March Roundup (Part Two)
Saturday night into Sunday morning saw a temperature drop of twenty degrees at the summer house as I discovered to my chagrin that the house was out of propane. Yeah, the house is heated by propane. That's just about the only alternative other than chopping your own wood and it's pretty clear that was where my cold got started.
So, the rest of the weekend was spent pretty much in front of the television set which is pretty pathetic when you think about it. I traveled 500 miles just to watch a Harry Potter marathon.
The trip back would have been uneventful had my GPS not caused one more close call by telling me to turn into a local two-lane blacktop with no transition lane, no stop sign, and where the cruising speed was a mere 80 miles an hour. NOTE TO SELF: stick to Mapquest.
I went to work the next morning. I think I had all of one message on my voicemail. My co-workers barely knew I had been gone.
I could barely wait to see Mom. I live in mortal fear of that moment when she no longer remembers who I am and a week's time seems like I'm tempting fate. Connie was quick to point out that Mom had eaten all her dinner and had, in fact, eaten all her lunch and breakfast, too.
As I rolled Mom into her room, I was met by the sight of Marie propped up in her bed next to Mom's with her legs akimbo and apparently held in place by a large block of styrofoam. For the first time in almost nine months, Marie had to be waited on by a physicians aide, just like Mom.
I had bought a pizza slice but Mom was evidently full. Her lips were locked tight and not even the gentle nectar of melted mozzarella dripping in olive oil could work its magic. Marie's food actually came while I was there and it was delivered by Connie. On her way out, Connie came over to where Mom was seated in the barcolounger. There, she proceeded to demonstrate why she thought Mom responded to her better than the other PAs. Connie took the time to turn Mom;s head gently to an upright position before spoonfeeding her, cradling her neck and jaw in the crook of her arm. No one else does that. Not even her own children.
Maria's unexpected return from the hospital made me self-conscious. Mom wasn't terribly responsive to my hand-holding; her grip was limp and her response to my usual "Hello, how are you?" was so muted and garbled in her own saliva that I could barely make out what sounded like, "All right, I guess."
Thursday was my birthday and I tried something different on my way to Mom's. Instead of buying a pizza slice on my way to the bus stop, I waited until I got off the bus and went inside a place close to the nursing home. There was a pretty-friendly high school kid behind the counter. He was already entertaining someone old enough to be his mother or at least older sister when I walked in and he turned his charm on me, "How many slices? Two, three? You look like you could eat a lot." I couldn't tell if he was saying I looked too fat or too skinny. The fact that it was my sixtieth birthday only served to make me even more self-conscious about my body image.
Connie was again at the dining room helm, but, instead of wheeling Mom back to her room, I took her to the t.v. room across the hall. This time she welcomed the pizza melt, consuming nearly half the cheese that covered the slice handed me by the nameless teenager a few minutes ealier. We weren't alone, a lone silver-back had wandered in and everytime I said something to Mom, he would assume I was talking to him. We became good friends by the time he left. His name was Howard, and he talked about how much he liked gardening about all the vegetables he grew in his backyard, especially the tomatos.
Once he left, ("Excuse me, I gotta find the bathroom.") I was able to turn my full attention to Mom.
Me: Mom?
Mom: What?
Me: Today is my birthday.
Mom: Who is this?
Me: Ronnie
Mom: Today is Ronnie's birthday?
Me: Yes, Ma'am.
Mom: Oh, that's wonderful. How old are you?
Me: Sixty.
Mom: Sixteen?
Me: Sixty.
Mom: Sixteen?
Me: Six. TEE.
Mom was clearly skeptical about this. After all, if I was sixty, how old does that make her?
After a while I made my excuses.
Mom: Oh, you're going?
Me: Yes, Ma'am.
Mom: Is anybody coming later?
Me: Probably tomorrow.
It was then that I realized, for the first time, that Mom knew she wasn't at Old Mommyland anymore.
Then, I wished her a goodnight. "No, not today.", she answered. Sure she hadn't heard me correctly, I repeated my goodnight. "No, not today.", she answered in a strong voice. I left it at that.
[ADDENDUM: At the bus stop, as I nervously paced the curb between the shelter and the intersection, I noticed something strange beside the large planter that sat outside the Chinese-Italian restaurant: two patches of snow. They were from the hail storm that had begun pelting me the night before as I emerged from the subway in Brooklyn. It had felt like a sandstorm, the grains of ice were so tiny. Somehow, that shield between the restaurant and planter had protected the accumulation all through the previous night and into Thursday. I stared at them like they were road kill.]
