Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
His wife, as she sometimes does, came in and said, “Just making sure you’re alive,” and then left for the gym.
It’s something she’s been doing for a few years. But he’d recently stayed with his mother, who twice told him that she was going to send someone down to his room to see if he was alive when he visited her.
Just what kind of vibe was he giving off to others that they wondered if he was still alive?
I had two memorable dreams last night.
The first came to me in red and black. It was all seen in silhouettes. As short and simple as its color palette, I was going for a run. Going less than twenty to thirty yards, I encountered a force field which wouldn’t let me go further. Annoyed, I turned and ran back the other way, past my house, only to be stopped by another force field. Three times this happened. At that point dream thinking burbled up, I’m not supposed to go further. I guess ‘they’ want me to stay home to get better. Wait, am I sick?
After awakening and pondering that one for a few dark minutes, I rolled back into sleep and to another dream. In this one, I wore a blue and white checked shirt with blue jeans. A teenager, I was visiting a girl, blonde, bubbly, friendly. I was attracted to her, so this was essentially the early days of courting to see if she had any interest in me.
She became friendly and flirtatious. We didn’t kiss or anything, but I went home pleased and then returned the next day. At the end of this visit, it was suggested that I stay the night there as a precaution against something going on that wasn’t clear. I wasn’t real comfortable with that but the girl and her Mom convinced me. Stripping down to my undies, I slept on their game room sofa. The game room was essential a finished basement. After spending the night, I dressed, thinking that I’d go back home now. But no, the girl had plans for the day. We stayed at her house but I only saw her off and on.
Now I was becoming concerned about her father. He’d been gone but was now back. I didn’t relish encountering him in the early morning, especially in clothes which I’d been wearing for several days while trying to get romantic with his daughter. Instead of leaving the game room, I stayed down there in hiding. By now I’d convinced myself that I needed to get home and was plotting how to sneak away.
Guests arrived. I eavesdropped, learning that they were neighboring women who were friends with the mother. It was mentioned in passing that I was staying there. I guessed that something had happened at my house and this was a ruse to keep me here. They all agreed that I was a ‘very nice boy, very smart and kind’, and that this was better for me. Wanting to know what was going on, I slipped out and headed home through a sunsplashed fall day where all the trees had already lost their leaves. The change of season was a surprise; I thought it was summer.
Dream end.
Early dark thirty. Far before the sun’s scheduled arrival after seven. I’m waiting for my sister to pick me up and convey me to the airport. I’m always depending on my family and their kindness. She is one of the best.
It’s Tuesday, October, 11, 2022, exactly, without planning, one month since my arrival in Pittsburgh. Mom was in the hospital when I arrived, fighting COVID as it attacked her heart, lungs, and everything else it could lash out at. Nurses told my sisters it was very possible that Mom may not survive. It was one of the worst COVID cases they’d seen since the pandemic’s start for that hospital staff. Besides COVID and fluid in her heart and lungs, her appendix had a perforation and was pouring poisonous material into her body. Her pacemaker was only functioning at 20%. Things looked ugly.
She fought back and came out of it. Now she’s home, recovering, rehabbing, and I’m going home. She is struggling with bouncing blood pressure with a diastolic dropping below 100 too often. She’s on meds to promote good blood flow, keep her blood pressure at a healthy level by lowering it because of what she endured in the hospital, when it was skyrocketing. Now they’re backing those meds off, readjusting them, but her blood pressure is erratic. That’s a concern.
Other than that, she’s recovering her strength and balance, eating well, and so on.
My work here isn’t done but life dictates other needs, so, here I go, back across the country, back home.
It’s a travel day, in the car for thirty minutes, airport for two hours, aircraft for five plus, another hour in another airport, another two hours in a second aircraft, then in a car to reach home, an eleven-hour trip. That’s much better than the pioneers, and not as hazardous.
I feel like a little bit of a basketcase dealing with Mom as I hear her tell me one thing and bend her words so it doesn’t seem as bad when she’s dealing with her medicos and my sisters. Irritating as hell to be honest; makes me feel like an unreliable witness. But alas, these things are not within my control, so I let them go like the air from my lungs.
However, The Neurons jumped all over those feelings, dumping “Basketcase” by Green Day into the morning mental music stream (trademark pending – not really, but it feels like it should be added). So here we go.
