Litter Mates
redtoaster
unclebob
savecraig
pischina
boxer-briefs
luxlust
poopiebitch
aimeelori
coldandgray
Non DiaryLand Buddy List
All Encompassingly
Blue Bert
Trac
Fun & Favorite Links
2005-03-09 - 9:10 a.m.
Recent Events
I know I haven�t written in awhile, but quite frankly only about two people read this and I haven�t been my lively and jovial self.
A few things have happened since I last wrote. Not necessarily bad, just a lot of things.
The foremost in my mind right now is that my mother is in the hospital. This is not unusual. My mother has been in and out of hospitals for as long as I can remember, but it doesn�t make me any less disturbed by it.
Anyway, I received a phone call at about 1 p.m. yesterday. It�s my mother. She sounds awful and tells me she�s in the ER, but that they�re planning on transferring her where her insurance will cover her expenses. Well at least cover them somewhat.
She wanted to know if I could take my brother to his piano lessons at the local college. That�s my mother. She could be in ICU, barely conscious, and still be making phone calls to make sure everything is covered.
(Speaking of which, I really should put together a list of things for hubby in case anything happens. Good idea!)
So I precede to take my brother downtown to the campus. After I drop him off, I call my mom�s cell phone, hoping to get my grandmother. Bingo! She answers the phone.
Although I�m not so sure this is a good thing. My grandmother doesn�t hear very well, so she�s constantly saying, �What? What did you say? Speak up honey.� And other times, she�s just assuming what I said. �Do you need anything grandma?� �Oh that�s nice dear.�
Anyway, eventually she puts my mother on the phone, who tells me what is wrong. Apparently, now-a-days, in the land of the obese and lazy, it takes at least 7 months to get a cardiologist. My mother�s doctor has determined that she has fluid in her heart (I believe) and needs a cardiologist to determine what exactly is wrong and what needs to be done. However, the only way to do that, is to admit her to the ER.
God Bless America!! Of course, this explains why everyone and their brother is at the ER when I get there. (I even have an amusing story to share from my grandmother after I�m done with this one.)
Have you noticed this little trend lately? Everyone and anyone who has a scratch, the sniffles, insomnia, or gas comes directly to the ER to be helped. And furthermore, they�ll wait like twelve hours before being seen. I mad e trip to the ER once because I couldn�t breathe when I laid down. Was awfully sick. They told me the wait was going to be 8 hours. I left because quite frankly my doctor�s office was going to be open in 8 hours and I�d rather wait at home in the comfort of my own bed, than with all the other sick ingrates on some nasty looking furniture.
Anyway, back to my story. I get to the ER. My grandmother ushers me in and all I can think is, �God, I hate hospitals.� I don�t know if I hate them anymore than you or the average person does. Who knows? I may hate them just as equally as everyone else. I�d hate to think that I hate them less than everyone else, because I hate them pretty bad and I would just be sorry for everyone else then.
The stench of sickness always makes me ill. I have to look at people, weary and tired, and often concerned about their loved ones. As I pass through the halls, I can�t help but look in every door. Passing by people hooked up to machines, tubes sticking out their bellies, puking into plastic buckets, covered in blood. Not exactly Disneyland.
Invariably I always get warm and lightheaded visiting the hospital and especially seeing my mother as one of these disgusting hospital residents.
As we come up to her, I can see she�s in one of those mobile beds, hunched over a plastic bucket with tubes running all over her. She looks awful. And I just want to say hello and get the hell out of there. But I know she needs me, asked that I be there. I have no choice. I�m bound by the daughter/mother contract, not the mention the humanity clause of life.
I say goodbye to my grandmother. She has to drive home and it�s getting close to dark. She can�t drive in the dark, so I�m stuck with my mother alone. Following behind some hospital staffer and her on that bed hunched over and puking.
Sickness has always made me feel unbearably uncomfortable. I just want to run.
We get to the floor and it smells like fresh puke. Which surprises me because usually hospitals at least smell like ammonia with only a smidgen of sickness underlying the antiseptic smell.
The hospital staffer tells me to wait in the waiting room (eight chairs set up in the hallway, no reading material, only a sole phone on the wall and a view of the next tower over with windows full of more sick people.)
So I read a book I brought. After years of going to the hospital and doctor�s offices for and with my mother, I�ve learned no matter where you go, bring a book. I read for about 20 minutes and wonder when the hell they�re going to tell me she�s settled in. I hope to God they don�t. I don�t want to go in there and sit around sick people, looking at my mother being sick, and try to find the best words to hide that fact that she really does look like shit.