So, the rest of the weekend was spent pretty much in front of the television set which is pretty pathetic when you think about it. I traveled 500 miles just to watch a Harry Potter marathon.
The trip back would have been uneventful had my GPS not caused one more close call by telling me to turn into a local two-lane blacktop with no transition lane, no stop sign, and where the cruising speed was a mere 80 miles an hour. NOTE TO SELF: stick to Mapquest.
I went to work the next morning. I think I had all of one message on my voicemail. My co-workers barely knew I had been gone.
I could barely wait to see Mom. I live in mortal fear of that moment when she no longer remembers who I am and a week's time seems like I'm tempting fate. Connie was quick to point out that Mom had eaten all her dinner and had, in fact, eaten all her lunch and breakfast, too.
As I rolled Mom into her room, I was met by the sight of Marie propped up in her bed next to Mom's with her legs akimbo and apparently held in place by a large block of styrofoam. For the first time in almost nine months, Marie had to be waited on by a physicians aide, just like Mom.
I had bought a pizza slice but Mom was evidently full. Her lips were locked tight and not even the gentle nectar of melted mozzarella dripping in olive oil could work its magic. Marie's food actually came while I was there and it was delivered by Connie. On her way out, Connie came over to where Mom was seated in the barcolounger. There, she proceeded to demonstrate why she thought Mom responded to her better than the other PAs. Connie took the time to turn Mom;s head gently to an upright position before spoonfeeding her, cradling her neck and jaw in the crook of her arm. No one else does that. Not even her own children.
Maria's unexpected return from the hospital made me self-conscious. Mom wasn't terribly responsive to my hand-holding; her grip was limp and her response to my usual "Hello, how are you?" was so muted and garbled in her own saliva that I could barely make out what sounded like, "All right, I guess."
Thursday was my birthday and I tried something different on my way to Mom's. Instead of buying a pizza slice on my way to the bus stop, I waited until I got off the bus and went inside a place close to the nursing home. There was a pretty-friendly high school kid behind the counter. He was already entertaining someone old enough to be his mother or at least older sister when I walked in and he turned his charm on me, "How many slices? Two, three? You look like you could eat a lot." I couldn't tell if he was saying I looked too fat or too skinny. The fact that it was my sixtieth birthday only served to make me even more self-conscious about my body image.
Connie was again at the dining room helm, but, instead of wheeling Mom back to her room, I took her to the t.v. room across the hall. This time she welcomed the pizza melt, consuming nearly half the cheese that covered the slice handed me by the nameless teenager a few minutes ealier. We weren't alone, a lone silver-back had wandered in and everytime I said something to Mom, he would assume I was talking to him. We became good friends by the time he left. His name was Howard, and he talked about how much he liked gardening about all the vegetables he grew in his backyard, especially the tomatos.
Once he left, ("Excuse me, I gotta find the bathroom.") I was able to turn my full attention to Mom.
Me: Mom?
Mom: What?
Me: Today is my birthday.
Mom: Who is this?
Me: Ronnie
Mom: Today is Ronnie's birthday?
Me: Yes, Ma'am.
Mom: Oh, that's wonderful. How old are you?
Me: Sixty.
Mom: Sixteen?
Me: Sixty.
Mom: Sixteen?
Me: Six. TEE.
Mom was clearly skeptical about this. After all, if I was sixty, how old does that make her?
After a while I made my excuses.
Mom: Oh, you're going?
Me: Yes, Ma'am.
Mom: Is anybody coming later?
Me: Probably tomorrow.
It was then that I realized, for the first time, that Mom knew she wasn't at Old Mommyland anymore.
Then, I wished her a goodnight. "No, not today.", she answered. Sure she hadn't heard me correctly, I repeated my goodnight. "No, not today.", she answered in a strong voice. I left it at that.
[ADDENDUM: At the bus stop, as I nervously paced the curb between the shelter and the intersection, I noticed something strange beside the large planter that sat outside the Chinese-Italian restaurant: two patches of snow. They were from the hail storm that had begun pelting me the night before as I emerged from the subway in Brooklyn. It had felt like a sandstorm, the grains of ice were so tiny. Somehow, that shield between the restaurant and planter had protected the accumulation all through the previous night and into Thursday. I stared at them like they were road kill.]