Mom has taken more acetaminophen, today...
...than she's probably taken in a year; even though the total amounts to four "extra strength" (500 mg apiece) tablets. She's refused none of it. Surprisingly, it's rendered her a little rum-dumb (as I note in today's movement post. I think it's not the only factor: She's been very relaxed today, which is good. The woman instinctively knows how to heal herself, so, when she's in physical distress, I follow her lead and try to stay out of her way.
    She does not like being ill or injured, though, and made this clear this evening as she was sitting on the edge of her bed preparing to lay down for night sleep. "It's pretty bad," she confided to me, blearily, "when you can't sit, and you can't lay down, and you can't stand..." her voice trailed off.
    I listened sympathetically but when she'd finished I laughed lightly. This is, after all, my mother we're talking about. A little sympathy goes a loooooong way with her. A little more and she becomes indignant. "Mom," I said, "I agree. Those circumstances must be awful, but they don't apply to you! You can sit without pain, you can lay down without pain, you can stand without pain, and you can go from position to position without pain. At least, without much pain. Are you telling me you've been lying to me all the times I've asked you if you're in pain, today and you've said no?"
    She looked surprised that I would accuse her of lying. "Well, no. Of course not."
    "Are you in pain now?"
    "No."
    "Have the pain twinges you've experienced a few times today been unbearable?"
    "Well, no..."
    "Looking back over the day, has transferring been difficult?"
    She snorted. "No. Not at all."
    "Well, I'll tell you, if you ever get to the place where you can't sit and can't stand and can't lay down, we'll deal with it. But, Mom, you're not there yet."
    She grinned. Sheepishly, I might add. She chuckled. "Well, you have a point."
    She laid down, on her left side, her injured side, which is so much her preferred side that she couldn't get comfortable on her right side last night when we tried that.
    "Did that hurt?" I asked.
    "Did what hurt?"
    "No."
    "Okay. We're doing good. Don't worry about what may never happen. If it does happen, we'll worry about it then."

    An interesting and sweet thing that happened just before the above conversation. She was still in her wheelchair, parked parallel to her bed. I was doing various minor chores around her, the usual before-bed chores: Closing the blinds, rearranging and plumping the pillows, making sure her water glass was full, positioning her tissue box, glasses, water glass and clock so she could see them from her laying-down position, pulling her foot blanket up so her feet won't cool during the night.
    Mom said, "Did Mother (I assume she meant her mother) tell you when she'd be coming?"
    As always when she says things like this, I wondered if this was an indication that death may be near, but I didn't let on. "No," I said, "as far as I know she hasn't called."
    "Well, she told me today that she'd be coming by to take care of us."
    "Wow," I said. "I hope she gets here soon! It would be wonderful to have her take care of not only you, but me!"
    "Well, that's what I told her. You've had a lot to do, these last few days. You could use a rest."
    "Well, thank you for that, Mom! I look forward to her coming!"
    "It'll be nice to have the three of us together, again." This reminded me of the few years after Grandpa died before Grandma moved down to Scottsdale to be closer to family, most of whom lived in Scottsdale, when Mom and members of her sister's family would take turns coming up here to Grandma's home on Garden Street to stay with her. When I had days off, here and there, from whatever job I was plying, I'd come up with Mom. The three of us had some memorable visits. Evenings were especially enjoyable. We'd stay up till all hours (my mother came by her night-owlishness honestly) playing South of the Border Canasta and talking and talking and talking.
    "Absolutely! I want to do the cooking, though. I've never liked Grandma's cooking, much. Remember that 'Hawaiian Chicken' she made, once, thinking that, being from Guam, our family would especially like it?!?"
    Mom chuckled. "Oh yes! I never liked her cooking much, either. I'll keep her busy just before meals so you can cook."
    "That's a deal."
    "She said she'd be coming soon."
    "Well, if she can't make it, we'll do okay. I think we're doing fine, in fact."
    "Oh, so do I. It'll be nice to see her again, though. It's been awhile."
    "Yeah, it will. There really isn't much to do around here; I've pretty much got it all in hand, although it would certainly be nice to have some help. Maybe we can spend a lot of time visiting."
    "That would be good. I'll tell her that."
    "Good."
    So, looks like relief is on the way, even though I'm not feeling over taxed. Sounds like Grandma. Just the thought that she'd be here if she could, and she probably is in spirit, keeping in particularly close touch with my phasing mother, who is in the right frame of mind to know she's here, relaxes me.
    Think I'll hit the sack early tonight.
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 00:30   email  this post