1.4.10
8:41 AM - Why why why why why? No, stupid question.
But why does my Mom go on living like this, does she really believe it's for me or Nur? Is she alright with this being the highest quality of life she'll achieve before she dies?? Why am I reminded of her putting on my coat when I was little this morning when I had to help her put on hers?
Why -- No. Stupid question.
She woke me up this morning with a pitiful call by name at 7:50. I of course assumed the worst and leapt out of bed. She was sitting on the edge of her bead and breathing hard. Nearly crying she explained how she's barely slept a wink last night and how miserable she was and could hardly sleep with an over-intae of fluid, much less breathe. I did my best to try and talk her down a little, but her capacity to respond was severely limited by the only short shallow breathes she could manage.
So I helped her put on socks. I rolled them up carefully like she did for me, and slipped them carefully over her swollen feet. Helped her put on her pants. Bunched up each leg and slipped her foot in, one at a time. Next, her sweatshirt. Slipped her arm through the sleeve and held the other side out, directing it over the opposite arm. Helped her up and into the kitchen and slipped a juice and some grapes in a baggie. Then I walked her out to the lobby of her condo and waited until the bus arrived. And all the while was thinking, but could not say, "why does she live like this." Because for god's sake, I know I'd be dead.
But why, why does she -- No, stupid question.
But why does my Mom go on living like this, does she really believe it's for me or Nur? Is she alright with this being the highest quality of life she'll achieve before she dies?? Why am I reminded of her putting on my coat when I was little this morning when I had to help her put on hers?
Why -- No. Stupid question.
She woke me up this morning with a pitiful call by name at 7:50. I of course assumed the worst and leapt out of bed. She was sitting on the edge of her bead and breathing hard. Nearly crying she explained how she's barely slept a wink last night and how miserable she was and could hardly sleep with an over-intae of fluid, much less breathe. I did my best to try and talk her down a little, but her capacity to respond was severely limited by the only short shallow breathes she could manage.
So I helped her put on socks. I rolled them up carefully like she did for me, and slipped them carefully over her swollen feet. Helped her put on her pants. Bunched up each leg and slipped her foot in, one at a time. Next, her sweatshirt. Slipped her arm through the sleeve and held the other side out, directing it over the opposite arm. Helped her up and into the kitchen and slipped a juice and some grapes in a baggie. Then I walked her out to the lobby of her condo and waited until the bus arrived. And all the while was thinking, but could not say, "why does she live like this." Because for god's sake, I know I'd be dead.
But why, why does she -- No, stupid question.