in geriatrics tells me this is called, “Sundowners,” and is common. Another friend told me the doctor prescribed an anti-depressant for her mother and it worked wonders.

Usually, I cannot communicate with doctors but this man was a wealth of understanding.

“I can prescribe a light anti-depressant but you must know it will take a while to work.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I gushed. “Any hope you can give me I appreciate so much.”

To make a long story short, the second day after the medication Mother is back to her old sweet self. She is resting, not frantically, walking, and wishing to run around town, or lashing us with her tongue. Already, she is having less pain in her lower back and reduced the pain pills, herself, to one-half. Believe me, I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said about doctors. And, more than ever I appreciate the friends who not only prayed for me but offered the best advice, as well.

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