I feel as if I am drowning in something. Just pure drowning. And it's messy and it's so thick and I can't see to the bottom of it any way at all. There may be no bottom. There just may not be.
There are many things I don't really say here, believe it or not and I'm sure you do because I'm sure you keep many things close to your chest. Things that you may not want to say out loud to anyone or maybe only to someone you know and completely trust with all of the parts of you, the crusty, ugly, hidden-in-the-dark parts and yeah, there's some of that stuff in this drowning.
Anyway, that, yes, and I am home. I hit the wall hard this afternoon and May came up to the hospital and she is a very capable and strong and loving woman and I left her there with Mother and I came home and I slept some and I'm going to sleep here again tonight because my boys are coming early, early, way before dawn and by god, I'm going to spend that time with them. Unless some emergency comes up, of course.
I can't really figure out why they aren't transferring Mother back to Westminster. They've got her on a heart monitor and this and that and she keeps saying she wants to die and has been saying this for a very long time and she practically has DNR tattooed on her forehead so I'm not quite sure why they're so aggressive about all of this. Her heart has shown no signs of any failure at all. At Westminster they would tend to HER, I am thinking. They would provide comfort and personal care, unlike at the hospital where it's all about her I&O, her meds, her blood sugar, her hours sitting up, her daily walk down the hall.
I mean, sure, those things are important but what we are we doing here?
She's not really eating. She's hardly drinking. Things are not going to get stabilized, medically speaking, as far as I can tell while this is going on. She's nauseous and yes, they give her medicine for nausea, but it's not really helping. She is in a great deal of pain and there again, there is only so much the pain medication can do.
It is all, in a way, like torture. If getting up and going ten steps to the bathroom makes you vomit, that is simply torturous.
Meanwhile, I'm not there tonight and I won't be there tomorrow until much later. I had to take care of myself and part of that is sleeping and part of that is being with Owen and Gibson. That's all there is to it.
Yes. I am drowning but I am not allowing myself to slip under entirely. This would serve no purpose whatsoever and if I can't see the bottom, there is nothing for it but to look up where I am quite certain there is light.
Addendum: My brother called. He's up at the hospital and she is doing it again. The crazies have come upon her. This is actually a common thing for people in her situation. It is called Sundowner's Syndrome.
I really don't know what to do. Part of me knows for sure that my presence would only agitate her and part of me thinks that I should be there anyway.
I don't think there is a right answer in this case. I am waiting to hear back from my brother who is trying to talk to someone at the hospital who might know more about this and what we can do, in the very short-term. Like right now.
That was one hell of a fall my mother took the other day. One hell of a fall and it's going to be quite some time before any of us really is able to pick ourselves up and go on.