My ride is here. Stay pos and test neg. I’ll try to do the same. Here we go. I’ll have coffee at the airport, thanks. Cheers
She says that she vividly dreams all the time and tells him about two. Both were recurring. In one, she was with her ex-son-in-law. He’s in many of her dreams but in this recurring dream, she and he are in a huge house. Others are there but she doesn’t remember who the others are. The SIL says, “We’re going to bring a lot of children here, so we need to start making beds.” She thinks in response that they’re not ready and that’s going to upset her daughter.
The other recurring dream, experienced three nights in a row, was about being in a huge mansion. She said it cost over a billion dollars to build. It’s sealed off from the outside world. But she thinks, there’s no oxygen. There’s no air. She can’t breathe.
She dreamed that one while she was in the hospital on oxygen, fighting COVID pneumonia.
Writing has been a struggle. Taking care of Mom means that I give her first priority. My time and thinking keeps getting fragmented. Also, I’ve been on meds to eliminate my cough. As it’s almost gone, I quit the meds. Looking at the bottle, I saw that it can cause drowsiness and dizziness.
Lightning struck. The meds were dulling my thinking. That was behind my writing struggles. I immediately said, no more meds, and it was like a curtain was pulled back.
Time to write like crazy, at least once more.
It’s a little rant…
The Evidation website’s FAQs, contact information, and other details are on the page’s bottom. But each time I scroll down, more history of what I’ve done is brought up. The net is, I can never reach the page’s bottom. Exasperation reaches sufficient levels after less than half a minute of trying that I I throw my hands up.
Screw that. Things like that are so frustration. I have better things to do than cultivate more frustration coping with their poor design.
Sunrise at 7:10 AM barely seemed to break the slumbering land’s mood. Clouds own some responsibility, as do the season, and a general sense that rest is welcomed, so let’s keep doing it. At least, that’s how it felt in this household. Others may have been scenes of mayhem or orderly transitions to daytime routines.
Today is Sunday, September 25, 2022. 54 F outside under a thin gray veil, the air temp will hike up to 69 F before the sun bows out at 7:13 PM.
Mom continues displaying evidence that she’s doing much better. Yesterday was pill organization day one. Today will be day two of the monthly event, where she sits and doles out the pills into pill planning boxes for morning, breakfast, afternoon, evening, and bedtime. She is organized with it, with abundant notes about what and when to take them and what symptom or problem each addresses.
Meanwhile, her BF went shopping together. They’ve lived together for seventeen years. Neither wanted to marry, though they love each other. So, he is officially her fiancée. I usually refer to him as her partner. He’s a good guy and I’m pleased they’re together. He is 92 years old but energetic and earnest.
He went shopping. He does all their shopping. Guess I should mention that he has a sweet tooth. LOVES donuts. Works out at the gym a few times a week to keep fat off. The stuff he brings home, though. I’m, like, gosh, I can’t eat that caramel pie. No, Sock It To Me Cake. I’ll pass, coffee rolls, cinnamon rolls, donuts, and cookies. But it be hard. I tell my wife about this food and she wonders, “OMG, how do they stay fit and alive?” How, indeed.
Hence, today’s song is, almost naturally, “U Can’t Touch This”. Didn’t even need The Neurons to tell me this. MC Hammer, in his colorful parachute pants and fascinating dance moves, had a hit with it in 1989. It won awards and was played without mercy for a while, as radio and television is wont to do when something catches big. My mind grabbed the lyrics and music when I saw all those goodies and few days ago and my stomach told my brain, “Give me some pie.” When I said no, the stomach pleaded for at least a donut. “Uh, huh,” the brain answered. “Can’t touch it.” And there we were.
Stay positive, test negative, and so forth. Now, it’s coffee time. Get down.
Here’s the tune. Cheers
6:40 AM. I was outside looking for the sunrise. Cold and dark, no sign of sunshine stood out in the east. Sunrise was due at 7:20 but the impending event was being kept on the downlow.
Saturday, September 24, 2022, has been tagged. Less than a week of the year’s ninth month remains before 2022’s final quarter begins, the dreaded and dreamed upon fourth quarter. Dominated by the holiday season in the U.S., it’s a period heavy with sales, parties, and consumption. Yes, I don’t embrace the season with high spirits and open arms. But it’s the world we’ve created.
Meanwhile, it’s 45 F today, high of 18 C projected, sunset at 7:23 PM, providing us with twelve hours and three minutes of daylight.
Our family’s big news is Mom’s return home yesterday. First day went very well. She looks and sounds so much better, and ate well. Fingers crossed, knock wood, that it continues like this. Her foray through her inventory of daily medications stunned me. Morning, evening, night, sometimes taken multiple times a day, pills for everything were prescribed. Charts and pill cases keep it straight but it’s a mind-numbing collection.
