The Perfect Storm

I hinted at this in the last post but have hesitated to actually write about recent events until I could find some humor in nearly two months of not very good times. With much effort there might be a smile in here somewhere. But I think right now there are more tears than chuckles.

Two days before her 87th birthday my mother just seemed to turn into someone else. Granted, in our family, it can sometimes take days to realize someone is not quite normal by our standards but this was pretty obvious. Okay--she did fall out of bed on her head; and yes, she did find my wedding rings and hid them under her bed and forgot; and oh alright--she did accuse me of rearranging the soda cans in her refrigerator door as well as stealing her underwear. But I swear I did not empty out her safe deposit boxes and I did not murder my sister!!!

You can see what we are dealing with--very sad. The doctor confirmed she needed placing in a more supervised living situation and so the last few weeks have been taken up with touring Assisted Living facilities, getting endless forms filled out, explaining to my mom for the nth time what was happening and digging up papers dating back to my Dad's discharge from the Marine Corps after World War II. Meanwhile, I got sick again!

 No, Faithful Readers, it has not been an easy time.

Where has my mother gone?

 (And she asks, "Where are you taking me?")

What has happened to my beautiful, competent mother?

(And she asks, "Why do you hate me?")

What right do I have to take her out of her own home and put her in a strange, new living situation?

(And she asks, "Why do I have to go away?")

I say, "Mama, you'll be safer here"

(And she says, "But I'll be good.")

I say, "Mama, you're not eating--you only weigh 100 pounds!"

 (And she says, "I'll eat more--I really will.")

I say, "Mama, you're only going to be one mile from our house and you have friends there already."

 (And she says, "Why can't I just die?")

No one ever told me about this chapter of life.

Attack of the Evil Microbe

It's been a long time since the last post but I was bushwhacked by some foul germ that detected a weak spot in my lungs and moved in like an unwanted relative. In exchange for hosting this ugly bug I got to take to mah bed and play Camille--propped up on pillows and coughing into one of my antique lace hankies. Mr. T was very grateful that attempting to sing arias from anything was out of the question.

I spent the long days in bed listening to talk radio. This probably did not hasten the healing. The shows begin at 5:00 am with Lee, move on to Rush until noon, switch from radio to the computer so I could hear my buddy, Jaz McKay, from Bakersfield and then back to KSFO to wind up the day with Mark Levin. By that time I had usually fired off a few emails to the pack of thieves in Washington and was checking Google Earth for another place to live. Example of Jaz's way to handle airport security: "Yer name's Mohammed? Waterboard him! Your name is Jack? Go right on through."(Common sense reigns in Bako)

Since I did not heal especially fast, after 3 weeks of coughing and bedrest, Mr. T hauled my sorry self into the doctor's. I KNOW that when the doc is using the stethoscope to listen to one's lungs and his head snaps up and he exclaims, "Yikes! This is no good!" that I probably had waited too long. My choice? Hospital or steroids. I opted for the 'roids and kissed my professional sports career good-bye. I was sent home with pills, antibiotics and cough syrup.

I am a wuss about taking medicine and I especially hate cough syrup. What do they do to it to make it taste so terrible awful bad? But this stuff was different. (Besides costing $200.00 for one little bottle!!!!) The directions said 1 teaspoon and the scientist in Mr. T kicked in. Several different measuring devices were tried until the most accurate teaspoon ever measured was poured down my throat.

Surprise! That syrup had zero taste! Further surprise---that was dang fine stuff. Forget the micro-measuring. Mr. T had to take over meds supervision when he caught me gulping directly from the bottle instead of measuring. Oh well--if I had enough lungs left,  I'd have applied for medicinal marijuana while there are still any shops left.

The good news? CT scan showed the MAC had not returned--just an opportunistic lung infection. The bad news?  There were no more democrats left to fire off irate emails to.

Little did I know that this was just the first chapter in the saga of The Perfect Storm that has comprised my life these last 8 weeks. But that's a later post.