But my conscience kicks in again and I remember how desperate my mother sounded for me to be there with her. So I pack up my book, and head off in the direction they took her.
I ask a few nurses who have no clue where she is. This makes me angry, but I hide it because I�m sure they�re no more thrilled to work here than I am of just visiting. At the second nurses station, I ask once again for my mother. The lady looks at me like I�m crazy and tells me my mother is not there. I assure her I�m not, and that I followed up the bed. Finally she asks if I mean another name, which happens to be my mothers married name. I reply, �Yeah, that�s her but not her name.� And once again, she looks at me like I�m crazy to have forgotten my mother�s own name. For the love of�
So I walk into my mother�s room. Bless her heart, she�s almost asleep, but she pops awake when I enter the room. �Thank you for coming.� I tell her about the name mix up and she�s thoroughly pissed. You need to know that this marriage did not end well. Part of the reason why she�s in the hospital is because of this man. I asked for her id, and we figured my grandmother must have it. I�ll probably need it to change the name.
�Honey, could you get me some other stuff while you�re there?� and she starts listing lots of things to grab like pillows and a toothbrush, etc�
I decide to call my grandmother to gather up these things so I can just grab them and go, but she says, �Honey, � very popular name within the family, �why don�t you just make a list and get these things when you come over?�
Sigh.
I may be a little egotistical about this, so forgive me my rant. But why am I the only one who makes sense in my family? My husband thinks it�s my mother�s family�s main purpose to make everything incredibly difficult for us. Invariably when something can be achieved into 2 steps, they can extend it out to 14. This is part of the reason I�m not pleased when my mother gets sick. I�ve been taking care of her most of my life in some capacity. Whether it�s to fix a broken printer, run an errand, or fix a mix-up at the hospital, I�ve always been the adult in the relationship. Or at least, that�s the way I see it. I�m sure if you asked my mother, you�d get a totally different response.
So I head off towards her house, only a few blocks away, gather all her stuff with the help of my grandmother and looking at the deplorable state of their house.
I can�t believe I grew up in this. I love my mother and grandmother dearly, but I would never tell them the way it is with the way they live. The place is a fire hazard. Everything is piled up and askew. There is dog and cat hair everywhere. (Okay, we have dog and cat hair all over the place too, but our home could easily be clean by just taking a vacuum and mop to it, not necessarily at my mom�s.) In a way, I feel guilty for not helping out more, but in the past I have, and the place just returns to it�s messy status within weeks. I feel like Sisyphus when it comes to my mother.
I head off towards the hospital to drop the stuff off. When I get there I remind myself that I�m being a good doobie and daughter and I should stop being so selfish and grumpy about it. Other daughters would be more concerned and glad to help out in anyway.
Sigh.
When I get there my mother is asleep with a pen and form in hand. I look over the form and she wakes up. It�s the stupidest thing I�ve ever seen. They actually make you circle a smiley/forwney face to describe how your feeling and attribute it to some great psychology method. I roll my eyes and ask mom if she feels somewhat frowny, or downright upside down smile. Ugh!
Eventually we get through the form and I realize it�s time to pick up my brother. I ask about visiting hours and thankfully they tell me visiting hours end in fifteen minutes. If they hadn�t, I would have come back to be with my mom, even though she just would have been asleep and I would have been reading. I promise her I�ll come back as soon as I can and head out.
I pick up my brother and explain what�s going on. Drop him off and visit with my grandmother, roommate, and neighbor for a few minutes. By this time, I feel like a steamroller has run over me. My feet hurt and my eyes are droopy. I head home.
At home, I make muffins and visit with my cats. The phone rings. I have to pick up hubby. On the way back home, he tells me it�s going to be alright, without even asking how my mom is. Eventually he can tell I�m perturbed, and asks if she�s okay and why she�s there. I realize I�m just being a butt because I�m tired. So I just tell him the bare minimum and figure it�ll be safer for all of us if we just can get home. He�s tired too and finally I recognize that by the shadows under his eyes and the slouch in his back.
We get home and watch t.v. for a little while, then I head off to bed. Turning out the light I make a little prayer, �Please God, look after my mom and give me the strength to be good person and help her.�
Moved - 2005-07-25
New Job - 2005-07-25
Idiots in the News and Mom Update - 2005-07-21
Parents! (sigh) - 2005-07-21
More of the Same - 2005-07-19