Tuesday started with a walk on the beach in Kaaawa, the long drive into town, and a calendar that included a couple of meetings, several phone calls to make, and a couple of issues to research.

Then I got the message.

It was from my sister, Bonnie, who has been living with my mother, making it possible for her to still be living in the old Kahala home where we grew up and where she has been for some 70 years.

When your mother is 98 years old, mention of an “ER visit” triggers a rush of fear anxiety. In just a few seconds, your mind can race through a mental maze with many dead end “what if’s” feeding hypothetical scenarios without good endings. And there was an edge of guilt because I had been busy when I received Bonnie’s earlier telephone call, and hadn’t yet listened to the message or called her back.

My mom has not been feeling well for a couple of weeks. She’s been to her doctor, had one light round of tests, still says she feels “lousy.” Bonnie has been keeping the doctor’s office up to date, and he finally advised an emergency room trip and additional tests. We knew she she really felt sick because she didn’t complain about being told to go to the ER. So there we were.

My mother was able to get out the front door of her house and down several stairs with Bonnie’s help, then into a wheel chair, and into the car. I met them at the Straub emergency room. The folks at the admissions desk warned things were busy and we would likely be waiting for several hours. They were right.

We ended up being there in the emergency room for a bit over five hours. There was good news and bad news. The good news was that her immediate problem seems to have been dehydration after the long stretch of not feeling well, and that apparently triggered other related problems. But after a pill for her arthritis pain, a bit of oxygen, a thorough check-up, chest X-ray, and an infusion of fluids, she was cleared to go home.

The bad news is that she’s more fragile than I realized. My mother has always been a very strong-willed woman, self-reliant, in charge. Yesterday, after hours waiting in a Stryker hospital bed tucked behind a curtain on the side of the emergency room, medical monitors beeping, various nurses and doctors coming and going, poking and prodding, she was reduced to tears. She was uncomfortable, worn body parts were hurting, but I think these were also tears of fear and frustration. There was little she could do. She has trouble hearing, and likely only caught a fraction of what was being said to or about her. Power and control was now in the hands of others, medical professionals, family members. And perhaps in that lonely moment, dressed in a hospital gown and wrapped in a generic hospital blanket, surrounded by a confusing blur of activity, she realized this is the new normal going forward. Something to cry about, for sure.