Monday: a Day in Pillville

Leap out of bed when the alarm sounds (new resolution.) Do the morning things. Put away the clean dishes. Tidy things. Walk. Update the caregiver when she arrives.

But I can't flip the switch in yoga. I'm breathing. I'm doing. But I'm not in the room. Or I am, but I'm not processing the instructions. Weird thing: At the end of savasana when the teacher's singing bowl makes it tone, I'm really discombobulated. The sound was coming from inside me. Maybe I fell asleep and was dreaming.

Then the anxiety. Oh my god, I have to get my car washed because I'm driving my mom to Miracle Ear this afternoon and I can barely see out the windows, and she always has to steady herself against the car and it's awful for it to be so grimy, but wait, Oh my god, I know I'm subbing for a fellow T'ai Chi Chih teacher next Sunday and Monday, but wait, she wasn't in yoga class so maybe it's this Monday, and now I probably can't take my mom to Miracle Ear and she is so tired of not hearing jack shit. So I make calls and texts while driving to the car wash. (Thanks, Siri.) And it all turns out swell, I didn't fuck up, but I lose my wallet and my phone in the carwash for a bit. Find them. Hooray! Get my car back. Clean! Hooray.

I go to CVS to use my 10 dollar coupon and buy headbands for my mom. I obsess for an hour. I buy a hot pink sharpie because I'm worried that her POLST form which the new doctor should have put on pink paper, but didn't will not be noticed by the paramedics if they come again. For months I've been keeping the old POLST in the front of the packet for visibility (remember this ) The paramedics are trained to look for pink.  And having two POLSTS confuses everyone. So the pink sharpie is super important. Which one? Which one? And the home care nurse calls me--ah I did fuck that up--I thought she was coming after I got home. Which is okay. The caregiver knows what's up.

And when I get home, the caregiver looks worried. "Your mom broke a piece off her dentures, and it's stuck in the drain." I should call the plumber--but no--who cares about the piece of pink plastic in the drain if it can't be glued back on? So I call the dentist. Email them a photo. Fixable? I wait to hear back. Still waiting.

Meanwhile I call the pharmacy about a prescription we're having trouble getting renewed. The doctor isn't responding to the faxes for a new prescription. Then I see that the name on the bottle is her old doctor. How can that be? It's been renewed soooooo many times since we changed doctors. Has the old doctor been signing off on it? Did the pharmacy enter the old info on a new label? I call the  cardiologist because it's a cardiac med. She  should be the one prescribing it anyhow. But they turn off their phones for 2 hours at lunch. And now I have to remember to call later.  Oh, and note to self, call the primary doctor for the post-hospital follow-up. But they're probably at lunch too. Note to self: follow up with dentist. Call the plumber if need be. Call the cardiologist and the primary doc after lunch.

Note to self: Your oldest California friends are coming to dinner. They're bringing a meatloaf. You've made a strawberry ice cream cake. It's going to wonderful. It's going to be fine.

The border of the POLST is now pink. That's wonderful. It's going to be fine.

Oh, and I found out recently that a rather long essay of mine is going to be published in what I think will be a very good anthology. It's going to be wonderful. It's going to be fine.


This is what's going on this Monday in Pillville. What's happening where you live?

Thank you. You have no idea. Well, Maybe you do.

I snapped this photo on Valentine's Day

Thank you, everyone, for you well wishes for my mom--and for me. Thank you for your emails. your texts, your Facebook Likes, your calls, your company, the wine, the pie, your yoga and T'ai Chi Chih classes. Thank you for your phone calls and the nice things you said or wrote to me about caregiving. Honestly, I'm tired. And I'm shitty at it some of the time, so your words give me the faith that I can turn those shitty moments around and be better. God almighty, what would I do without you? If I had a nifty little convertible like this, I'd deliver a dozen roses to each of you.

Sincerely,

Denise

Report from Pillville: The Triumphant Return

My mom is home. A stop for fro-yo, a stop for antibiotics, and zoom. There I was at the kitchen island, figuring out what meds she still needs to take today.

The first thing she did was pluck her eyebrows.

We had frozen pizza and a fruit plate for dinner. And of course she had a martini.

Why-oh-why does it take hours to get released from the hospital? They told me she was going to get released this morning, but the actual process took all day. You could bust out of prison with a file and a shovel in that amount of time.

And what the fuck is up with the bread they serve? The toast is soggy. The hamburger buns are soggy. The dinner rolls are soggy. Is there something about soggy bread that supposed to propel you back to robust health? I don't think so. So stop serving that shit.

Dizziness actually sounds like fun to me right now.

I should probably have some wine.

Hospitalland

In the hell of hospital land, you can go for days without seeing a doctor. You can go for days without finding out anything at all. Does my mother have pneumonia that's a result of a virus or bacteria? Or is the fluid from congestive heart failure on a little vacation visiting her lungs? I don't know. Here on day four in hospital land, I'm willing to say, I might never know.

Here in hôpital land, if you're 90 and weak and arthritic, you could starve trying to open your little packets of butter, jam, mayo, mustard, ketchup, sugar, coffee creamer, the lid on your coffee, juice, your carton of milk. Where the hell are all of the school kids who need to log volunteer hours? Get over here with your lithe and nimble fingers. Please.

Here in hospital land, they give you menus for your next day's meals and no pencils. They give you plastic devices to cough phlegm into without opening the package and assembling the thing.

So I'm here in hospital land. Visiting with my nimble fingers and my purse full of pencils. For every meal, I'm here. (Not going anywhere near the phlegm thing.) Camped out. Keeping vigil. Somewhere in this damned place, there's a doctor. I'm sure of it.

The plastic owl on the rooftop and I are waiting.