I’ve tested negative for COVID now, but mild coughing and congestion continues. Did resort to two Tylenols last night, but no tissues were used last night, no cough drops consumed, only one glass of water down. Slow progress but progress counts. Other family members continue to test positive but everyone is feeling and doing much better.
Novel writing in this environment has been a challenge. I fight to eke out a page each day around the swirl of activity. Frustrating, yes, as thinking, attention, and continuity take hits.
“Chains of Love” by Erasure, a 1988 hit for them, occupies the morning mental music stream. The Neurons brought it up from the memory banks as I reflected on when to return home. Chains of responsibility, duty, concern, and love keep me staying with Mom in her home, but I have all of those out west with my wife and cats, who I miss. My wife and I exchange emails and speak on the phone. She’s doing well — they’re doing well. She says, stay as long as you want, as long as you’re needed. I’d like to go back to my beloved and to my routines, but these chains keep me here. It’s all metaphorical, of course. Leaving is my choice at any time. It’s another aspect of my fortunate life.
Stay positive, test negative, and so on. Take care of yourselves and your loved ones and community. Coffee? Not yet. The household is still asleep. Here comes the sun. Here’s the tune.
Cheers
I live in Ashland, in southern Oregon. Events drove me east, to where Mom and several sisters reside in the Pittsburgh, PA area. On Friday, September 10, I took the redeye to Pittsburgh. Already down with COVID, Mom suffered a perforated appendix and also had COVID pneumonia, and was in Forbes Hospital, demanding morphine and fighting against being intubated. They moved her to a step down unit for more intensive monitoring and care, and was in isolation. Masks, gloves, and gowns were required to visit her, only two visitors at a time.
She’s recovered a lot since then. With antibiotics and treatment, her COVID subsided. The appendix perforation closed. Her pacemaker had only been working at less than 20%, so that was also a problem, as was a blood clot. The blood clot ended up in her spleen, which they said was okay, and her heart and pacemaker both increased to 50 % function. Pleased with her progress, she was discharged from the hospital last Monday and moved to a nursing home.
She liked the nursing home, Concordia. Physical therapy began. They told her she’d probably be there two to six weeks. That was pared down to two yesterday.
They released her today.
That surprised me. Apparently what precipitated it was a night of hell for her. Hearing about it, my sisters grew angry and charged down there.
You do not want to be in their way when my sisters are angry, especially if their family is involved. Move out of their way and in front of an oncoming bullet train. You’ll be safer.
Mom’s NoH included being abruptly taken off oxygen at midnight and not monitored. The night nurse had an attitude for whatever reason. She didn’t want to help Mom with her CPAC for sleeping and threw Mom’s phone on the floor. Mom’s door was open all night as another patient roamed the halls shouting, “I have a gun. I’m going to come in there and kill you.”
I’ve been staying at Mom’s house with her 92-year-old boyfriend, Frank, a great guy, but very passive, and under Mom’s control. Mom is 85. Her house was built eighty years ago. The steps are narrow and steep. It’s not built for a frail woman to get around and recover.
But this is why I’m here. I came here because it might’ve been time to say good-bye to Mom. I came here to give my sisters and Frank relief and support. Now I’ll be here to help give Mom care in her home. I don’t know what train of circumstances and logic led to the surprising decision that she’s being released today. It sounds like a crazy train, in my uninformed thinking. It’s a fluid situation. The sisters are racing back to the nursery home to learn more and, as necessary, help Mom get home. Per their thinking, I’m here, waiting for Mom to arrive in case my sisters don’t arrive in time.
Coffee is on. I think we’ll need a few cups. Here we go.
My wife and I were driving through the night. I did all the driving. It was a dark, intermittently wet experience but steady progress. We made it to where we wanted to go. As sunrise rinsed out the night, we found a different, larger vehicle to carry us on, and took on supplies. I packed the supplies in different containers. We emptied the one car, and I put everything in the other car. We were traveling with cats and had a litter box. I cleaned it out and then, for some reason, put the bags of used litter on the floor behind a seat. A cat was curled up in that location, apparently asleep, but I then realized he was dead. It was Quinn, who in RL, died of cancer several years ago.
With the new vehicle packed up, we went across the compound to shower. Suddenly naked, I squatted down in the sunshine, waiting for my turn. My wife stood beside me as I waited. We talked while this happened, feeling good about where we were and where we were going. People randomly passed by, taking no notice. I picked a scab off my leg.
The dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 