The days grow rougher, more difficult to navigate. . . harder to manage. I can't do it alone much longer. I think I may have had a mini-stroke. In conversation, the earth suddenly seemed to shift. My balance was off. I haven't recovered. But I've had to soldier on.
I managed to get my mother to her cardiology appointment. The news was bad. She may have had a heart attack in surgery the doctor said. Her legs are swollen. He ordered some sort of venous test STAT! STAT turns out to be next Thursday. They can't take her before then. New blood pressure meds, one for when her systolic goes over 170. It's been over 170 for weeks.
My mother tells everyone she can't take her pain meds. They make her sick, she says. Yesterday I heard her on the phone with her primary doctor's office yelling at the person on the other end of the phone that she couldn't take the Percocet, that she wanted Tramadol. She told the doc when we were there, however, that she didn't want Tramadol.
Last night, after taking the "emergency" pill, her BP came down. I put together a dinner. Then I collapsed. With no one to talk to, I turned on the television. I needed an escape. I put on "Breakfast at Tiffany's."
Readers of the blog will know how incredulous I am that Tiffany is referred to as Tiffany's even when the sign is clear above Holly Golightly's head. I've never read the novella, but I must just to see if Truman Capote wrote it that way.
I thought I'd seen the movie before, but last night I had to wonder. Maybe I'd only seen scenes, only seen it in parts. I settled in and watched it from start to finish. Everyone speaks very quickly in the film except for Buddy Ebsen.
Old Doc married Lula Mae when she was fourteen, or as people say, "just fourteen." Not quite Humbert Humbert, but close enough. Yup, it is a pretty dark film. But hey, you know? Kids love it.
When the movie ended, my mother began crying about being in pain. She said she might need to go back to the E.R. I came apart.
"What do you think they are going to do differently," I asked. "Every time we've gone, they say you need to go to a rehab clinic. You say no, you're fine, you can take care of yourself, you just want to go home. They give you pain meds, but you don't take them. Your doctor gave you the strongest pain med they are going to give you but you won't take it. I can't take away the pain. I can take you to doctors. I can cook and clean and fetch, but I can't do anything more. You don't listen to the doctors. I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do."
I wasn't as calm as that sounds.
She said O.K. She took a hydrocodone tablet. I went to bed.
But I didn't sleep well or long. When I got up, she was sitting at the kitchen table.
"How'd you sleep."
"I did o.k."
She is taking the pain meds now, but they will run out soon and there is no refill. Next week is full of medical tests.
I'm falling asleep in my shoes.
"Back at the ranch," as they say, the carpenter is absent. The fellow who walked off the job is hounding me for his money. I have to get the house put back together today so it can be cleaned on Tuesday. I need to be there when they install the water heater. I need to be there when they replace the gas meter. I need to be there when they come to service the HVAC. There is too much for me to do.
All the doctors tell my mother, "You are lucky. You have a good son."
I believe my mother will outlive me.
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