Things Are Getting Worse...Please Send Chocolate

Mom had that sticker on our refrigerator the whole time I was growing up. She actually had talked about having me blog that quote for her (before Big Bro took over Mom's Recovery, and a fine job he's doing). I was a little worried readers wouldn't get the je ne sais quois quality and be alarmed instead...It's winsome and sad and true and, well, Mom.

She's doing better. Last week we were really worried. Her spirit just wasn't there. And it was so hard for her because it was the week she was supposed to be gone on a cruise...the week she'd been trying to work towards since last February when she booked it with her best friend.

And then she was left alone for several hours three separate days, waiting for tests in a hallway so long she ran through an oxygen tank. For the most part we like the hospital and the staff, but patient care isn't what it used to be anywhere. Nurse Sis tries hard but she can't be there 24/7 (even though she's always ready to spend the night there).

But now Mom's off the scary/irritating ventilator, and the biggest medical concern is that all the tests are negative. Can't find a reason for any of her symptoms (paging House?).

My biggest concern is always the mental. How to keep her in her normal positive outlook when every inch of her arms and stomach are black and blue from all the shots. So that usually involves sneak visits from Hero ("Mission Impossible" getting him past security every time), editing her autobiography, and watching that Playboy Girls Next Door (okay, we only did that yesterday. We both thought it was pretty funny.). Notice I didn't say reading. Right. Because I really effed up.

I couldn't find the new Dave Sedaris, so I took her "Naked" yesterday. And the chapters are mostly looooong. So I flipped through and found the short one because my throat hurt, and I started reading...and didn't stop, even when I realized Dave was GOING THERE talking about taking his Ya Ya to the convalescence home...and kept going until I read the part about Ya Ya dying alone in said organization. OH MY GOD.

I told Nurse Sis the sad situation, and she just stared at me like I was from Jupiter. So I said, "What was I supposed to do, stop in the middle and tell her this story wasn't for her?"

And my infinitely wiser sister said, "Yes."

Cripes. Come to think of it, that's a pretty good idea. Fucktard.

Like she needed me worrying her more after losing Peter Jennings, and all the dire statistics they're posting on lung cancer. Arrrgh.