Sunday, April 30, 2006
Rehab Roulette
Spin #1:
Mom's to be discharged from the hospital to Healthsouth, a bright, shiny facility with tall, green trees and plenty of free parking.
Spin #2:
It starts with a phone call, an hour before her discharge:
"Honey, it's your mother. Healthsouth won't take me. They said I'm 'too independent.'"
(Yes, I know they what they meant, but a little part of me says, "YEAH! THAT's my mom!")
She's being discharged to Manor Care, which -- oddly -- is wedged between Malibu Grand Prix and Mission Park Funeral Home.
Hmph...No middle ground there.
We wheel Mom through the door and ... uh-oh...
It's a nursing home.
It's a bad nursing home. No images of carefree seniors playing bingo or wearing paper crowns as King and Queen of the May. It's hot as a sauna and emitting a smell that will never leave my pores no matter how hard I scrub. The staff are indifferent and tend to communicate in grunts. (OK, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt -- no one wants to work on a Friday night -- especially the first night of Fiesta, but still, make an effort, folks.) The evergreen trees in the courtyard are brown. Not a good sign.
Worse yet, Mom has a roommate: a wild-eyed woman curled up in a chair and staring at us. And the roommate has the TV blaring on the Food Network. My sister swears the woman will suck Mom's breath out as she sleeps. I agree. One "BAM!" from Emeril is all it will take.
"Mom, is there anything we can get you before we go?"
"Yes. Out of here."
Spin #3.
The next morning. Again, it begins with a phone call, this time from my sister.
"Peg, we're bustin' Mom out."
"Good. I'll get the ropes and the hook. You saddle up the horses."
"We're going to do it with charm and tact."
"So I keep my mouth shut, right?"
"Right."
Our cousin has an "in" with the director of physical therapy at a Regent Care facility. My sister and I get the names and numbers and take the tour. It's wonderful. The staff smile, the hallways are wide, the rooms are clean and comfortable and the grounds are well cared for.
The folks at Manor Care were a little snippy about the transfer paperwork. (I think I heard my sister call one of them a "jackass" under her breath. So much for charm and tact.) We then go into Mom's room. The breathsucking roommate is still asleep.
"Let's start packin', Mom. You're being sprung."
"WHAT?"
"We found a better place. We're getting you out of here."
"Oh, THANK YOU! I could just cry."
We stopped off at Mom's house, so she could cuddle her cats and watch the Spurs game.
Spurs won.
Mom's happy.
Mom's to be discharged from the hospital to Healthsouth, a bright, shiny facility with tall, green trees and plenty of free parking.
Spin #2:
It starts with a phone call, an hour before her discharge:
"Honey, it's your mother. Healthsouth won't take me. They said I'm 'too independent.'"
(Yes, I know they what they meant, but a little part of me says, "YEAH! THAT's my mom!")
She's being discharged to Manor Care, which -- oddly -- is wedged between Malibu Grand Prix and Mission Park Funeral Home.
Hmph...No middle ground there.
We wheel Mom through the door and ... uh-oh...
It's a nursing home.
It's a bad nursing home. No images of carefree seniors playing bingo or wearing paper crowns as King and Queen of the May. It's hot as a sauna and emitting a smell that will never leave my pores no matter how hard I scrub. The staff are indifferent and tend to communicate in grunts. (OK, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt -- no one wants to work on a Friday night -- especially the first night of Fiesta, but still, make an effort, folks.) The evergreen trees in the courtyard are brown. Not a good sign.
Worse yet, Mom has a roommate: a wild-eyed woman curled up in a chair and staring at us. And the roommate has the TV blaring on the Food Network. My sister swears the woman will suck Mom's breath out as she sleeps. I agree. One "BAM!" from Emeril is all it will take.
"Mom, is there anything we can get you before we go?"
"Yes. Out of here."
Spin #3.
The next morning. Again, it begins with a phone call, this time from my sister.
"Peg, we're bustin' Mom out."
"Good. I'll get the ropes and the hook. You saddle up the horses."
"We're going to do it with charm and tact."
"So I keep my mouth shut, right?"
"Right."
Our cousin has an "in" with the director of physical therapy at a Regent Care facility. My sister and I get the names and numbers and take the tour. It's wonderful. The staff smile, the hallways are wide, the rooms are clean and comfortable and the grounds are well cared for.
The folks at Manor Care were a little snippy about the transfer paperwork. (I think I heard my sister call one of them a "jackass" under her breath. So much for charm and tact.) We then go into Mom's room. The breathsucking roommate is still asleep.
"Let's start packin', Mom. You're being sprung."
"WHAT?"
"We found a better place. We're getting you out of here."
"Oh, THANK YOU! I could just cry."
We stopped off at Mom's house, so she could cuddle her cats and watch the Spurs game.
Spurs won.
