So if I had any readers, I’ve surely lost you by now. I’m still writing up dinner, even though I’ve successfully worked off the weight I must have gained that night.
Please forgive me, dear readers, for I have sinned. It’s been over three weeks since my last entry, and I have no good excuse. Well, I sort of have an excuse. I’ve spent most of the last two weeks in and around
So – I’m recovering from a very fun Blowoff on MAL weekend. Our dear friend R was in town from
Now, a call that early on a weekend almost always means a parental call, and when one is the teeniest bit tired and hung over, parental calls become torture, plain and simple. Avoid at all costs.
When I saw “
First from my mother, and then from the nurses on her unit, my mom’s medical situation was made clear to me. She had experienced pain in her abdomen for almost two weeks, as well as some seemingly associated pain in her right shoulder. So she’d gone to the hospital, only to be discharged when it was obvious she was having neither a stroke nor a heart attack.
Now, my mother is 82 years old, and on her very best days she’s not a model of clarity when explaining herself, particularly when describing her pain or discomfort . These were not her best days. Mind you, she was a professor of nursing, taught physical assessment, and expected everyone she taught to be almost psychic in their ability to infer the cause of symptoms and diseases. Teaching how to assess patients’ pain apparently didn’t prepare her for describing her own.
Frontier Airlines obliged me with seats on the 6:15 from National to
How much of a shock is it to see your parent in a bed in intensive care, looking more like a porcupine than a human being? It was a huge fucking shock. I’d seen my mother in many settings through the 44 years she’s kept me around: professional Virginia, leading nursing students through the maze of knowledge, skills and experiences required to make them trained and effective medical professionals; queen Virginia, holding forth on all sorts of matters, sometimes knowingly, sometimes full of shit; drunk Virginia; saint Virginia; a whole host of Virginias. But I’d never seen medical Virginia, held hostage in a hospital bed by disease and technology. Medical
I never want to see it again, after having seen it.
There’s more to come on the medical front.
I haven’t spent two weeks in
I wasn’t surprised to find rain. That’s a given. But most of the time, the storms that blow in from the Pacific across Oregon do so pretty quickly, with a solid shot of rain and wind, then showers, and finally a break between storms.
That’s not the current weather pattern: this year, the storms just seem to keep coming, and the rain is both more constant and much heavier than usual. The two effect of this new pattern are: it’s always damp. Not just a little damp, but soaking, bone chilling damp. And people are both tired of the weather and are constantly talking about the rain, cold and fog.
(Oregonians on the whole don’t complain. Well, they do. But not directly. Think of Garrison Keillor’s “A Prairie Home Companion” with fewer Lutherans and more talk about rain than snow. You’ve got the picture.)