Saturday, February 9, 2013

Report from Pillville: Pills


We drove to the endoscopy in the dark. My mother couldn't have coffee or breakfast before the procedure, so, in solidarity, I had neither coffee nor breakfast. There were forms. There was waiting. Then I walked to Starbucks while she swallowed a camera. Or something like that. I am not curious about medical procedures. I don't really want to know the details or to see what is being done. Afterwards, she was cheery and remembered nothing. Afterwards, I was relieved, but not so much so that I didn't remember my worry. When does relatively non-invasive cross the line into invasive? When you are 88 and somewhat frail, that line is not so much a line, but a hair's breadth, a microscopic filament, a razor's edge.

And now there is the pill to take on an empty stomach. And the pill to be taken with food. And the "poison"powder, which must not be consumed within three hours of other medications, that I mix in the blender with orange juice and banana and serve with a straw in order to bypass at least a few taste buds. There are all the other pills taken in handfuls three times daily. And there is willingness, and a martini, and talk, and work, and reading and crocheting, and pure amazement at herons and pelicans, and waiting and waiting for the little songbirds to discover our new bird feeder.

I sometimes feel that I am living with someone who knows well that narrow corridor that leads to a door with a spiked threshold and a sign that says, "Do Not Back Up!" And sometimes I think she is right there reading the sign, and thinking, well, who cares?--who needs to worry once you've passed through that door? And sometimes I think her eyes are so keen, she sees the sign from the far end of the hallway and has no intention of approaching that doorway. But still, she and I, we know that threshold is there. And once you cross it, there is no coming back.

6 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

This is about as accurately descriptive as anything I've ever read.

Elizabeth said...

Wow. That was really stunning, Denise. Utterly powerful and stunning.

ain't for city gals said...

What I tell my mom is NONE of us know how long we have...that threshold is there for all us.

Andrea said...

I'm right with you. Perfection. Thank you.

Anonymous said...

I actually have a question for you because you are handling this phase of your life with grace. My MIL who is a wonderful person, lives on the other side of the country and is @ 77 and needs to move somewhere and has no family in her immediate area. Sometimes I think she should come and live with us or close by but then I remember that when she stays with us, every once in a while, she says something to me and it stings like a bee. Nothing serious, just "are you going to leave that out to go stale?" kinda thing. Plus she doesn't do much to help out and I have a bunch of kids. Deep down I know she is an amazing a wonderful person but I am afraid those stings and extra work are going to wear me down until I regret my decision. What do you think?

Milky Tea said...

Not a second too soon, for it would have been too early, not a second too late, for it would have not been right. But for as long as we have, we have each other still, to embrace and to love. And what happens thereafter? We still have each other, just dressed differently. You have powerful words, Denise. This posting caught me by surprise in mid breakfast. Wishing all peace to your mum. Peace to all mums!