Mom's happy.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Well, Don't We All?
Dressing up corn dogs, after all, means frying them first, then letting them cool down long enough to get their clothes on.
That quote was from a food article in today's San Antonio Express-News. To grab Fiesta-goers' attention at her food booth, a local woman puts corn dogs in little costumes.
Wonder what she does with funnel cakes?
That quote was from a food article in today's San Antonio Express-News. To grab Fiesta-goers' attention at her food booth, a local woman puts corn dogs in little costumes.
Wonder what she does with funnel cakes?
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Happy Easter!
Hey, what's a religious holiday without a little mindless violence?: The Easter Bunny Hates You
Enjoy -- and don't forget to eat the chocolate ears first!
Enjoy -- and don't forget to eat the chocolate ears first!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
CSI: ICU
Mom's recovering better than we all expected. More entertainingly, too: there's a lot to be said for morphine. My sister and I stopped by yesterday morning and discovered our mother had turned into Jessica Fletcher:
I think I'm in the middle of a MURDER!
What makes you say that, Mom?
That nurse over there -- she was on the phone, fighting with her boyfriend, really loud. Then she had to leave and the phone kept ringing all night. I think the boyfriend may be DEAD! I think she killed him. (Conspiratorial whisper): I can't say too much now - they monitor everything. I'll tell you more later.
When we came back in the early evening, her murder mystery had relocated from Cabot Cove to Sin City. After a fairly lucid conversation about the doctor's visit, she gestured towards the wall to her left:
So what do you think of all this Las Vegas stuff?
Las Vegas stuff?
Yes, did they catch those guys? There's all that stuff from Vegas over there. The police were investigating.
Where's the stuff from Vegas, Mom?
In the next room.
Mom, the only thing we'll find over there is another patient hooked up to monitors.
OH, I DON'T THINK SO!
My sister peers around the corner. No neon, no slots, just another patient hooked up to monitors.
Mom...
I know you think I'm loony, but (again with the conspiratorial whisper) we'll talk later.
As we left, Mom gave my sister the evil eye for chatting with Sandy, the nurse who allegedly murdered her boyfriend. Turns out the Vegas hallucination is pretty common -- all the beeps and boops from the medical equipment sound like casino noises to the heavily sedated.
Mom's moving into a regular hospital room today, with a whole new set of nurses. I can't wait to hear who gets whacked next.
I think I'm in the middle of a MURDER!
What makes you say that, Mom?
That nurse over there -- she was on the phone, fighting with her boyfriend, really loud. Then she had to leave and the phone kept ringing all night. I think the boyfriend may be DEAD! I think she killed him. (Conspiratorial whisper): I can't say too much now - they monitor everything. I'll tell you more later.
When we came back in the early evening, her murder mystery had relocated from Cabot Cove to Sin City. After a fairly lucid conversation about the doctor's visit, she gestured towards the wall to her left:
So what do you think of all this Las Vegas stuff?
Las Vegas stuff?
Yes, did they catch those guys? There's all that stuff from Vegas over there. The police were investigating.
Where's the stuff from Vegas, Mom?
In the next room.
Mom, the only thing we'll find over there is another patient hooked up to monitors.
OH, I DON'T THINK SO!
My sister peers around the corner. No neon, no slots, just another patient hooked up to monitors.
Mom...
I know you think I'm loony, but (again with the conspiratorial whisper) we'll talk later.
As we left, Mom gave my sister the evil eye for chatting with Sandy, the nurse who allegedly murdered her boyfriend. Turns out the Vegas hallucination is pretty common -- all the beeps and boops from the medical equipment sound like casino noises to the heavily sedated.
Mom's moving into a regular hospital room today, with a whole new set of nurses. I can't wait to hear who gets whacked next.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
June
A friend of mine calls my mother "June." It's not her name, but it fits. She embodies the qualities of the best Junes: June Cleaver, as a woman whose light is her home and family, and June Allyson, because she's just so darn cute and perky. I'll also throw June Foray into the mix; Mom has that earnest, plucky Rocket J. Squirrel tone of voice.
Mom's having cancer surgery Monday. It's big. Very big. She'll be in the hospital for 7 - 10 days, and recovering for 6 - 8 weeks afterward. Upon hearing her treatment options, she seemed to lose a little of her optimism, but she's now thinking of her hospital stay like a teenager at a slumber party. Who else would say, "Since the doctor decided against radiation, I can get a perm before I go!" --?
Mom's having cancer surgery Monday. It's big. Very big. She'll be in the hospital for 7 - 10 days, and recovering for 6 - 8 weeks afterward. Upon hearing her treatment options, she seemed to lose a little of her optimism, but she's now thinking of her hospital stay like a teenager at a slumber party. Who else would say, "Since the doctor decided against radiation, I can get a perm before I go!" --?
