"You're one tough cookie," the ER doctor told my mother on Friday evening. She was flattered, I think. So when you're tough, you try to wheel your wheel chair with a broken hand. You don't let anyone help you screw the cap back on your bottle of Ensure even if it's incredibly awkward doing it left-handed. And when you're in your recliner in the sanctuary of your room, and it's pointed out to you that the control lever is on the right-hand side and that you shouldn't try to manipulate it because your hand might be further injured since it's not yet in a cast, you don't call for your daughter or your granddaughter to help you when you want to get up. No. You're a tough cookie so you somehow fling your ninety-year-old leg over the arm of the chair, and with your ninety-year-old foot you get that damn lever to put your foot rest down. Yeah. Fuck yeah.
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| that's my mom's room there to the right--and a glimpse of the foot-operated recliner |
God help me. This is the second night of the two-ounce martini. The second night that she's home. The second night that I will be sleeping in this nifty little bed right outside her bedroom door. And it's okay, really. I suspect that in a few days after some physical therapy, she'll be strong enough to get herself out of bed.
I'll be arranging for a caregiver so I can carry on caring for myself and the needs of our household. While I wouldn't describe myself as a tough cookie, I'd say I'm good at talking and thinking things through, and that I'm resolute.
It also helps that my fridge looks like this.
That's homemade sangria and homemade chutney made by friends. And there's still leftover pie. It also helps that daughter C researched and found a home security camera/baby monitor that will come in handy when I move back upstairs to my own bedroom. It helps that daughter M may be able to work from home (meaning here) one day a week. It helps that I have just ordered a bottle of non-alcoholic gin which may enable me to dilute the teeny martini. Yeah, so we might just all stay on our feet.
So let's celebrate that. And please visit my other blog, and let's celebrate the end of
National Adoption Month too.
5 comments:
I know I shouldn't, but I did laugh while reading this post and I also uttered a few "fuck, yeahs," and "what the fucks?" and mostly, "I love those women."
The Midwestern spirit. Infuckingdominatable. Nothing surprises me except wait...nonalcoholic gin?
Woman, you are a marvel!
Your mother is just incredibly lucky to have you.
Tough cookie indeed. I can hear Sinatra singing 'I Did It My Way' in the background.
Tough old bird, I hate to say it, but she'll probably live long enough to be a burden to you in your old age.
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