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SweetWilliam of Bliss
May. 16th, 2019 10:10 pmThis afternoon, the hospice team arrived for real. As the Duchess described it, it sounded kind of like when the cowboys haul into town and take over the saloon. I wish I could say it was like the cavalry riding to the rescue, but it was a little more ragtag than that. The Duchess was unhappy because she had planned to introduce the notion of hospice to Mother quietly and calmly in a setting that allowed for discussion. Before she could do that, the social worker came to the dining room during lunch, flying her HOSPICE nametag loud and clear. The Duchess said Mother's eyes widened. She knew something was going on. So then it was all out there.
After that came the nurse and the chaplain. The Duchess wanted me to attend via speakerphone, so I did. I couldn't hear everything, but I got the gist. It sounded like a more productive conversation this time. They talked about some plans for different helpers to come and do things. So far, a nurse aide will come a couple of times a week to help Mother get extra showers, to trim her nails, and do other personal care items. The pet therapist is supposed to make an appearance, which I think Mother will love. The nurse, who shall be known hereafter as Her Nursity because she seems to make a rather majestic entrance, will return next week and continue to evaluate how Mother is doing. She said Mother was much better today: "Her color is better and her cheeks are rosy." I think it's the oxygen, plus eating more. Chappie the chaplain will come back next week, and at the Duchess's request, try to take up the thread of the conversation about death and dying that Mother started on, but then was interrupted. I stifle a giggle when he speaks, because he has such a perfect chaplain's voice, very soft and soothing, like a bedtime story. I'm sure he's very sincere, but it cracks me up.
Since I had nothing else to do, I typed a transcript of the conversation as best I could, while I was listening. I'm a speedy typist thanks to all those millions of words of fiction. I sent it out to the siblings, who seemed impressed. Mr. Science has been so obsessed with everyone being always on the same page and hearing every conversation that I thought it would be helpful.
I continued to put away more things. I threw out several nametags belonging to my father that my mother had saved in a little bag. This plus the phone call put me back into a tailspin of nameless dread. Here are just a few of the symptoms i'm having: Migraine-like headaches. Joint pain that keeps me awake at night. Stomach pain. Feeling nauseated. Constant anxiety. Occasionally feeling as if I might just pass out. Tinnitus that sounds like a geiger counter gone mad. Normally, I'm so highly functional that I just move on in spite of it all, but this is getting bad. I need to be put in a rain barrel like Goldie Hawn in "Overboard." "I don't know how to do any of these vile things, and I wouldn't want to!" No, no, I am calm . . . very very calm . . . .
I tried to take a walk while the Sparrowhawk was at the gym, and was driven back by big fat raindrops. They paused for a bit, before sunset, and I went out again. The dad next door was sitting on his front step, watching his little girls tear up and down the block on their scooters and bicycles. "Watch out for the WORM!" they screamed as I went by. They had scared a robin into dropping his prey on the sidewalk. I'm not surprised. They are pretty terrifying--pint-sized pirates. They always squint at me suspiciously and say "What are you DOING?" I walked up to the woods. The bloodroot and May apples are up. The lilies of the valley are starting to bloom. The three very old apple trees in the courtyard are ablaze with pure white. I look forward to that explosion of white flowers every year. Apple blossom is one of my very favorite scents. It takes me back to somewhere in my childhood when life was apparently wonderful, and smelled like pink and white flowers. Dogwood and redbuds are blooming too. When spring finally comes, every day is unique and precious. Which is why I don't want to spend another weekend driving and soothing, but I guess I will anyway.
After that came the nurse and the chaplain. The Duchess wanted me to attend via speakerphone, so I did. I couldn't hear everything, but I got the gist. It sounded like a more productive conversation this time. They talked about some plans for different helpers to come and do things. So far, a nurse aide will come a couple of times a week to help Mother get extra showers, to trim her nails, and do other personal care items. The pet therapist is supposed to make an appearance, which I think Mother will love. The nurse, who shall be known hereafter as Her Nursity because she seems to make a rather majestic entrance, will return next week and continue to evaluate how Mother is doing. She said Mother was much better today: "Her color is better and her cheeks are rosy." I think it's the oxygen, plus eating more. Chappie the chaplain will come back next week, and at the Duchess's request, try to take up the thread of the conversation about death and dying that Mother started on, but then was interrupted. I stifle a giggle when he speaks, because he has such a perfect chaplain's voice, very soft and soothing, like a bedtime story. I'm sure he's very sincere, but it cracks me up.
Since I had nothing else to do, I typed a transcript of the conversation as best I could, while I was listening. I'm a speedy typist thanks to all those millions of words of fiction. I sent it out to the siblings, who seemed impressed. Mr. Science has been so obsessed with everyone being always on the same page and hearing every conversation that I thought it would be helpful.
I continued to put away more things. I threw out several nametags belonging to my father that my mother had saved in a little bag. This plus the phone call put me back into a tailspin of nameless dread. Here are just a few of the symptoms i'm having: Migraine-like headaches. Joint pain that keeps me awake at night. Stomach pain. Feeling nauseated. Constant anxiety. Occasionally feeling as if I might just pass out. Tinnitus that sounds like a geiger counter gone mad. Normally, I'm so highly functional that I just move on in spite of it all, but this is getting bad. I need to be put in a rain barrel like Goldie Hawn in "Overboard." "I don't know how to do any of these vile things, and I wouldn't want to!" No, no, I am calm . . . very very calm . . . .
I tried to take a walk while the Sparrowhawk was at the gym, and was driven back by big fat raindrops. They paused for a bit, before sunset, and I went out again. The dad next door was sitting on his front step, watching his little girls tear up and down the block on their scooters and bicycles. "Watch out for the WORM!" they screamed as I went by. They had scared a robin into dropping his prey on the sidewalk. I'm not surprised. They are pretty terrifying--pint-sized pirates. They always squint at me suspiciously and say "What are you DOING?" I walked up to the woods. The bloodroot and May apples are up. The lilies of the valley are starting to bloom. The three very old apple trees in the courtyard are ablaze with pure white. I look forward to that explosion of white flowers every year. Apple blossom is one of my very favorite scents. It takes me back to somewhere in my childhood when life was apparently wonderful, and smelled like pink and white flowers. Dogwood and redbuds are blooming too. When spring finally comes, every day is unique and precious. Which is why I don't want to spend another weekend driving and soothing, but I guess I will anyway.
