|this morning's sunrise|
I sleep with my shades partway up, so I saw this immediately upon waking. Which was a very good thing. The evenings here in Pillville are long. The duration of my mom's memory is short. For days now, we've reviewed who is coming for Thanksgiving, how unfortunate that daughter C's husband will have to work, that yes, I'm making a turkey, that the dining room chairs are being recovered in turquoise and orange, that daughter M will most definitely have the day off. That we don't know for certain if Dan's daughter will be coming and if she'll be bringing a friend. Last evening these questions were recycled through god knows how many martinis.
The newest development on the cognitive front is that my mom now reads out loud when she reads to herself, and she thinks out loud--in addition to the almost constant moaning. (Eggs again?) (She knows I like onions in the cucumber salad.) I'm not quite sure if I should let her know she's doing this or if I should just let her think I'm a mind reader.
Last evening my mom's shoulder was bothering her, and she told me she was going to take an oxycodone. I nodded toward the half-full martini glass and told her she ought to stop the drinking since she needed an opiate. Okay, she said as she drained the glass. I went upstairs and had a shot of vodka, (I've got some great tools in my toolbox, right?) fumed for a good while, and then fell asleep and dreamed of my ex-husband all damn night.
Anyway, I'm happy to report that after two weeks back in Pillville we have done all the necessary appointments for my mom: Teeth cleaning, hair cut, foot doctor, pacemaker check, cardiologist, primary doctor, Miracle Ear, and a consultation with the vascular surgeon complete with vascular ultrasound. My mom's circulation to her feet and legs is terrible, BUT it hasn't gotten any worse since the last visit, and she's not in much pain. Her short-term memory, however, is shot. I'm now the czarina of her pillbox, because that whole scene was going completely haywire.
As for the martinis, tonight I decided to shut it down through distraction. I fired up Netflix, put on a Cary Grant movie, and cranked up the volume. She took the bait. For the length of the entire movie there was no drinking. And no moaning, no re-asked questions, no muttering. I may be onto something.