I watched a documentary on Otto Dix last night (link). I've linked it, but I am not recommending it for 1) he is not everyone's "cup of tea," and 2) it really isn't a great documentary. It does have its moments, though.
This came after a horrific day of carting my mother from pillar to post. I figure I am now working 21 eight hour shifts a week.
"I'm melting!"
We went to her primary care doctor. She is nobody's favorite doctor, but she is "what we got."
My mother needed her walker, so I packed it into the car. Still, she was barely able to make the voyage from the front of the large medical building to the elevator. We managed, then sat in the doctor's waiting room until she was called. Since she is now soooo slow in movement, I stayed seated as she made her tortoise way to the door. She turned to me and barked, "Let's go!" She is completely dependent now. She isn't going to try to deal with anything on her own.
She was weighed. Her blood pressure was measured. It was, of course, high. We sat for an hour in the little examination room waiting for the doctor. When she finally arrived, she asked my mother how she was doing.
"What?"
"How are you doing?"
"I can't hear you."
The doc was wearing a Covid mask, so my mother couldn't see her lips. I answered for her. After that, my mother didn't try to respond. The doctor directed all her questions to me. When she asked for blood tests, I said that they had almost drained my mother of blood in the hospital and that she should have access to all those records. She left to get them.
Half an hour later, she was back.
Skip ahead. She wrote my mother prescriptions for Percocet and a blood pressure medicine. My mother needed to get an appointment with the cardiologist fast. She ordered a brain MRI, with dye and without it. She ordered another blood test that could only be done at the Quest location because the sample had to be frozen. I needed to make an appointment with a back specialist.
We stopped at the cardiologist's office. I take my mother for an appointment tomorrow afternoon. We drove to the drugstore, but the prescription wasn't ready. We got takeout from McDonalds and came back to her house. I began calling offices. I called the ENT docs to get an audiology appointment. My mother finally admits she can't hear.
"Thank god you were there."
Yea.
I got a receptionist on the phone who barely spoke English. I had a difficult time getting her to understand why I was calling. Finally, she tried to contact the audiologist, but the audiologist wasn't in. The receptionist would have to call me back.
I called around to different places to schedule an MRI. Three or four calls before I found a place. They wanted a lot of info over the phone. First, of course, was what insurance my mother had. I asked my mother for her Medicare card and she threw her hands in the air, flustered. The call was long but finally settled. I take my mother Tuesday afternoon.
It was three. I told my mother I needed to go to my house. First, I needed to go to the gym. Absolutely. I did a brief workout and then went home to get a package that had been sitting on the doorstep. Traffic was building. The carpenter had not done much work, apparently. I still needed to wash down the kitchen with TSP, then a clear water rinse. But that wasn't happening today. I needed to do that, though, and put all the boxes of things sitting in the dining room and living room back into the pantry before Tuesday. The coating on the shelves still needed a few days to dry. I must paint the siding the carpenter has put up before the plumber comes to put in the tankless water heater. The entire house needs painting, too, but that isn't immediate. The carpenter didn't seem to want to be the one to do it.
"It's a lot of prep work," he said. I don't think I can afford him.
I showered, dressed, and headed back out into the afterwork traffic. I had several stops to make. Traffic was at a standstill. I got groceries. I got the drugs.
Back to my mother's house. Unload the car. I have to carry two bags back and forth to my house to have what I need. Groceries. I sat down and drank a light beer. I had asked my mother if she wanted salmon patties for dinner that morning. That sounded like a good partner with the asparagus in the fridge. It is one of the things she makes for me that is tasty. She said she would walk me through it.
Now, however, it seemed she had never made them before. She couldn't really answer my questions. I broke crackers. Added an egg. Added the canned sockeye salmon. I mixed them. They were pretty wet, so I added more crushed crackers. Asparagus steaming, I put oil into the big pan and let it get hot. Three salmon patties. I had no idea how long to cook them. I probably made the patties too thick. They burned a bit.
My mother barely ate. I poured a drink and watched the news. I would clean up later. My mother sat at the table looking again and again at the pill bottles, turning them, reading them. I put on the Otto Dix doc. It seemed to me he had one of the best visions of existence I'd seen. I've liked Dix' work. I love going to the Neue Gallerie in NYC. It is one of my favorites. Dix' work has been prominently featured there along with so many other master artists from Germany in that era. I love eating at the Cafe Sabasrky for Sunday brunch. I love buying books and trinkets from the gift shop. But tonight, I felt I was living in a Dix painting. Dix said that photography couldn't capture reality as could painting. Maybe he would feel differently today. Photography isn't just photography any longer. You can do anything with a "photograph" now. They are must pictures.
I looked through old emails. 2013. Here was one that felt like Dix. I could make many more.
My mother went to bed early. My t.v. algorithms suggested a show, "Modern Love." I watched two episodes and went to bed.
My mother was up and down all night. She makes noises that wake me. She moans loudly. I am becoming a zombie.
The carpenter called this morning before seven. I had not gotten out of bed. My phone was apparently on silent. He texted me. "Call." I did, but got no answer. My neighbor texted me, the one who recommended the carpenter. He said Bob was sick and wouldn't be able to work today. Later, the carpenter called. He couldn't work, but he wanted his money today.
I have much to do. I need to print out a City Permit for the gas heater, sign it with a notary, scan it, and email it back. I must wash down the kitchen today. I need to paint some kind of coating onto the new siding. The wooden deck has not been painted since last spring and is beginning to crack in the heat. I must get that scrubbed, pressure washed, and painted soon. I need to call some roofers.
Autopilot. That's all I have.
"I'm melting."
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