This space has been very quiet for the last several weeks, as most of my attention has been fixed on caring for my mother as she recovers from two recent hospitalizations; one due to heat exhaustion and the other due to a major surgery.
As I reflect on the jumble of experiences at hospitals and medical offices; the myriad of interactions with nurses, doctors, physical/occupational therapists, social workers, pharmacists, etc; the growing collection of medical supplies in my home; and the thick files filled with lists of medications being managed, forms to be completed and/or already submitted, hastily scribbled notes related to questions asked and answered, instructions for wound care, and the dates and locations of upcoming follow-up appointments, I am happy to report that my mom is gradually getting healthier and stronger.
I am exhausted!
My sister, who lives in San Diego, actively participates in caregiving activities alongside me, focusing on elements of care that can be researched and/or coordinated remotely. We connect by phone fairly regularly to keep each other updated and provide each other with support.
Quite often there are events that occur related to some aspect of this journey that are humorous, frustrating, or remarkable enough that they beg to be shared; the writer in me knows that some of these moments are golden from a story perspective (such as when the home health nurse cleaned off the bottom of her DIRTY SHOE on my DINNER TABLE--hard to believe, but true.)
I wish I could say that I had the bandwidth to get these memorable moments down on paper as they happen, but alas, talking seems to be more helpful and energizing to me during times of over-stimulation and stress than writing.
I do text my sister with occasional pithy updates (some of which include photographs); I hope that these little snippets of our shared experience will be enough to work with if I ever decide to mine these memories for future stories.
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Visiting nurse cleaning her DIRTY SHOE on my DINNER TABLE! |
Quoting a line from a song (and play) by Jonatha Brooke that I often repeat to my sister (who is also a writer), "Are you getting this down? Boolie, it's good."
