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.
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.
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.
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.
He has a rhythm established to deal with his illness. About every seven minutes, he gets up and pees. Then he washes his hands, followed by his face, dousing his eyes with water. Returning to his bedsit, he drinks half a glass of water and refills it, and then blows his nose.
There’s method underlying the madness. It’s all a matter of feeling better and getting better.
Thursday, September 15, 2022, dawned at 7:00 AM with variable results. Chaotic cumulus clouds mixed with sunshine and blue sky to create a sullen envelope for the day. 17.7 C now, 76 F will be today’s peak temperature. 7:31 PM will see sunset take place.
I’m busy with a personal project, building a mountain of used tissues and cough drops. I’m very proud of my accomplishment. It’s not a bad way to deal with COVID compared to others’ suffering.
Haven’t seen Mom due to my sit. Her abscess was drained and she’s being moved from the step down unit to a normal private room. She’ll remain in isolation.
The Neurons plugged “Open Arms” by Journey (1982) into the morning mental music stream. Drifting in and out of sleep in the dark room last night, I’d listen to my heartbeat. The Neurons picked up on that and began playing with songs which had heartbeat or darkness as part of the lyrics. Yeah, The Neurons are a crazy beast. The song was released while I was stationed at Kadena, Okinawa, Japan, so it’s attached to that era in my thinking. This is one of those songs that forces memories of our small off-base apartment to my mind’s forefront. I remember the cats who came to us then and lived with us. We took them back to America with us, and then was forced to leave them there when we went to Japan. My SIL took care of them for us. But once we returned, we took them with us to California. Both passed away there, Crystal, a Bombay black was twelve, while Jade was 21.
Stay positive and test negative. No coffee, thanks, I’ve already had a cup. Mark me down for another cup later. Here’s the song. Cheers
Riding the COVID train. Slept well, fever broke, coughing is mild and infrequent. Day three of symptoms, but just tested yesterday. Other family members have tested pos or are feeling ill. Haven’t done tracing but I suspect a Sunday family gathering.
Meanwhile, though, Mom is getting better. She’d developed an abscess along her lumbar spine. They were draining that today. Holding off on pacemaker work. She had a bowel movement yesterday, first in a week, and she told me she felt so much better after that. Will be in hospital for several more weeks, pending the ebb and flow.
Today is Wednesday, September 14, 2022, a day which will live in infamy, maybe. Depends on what happens on this day in your life, yeah? Sunset is 7:31 PM and sunrise took place twelve hours and thirty-one minutes before that. It’s 73 F out there and the high is supposed to be 76 F. It’s mostly sunny out there.
Okay, so The Neurons have planted “Train Kept A-Rollin'” in my morning mental music stream. The ’74 version by Aerosmith is playing. A heavy blues rock cover, it’s the first version I ever knew. I think The Neurons are making some oblique snarky reference to either being sick, or how COVID keeps striking.
Well, stay positive. Test negative. Haven’t had coffee today. Don’t think I will. Have a good one. Here’s the tune. Hope you enjoy it. Cheers
Riding the COVID train. Slept well, fever broke, coughing is mild and infrequent. Day three of symptoms, but just tested yesterday. Other family members have tested pos or are feeling ill. Haven’t done tracing but I suspect a Sunday family gathering.
Meanwhile, though, Mom is getting better. She’d developed an abscess along her lumbar spine. They were draining that today. Holding off on pacemaker work. She had a bowel movement yesterday, first in a week, and she told me she felt so much better after that. Will be in hospital for several more weeks, pending the ebb and flow.
Today is Wednesday, September 14, 2022, a day which will live in infamy, maybe. Depends on what happens on this day in your life, yeah? Sunset is 7:31 PM and sunrise took place twelve hours and thirty-one minutes before that. It’s 73 F out there and the high is supposed to be 76 F. It’s mostly sunny out there.
Okay, so The Neurons have planted “Train Kept A-Rollin'” in my morning mental music stream. The ’74 version by Aerosmith is playing. A heavy blues rock cover, it’s the first version I ever knew. I think The Neurons are making some oblique snarky reference to either being sick, or how COVID keeps striking.
Well, stay positive. Test negative. Haven’t had coffee today. Don’t think I will. Have a good one. Here’s the tune. Hope you enjoy it. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 