I have no idea how that ends. Would horses fly?
Been spending at least half my day (s) at the hospital where my MIL has been for almost three weeks. Blood infection, too ill still to install a pacemaker yet, weak and miserable; this is not the recovery from heart valve surgery that we’d hoped for.
So I go over, help her wash up, shampoo her hair and rub lotion on her legs. Talk to the doctors, pester the nurses if something mechanical beeps and they don’t come right away, review her medications so I understand the what and why of it. I bring her books and magazines, and we watch Oprah every day because we really need to know who wore what to the Oscars.
I make her go down for a nap every afternoon and I go work out. Sitting around anxious is hard on the ass. I tried a yoga class for the first time ever. I’m not very good at relaxing and emptying my mind. Still, stretching was fun and a nice break from the elliptical. I think I’ve lifted every weight in the gym.
If I miss a Dr visit I page them to come back and talk to me. They talk too fast for her sometimes, and don’t wait around for her to formulate questions. I make them come back and sit down. “Don’t make me get between you and the door.” I tell them, “It’ll get ugly. Wait till she thinks a minute.”
Two good days in a row are a gift. One bad day and I get angry. They mistake me for an employee in the cafeteria and parking garage now.
If she stays stable for a few days they can install the pacemaker and send her home with me, after I learn how to “flush” her IV line and administer the antibiotic she’d get three times a day. I squick at the idea, but would do it gladly if it would just get us out of the hospital.
A caseworker told me to expect three weeks of recovery for every week MIL has been in “the big house”.
“Should I start counting from the beginning of this in January, or are we only talking about her stay here?” I asked it honestly, how would I know?
“Oh” caseworker says, “This could be a long convalescence.”
No shit Sherlock, if we ever get started. I had taken wool clothes from her house, now I’ll have to go back and get spring things. And find her tax stuff, and her checkbook.
I tease her; tell her that she must have been a really bad person in a previous life.
“It could be worse, you could be in the maternity ward.” We both laugh. “In your next life your going to be a kindergarten pet.” Doesn’t that sound worse than this? Seems about equal from my perspective.
I love her and I’m not letting her die on my watch, even if I have to drag her back by her hair. My Mom gets back to town sometime this week. She’ll help me be strong and patient. I’m about out of the stuff all by myself.
nandibble has died. I really enjoyed her fanfiction and offer my sincere condolences to her family and friends.
Today, this minute, is all we really have folks. Start laughing. Eat pie and dance.