Sitting in the Cattle Pen

Bad news all around yesterday, which was spent in doctors' offices.  Got the results from several tests.  My mother has had many strokes according to the doc.  Her brain shows much scarring.  Her veins turn out to be fine and there is no clot, so the next probable cause is congestive heart failure, the disease that killed my father.  Still over a month away until we can get the test to know.  Same for an appointment with a spine specialist.  

Here's some more medicine.  Good luck.  

My life seems to be spent in medical buildings now.  If you want a real chuckle. . . .  Nope.  It is horrible.  The waiting rooms are full of old people, overweight with swollen legs, braces, canes, walkers, and wheelchairs.  All are accompanied by someone, a spouse or an offspring.  The waiting rooms are filled like cattle pens.  People sit miserably waiting while a wall mounted television spews something inane.  

Spend your hours and days like this and you'll feel all life seep away, for you know there is no hope.  You are face to face with the thing you have tried to forever ignore.  

Somewhere people are laughing.  People are eating and drinking and making love.  

Friday night.  We may be finished for a couple of days.  I pour a drink.  My mother sits, moans, moves things on the table, then tries to raise herself on her walker.  She struggles to the sink, stands, looks out the window, then continues to a cabinet.  It takes hours.  Then back to her chair at the table.  More moaning.  More moving.  There is no peace, no escape.  I am asked to get something, open something, find something.  

My hands tremble most of the time now.  Eight days and I'm still sick.  Others have gotten over this in two, three, or four days.  I can't shake it.  I can't read.  Television is irritating.  I clean the kitchen.  I need to go to my house.  I have packages there.  I need clothes.  

But it is impossible.  

I am supposed to go to my beautician's house today at four.  My mother just called to me.  She is feeling "funny."  She is thinking about going to the emergency room, so I don't know.  I may spend another day in the hospital.  

I need air, sunshine, exercise. . . rest.  

No matter.  Break out the booze and have a ball. . . if that's all there is.  

This is a nice jazz clubby rendition.  Enjoy.