This morning the nurse at assisted care called to tell me my mother was not feeling well. She did not get out of bed and said her stomach hurt. The nurse called the doctor for instructions. His nurse didn't get back to them by two o'clock so I took her to urgent care. Today the old lady looked every day of her 96 years. She put on some makeup, but forgot eyebrows, her hair was awful and she asked if she could take the walker. When we got to the clinic, I got her a wheelchair which we got quite a lot of use of. She was seen by a triage nurse, another nurse, the doctor, two lab and one x-ray tech. Does she still have a bladder infection? Is it pneumonia? Hard to say but they have started her on another dose of antibiotics. They are doing some cultures, too.
She had not eaten all day and was weak, I called for juice and that seemed to revive her. The old lady is a fighter with a strong constitution and a strong will. Although she has most of her marbles she insists that someone gave her a pill that made her sick. She says that as soon as she took that black pill she got sick. She has no black pills. I had to remind her that she felt ill last Friday. She finally said she wants something to blame it on. She told me that as she lay in bed that morning she thought, "This is it, I am dying." We were at the clinic for nearly three hours and she kept saying I was a good daughter and I kept saying it was my pleasure to be there for her.
I feel like I am waiting for the first shoe to drop. One of them is going to die soon. I sure hope it is the old man, because he will not be able to handle losing her. I know he will have to go to Shalom Home if she dies. Everyday he calls me to find out what is on the table. Nothing Dad, I tell him. Today Laurel visited and took him to lunch. Monday Eri and I set up a new TV for the old lady. Nothing until Saturday, Dad. Now I have to figure out something for Saturday, I have been invited to go camping. Maybe the girls can take them to see Sex In The City 2. I know the old lady has been looking forward to it. She loves to look at the clothes.
I have been playing a new to me computer game called Farkle. I am pretty sure it is the same dice game that old Cousin Harriet used to play but they called it Bunco. You can play it alone or against a partner and up until now I have been playing for points. There is another option where you can play for chips if you meet certain conditions. Suddenly everyone who wants to play with a partner is playing for chips. I am not a gambler. I hate losing. But today I played for 100, 500, 1000, and 5000 chips. I won every time by careful attention and strategy. These chips mean nothing, every four hours you can play for more stash. Yet I found myself really wanting to win when thousands of chips were on the line. I got reckless, I got canny, I got sneaky. Phew, what a way to live.
For so many, many years I lived in a state of anxiety. I didn't know it until a doctor told me. When I came home and told S, he said he knew it and was surprised I didn't. Maybe it was losing my mother when I was young, or never knowing when the old man would explode, or always living on the margin, but I was always anxious. I was scared of my life unraveling and having to live in a shelter or go to jail, or something awful. In a way, that something awful has happened. But I have lived through it and I am not in jail, nor will I need to stay in a shelter. I have my health, and very much loved daughters and other family. No, I am not married. No, I am not working for wages. But I am gambling that by living each day and trying to love, I will prevail. There is no anxiety about that at all.
I want a job, and I want an income. By my actions I know I will become employed again. I also know that the end of my parent's lives are coming closer and that the comfort I provide, the availability of my presence is important. By divine grace and my efforts there will be a resolution soon.
Here is a joke that I read to the old lady while we were waiting for her prescription. I paraphrase:
An old lady was brought before the judge for shoplifting. "Mrs Kraputnik, what did you steal?" the judge asked. She explained that it was only a small can of peaches, just six peaches. The judge sentenced her to one night in jail for each peach, six peaches, six nights. As she begged for mercy Mr Kraputnik called out from the gallery, "She also stole a can of peas!"
My mother laughed until she cried.
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