Only Tears of Gratitude: Nadia’s Story of Love, Care and Stroke

In September 2019, my 73-year-old mother suffered an ischemic stroke. She had a history of atrial fibrillation and eventually passed from Vascular Dementia in 2022. 

Following her stroke, my mother was immediately impacted by limited mobility and cognitive decline. I became my mother’s primary caregiver overnight and spent almost every single day by her side for the final three years of her life.

We were fortunate to have had an amazing team of clinicians, nursing and allied health professionals as they helped us get started on the arduous journey of navigating transition to a rehab hospital facility and eventually preparing our home for my mother’s post-discharge care. It was the in-ward nurses from Block 4 at SGH who taught my siblings and I how to change my mother’s diapers as well as transferring her from bed to commode or wheelchair. 

The doctors and therapists from Ang Mo Kio Thye Hua Kwan community hospital helped ensure we were briefed on everything we needed to recreate her hospital suite in our home. For months while she was in rehab hospital, I closely shadowed the nurses who cared for my mother in a bid to emulate as best as I could the comprehensive standard of hygiene care my mother needed now that she was mostly bed bound.

At the start of 2020, just before the circuit breaker went into effect for the pandemic, we brought mom home. Every night, I would sleep by her side and as the symptoms of Vascular Dementia set in she struggled with lapses in her memory and speech. Once the Senior Care Centres were opened for operation again by late 2020, it gave my mother the opportunity to socialise and get some routine for movement in her race against muscle atrophy. 

Some days, she would remember clearly who I was to her and rest of our family. In some of these moments, she would express sadness, grieving her loss of agency. There would be audible frustration with herself and the state she was in. Other times, she would be almost childlike when accepting care from others. 

By late 2021, my mother could no longer feed herself with utensils, but she did love to squeeze my hand when we communicated with one another. We found a rhythm as our roles in each other’s lives evolved, settling into our new dynamic. The person who cared for me growing up, was now the person I care for in her twilight. By the time we laid our mother to rest, we were awash by the honour of the experience that is both poignant and sweet. 

Nothing was unsaid in what we like to consider as the bonus years she had after her stroke. I learned how priceless it is to have no regrets and the only tears shed were of gratitude of the time we had left.