Earthquake, Santa Anas, and the Full Moon

I awoke with a jolt at 6:25 this morning. Oh, no, here it comes, I thought. It felt as if my house had jumped up in the air and landed hard. Sometimes earthquakes begin with a rumble and shake, but this one was a single sharp blow, and I thought for sure there would be horrible rattling to follow. There wasn't.

I feel earthquakes in my stomach and in my heart, and it takes hours for them to settle. If I lived a life of complete abandon, breakfast might have been steak and eggs and a sturdy red wine, or maybe a 6-pack of beer on the beach. Or something creamy in the blender. Or a couple of Irish coffees in a dark bar. Can you tell I've put a lot of thought into this?

In reality, I drove the man who loves me to the train station and remained completely sober so I could later drive my mother to a doctor's appointment. None of that went particularly well. Santa Ana winds, a full moon, and then an earthquake over the last few days is plenty enough to cause a loss of equilibrium.

My mom woke with a headache, and nausea followed as it usually does these days. After the train station, I left her with her companion and went to yoga for 35 minutes until the plumber called to say he was on his way to fix the leak under my kitchen sink. 35 minutes of yoga is better than none, and I felt remarkably well despite cutting it short. After the plumber, I went to the beach and performed my usual ritual of picking up trash--which this morning included a very soggy five-dollar-bill. An omen, perhaps?

Maybe there's more good luck or money on the way--or maybe my mom's hospital bed! Or maybe The Someone will finally find time for mediation so we can agree on how much he owes me, and I won't go completely nuts and re-hire my attorney again. Or maybe the man who loves me will start feeling better.

But so far what's really happened is this: My mother had another not-so-lovely trip to the doctor with a dishpan on her lap--to find out when we got there that she's lost 10 lbs. in the past month. And she may be developing cellulitis again. The winds are kicking up, and while my mom naps,  I might just pull the covers over my head.

Report from Pillville: Upside Down and Empty

Normally the clouds pile like pillows over the mountains with a dome of blue overhead. Not today. The sky was a bowl of cotton banded by an edge of blue.

Here in Pillville the daughter was the mother and the mother was the daughter. Everything out of whack and ugly. Back to the doctor for follow up on the  cellulitis lump which once again is MRSA. Antibiotics and anti-nausea. I am anti-everything.

I'm in charge of the clean dishes and the clean laundry, I pleaded and then screamed a half-dozen times today as I sprayed my kitchen counters with Clorox. I took away the towels and replaced them with anti-environmental rolls of paper towels.

All the house guests have gone away, and if I had a hazmat suit, I'd wear it. I am anti-skin, anti-mucus, anti-pus, anti-refrigerator door handle.

The house is empty. So is the bottle of champagne. So is the spot where my mother's magnifying mirror stood. But the sunset was bursting.

If I fall, I might not get up

The good things about today:

I woke up feeling great.
There was time for coffee before I took the man who loves me to the train station.
My mother's doctor had an opening for the follow-up appointment recommended by the ER doc.
I walked on the beach while I worked out the details of that appointment.
I found lots of beach glass while walking and talking.
The doctor's office had a wheelchair.
The blue heron came to the boat dock this evening.

The not-so-good things:

I took the man who loves me to the train station.
My mom is still feeling unwell.
One of her antibiotics made her nauseated and we had to drive to the Dr.'s office with a dishpan in her lap.
She left the doctor's office for a 2nd doctor's office in a wheelchair.
She still needed the wheelchair to get back to the car.
She has new antibiotics and an anti-nausea drug.
She's had a little dinner and some Gatorade.

So there you have it. The scorecard for today. It looks pretty even. But it doesn't feel that way.

Report from Pillville: Facial Cellulitis

The phrase "opportunistic secondary infection" popped into my head when I took a look at my mom after my return from the gym Friday morning. I think the term is mostly applied to the immunocompromised like those with HIV, but I'm guessing my mom's immune system has a couple hundred thousand miles on it and isn't quite running like a top. Things had been pretty swell here in Pillville with the circulation restored to her feet, and the digestive ills much improved, and the CPAP sorted out. There were little things--like the irritated nose from the oxygen cannula before we finally found the right CPAP mask. There was a spot on her left cheek, then another one, but they healed--more or less. Maybe the plastic from the mask was rubbing her face, we thought Then came a bigger spot on the other side of her face on...was it Wednesday? Thursday she looked a tiny bit worse but assured me she was dabbing the spots with peroxide and neosporin. Thursday night she abandoned the mask for the oxygen cannula.

Friday morning she was still asleep when I left for the gym. I phoned the doctor about a minute after I walked in the door. Yes, the doctor, a geriatric specialist, had an opening. He prescribed an antibiotic, said it didn't really look like MRSA. Are we all going to die? the lovely M asked later. Earlier on the way to the doctor, my mom said she would be really upset if she didn't make it to her birthday, and it occurred to me once again how vulnerable she is at her age with her laundry list of health conditions. Yes, a bump on her skin could be the straw that tips the old camel into the sand. I gave myself a little pat on the back for getting right on it.

Not so fast.

Saturday morning was a repeat. Mom sleeping. Me off to the gym.

Then I come home from the gym. While it would be an overstatement to say the elephant man's sister was standing in my kitchen, the fact was she looked much worse. Pink was now purple. Swollen lips. The healed spots coming back. A new patch of swollen pink creeping down her neck. Her throat was sore, she said. And she had a headache. And maybe the toothache where she had the root canal was back. "Hey, how about you get dressed and we go to the emergency room?" I ask. "No big rush, but when you're ready, let's go." So we go. Three hours later, she has a diagnosis of facial cellulitis and a prescription for a second antibiotic. Really important to nip this in the bud, the ER doc said.

Today things are improving slowly. She can't chew because she can't wear her upper plate and is sustaining herself ice cream smoothies, but the sore throat and headache are gone. The man who loves me is here with a new cocktail recipe that seems to be an effective prescription for me. So it's Sunday in Margaritaville. The warring city state of Pillville is threatening to overtake us, but we have a new thrift store cocktail shaker, and I'm about to lay in a new supply of ice cream. We have a barbeque and a piece of fresh caught yellowtail. We have classic movies on the iPad--close-captioned for my mom. We have so much good stuff here, we ought to set up a stand in the front yard and hand out samples to passersby.

But that said, people, the bear is back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6vdMhz5pqY