The Tweeny Stage of Grief

The Christmas lights are twinkling, the TV is silently showing Friends re-runs and mom is taking her afternoon nap. I'm reclining in the lazy boy ordering a new compression glove for her left hand and wondering how something so Twilight Zone has somehow become so normal. I don't think I can pinpoint the moment it happened. Kinda like puberty. One day you wake up and everything feels different, but it's not like there was a sign that just says "welcome to adulthood." And I'm just as conflicted. I'm not sure whether to be thankful for the strength to accept and the peace of mind that comes with that, or pissed for the nagging feeling that "acceptance" is another word for "giving up." Currently, I'm undecided, but still fascinated by the whole thing in general.

I mean, yesterday I had a 15 minute conversation with her about her hallucinations and who she would hallucinate if she could choose. The answer is Shel Silverstein and Marilyn Monroe. Not Kennedy because he'd bring his hallucinated paparazzi and not Henry XIII because he'd destroy the place with his horse. Oh and not Monet because he just seems morally irresponsible. And the thing is, it never even occurred to me that this was weird. Entertaining, yes, but not "crazy."

This is who my mom is now. This is who I am now. This is what my life is now. That sounds so dramatic and devastating, like some angsty tween novel, but with the whole puberty metaphor, also quite appropriate I think.

Merry Day-After Christmas

Boring, but I suppose important information. We visited the neuro surgeon on Monday (Dr. sea-foam-green-scrubs Cerullo, not Dr. I-saved-her-life Farhat), who told us that according to her CT scan there haven't been any changes. The fluid is draining as it should be and there's no other damage beyond what originally occurred. He also shared that with this certain type of injury recovery can take a year to a year and a half. Then Wednesday was the visit to the neurologist (Dr. Castle) who said he's going to start weening her off the anti-seizure medication in hopes that she won't be so tired. Since she's never had a seizure, don't think not taken the meds will be a huge issue. He also explained that with this injury she has lost her ability to recognize humor or sarcastic intonation. And that's when we all pretty much decided to disregard everything he said. Mom made a joke about staying at Presbyterian homes long enough to learn how to fly which was really the perfect storm...Mom couldn't possibly have a sense of humor due to the stroke and Dr. Castle DOESN'T have a sense of humor (unless, like my dad has suggested, he too is a stoke victim), so chances are there's "dementia" written in red on her chart now. By the way, she was laughing as we were recounting the story.

Now, on to Christmas. Dad and I went over in the morning with coffee, baked goods and one gift for her to open. We also brought jingle bells, which as some of you may have seen were used during our caroling in the hallways of Presbyterian Homes. I believe we were singing Jingle Bells the first time we caroled through a family having Christmas dinner and I believe we were singing the Twelve Days of Christmas the second time we caroled through the same family's dinner. They didn't seem too bothered by it - in fact they seemed fairly resilient to crazy - but it's not as though they thanked us or joined in. She came home at 1:30 and stayed the whole day. It was fantastic. Even when she decided to lay down, we all just pulled up chairs in the bedroom and I sat beside her while we continued to laugh (take that Dr. Castle) and babble like only our family can.

I wouldn't say she was "pumped" to go back to Presbyterian and she's definitely not all that thrilled whenever we leave her there. It's impossible to not feel like shit when she says "ok, bye" because we all know it's not OK. She doesn't want to be alone and frankly, I don't want her to be alone. I know, I know, I've heard "you have to take care of yourself" or "your mom wants you to live your life," but trust me, those things feel less than true when leaving her. It's a band-aid rip every day - it hurts every time and you never get used to it. Right now I'm sitting in her house, in her kitchen, surrounded by her things thinking about the fact that she's probably in bed staring at the same terrible painting on the wall and giving pep-talks to her left hand trying to encourage it to move. But in less than 14 hours or so I get to go back and reapply the band-aid.

Twas the night before Christmas

It's late. I'm tired. It's possible that this will be riddled with nonsense and typos. Apologies. I just can't not write on Christmas Eve. One of my mom's favorite times. 

Growing up, Christmas Eve was a party. I'm not entirely sure how the tradition began. Chances are it was my mom's brain child. The fact that it involved costumes, performances, and gaudy Christmas gifts are all signs toward a Pam-planned event, but I don't want to go on record giving her credit without knowing for sure. Anyhow. Christmas Eve was a huge deal. It was the moment all of the kids got to perform The Night Before Christmas. We all knew our roles, the girls played the sugar plums, the oldest played Santa, and the youngest played baby Cheezits (small and honest mistake between the center of Christianity and a cheese-flavored snack). It was also the one night a year dad busted out his trumpet and "performed" Christmas tunes. We all sang along. Probably sounded as good as the trumpet. And then of course we all had to wear the "Christmas craft" which all of the girls/women had worked very hard on the night before to make as gaudy and horrifying as possible. There was the year of the reindeer socks, the year of the elf collars, the year of the fairy crowns... the list goes on. But most importantly, it was the thing that first defined family for me. We all know I don't have a huge family, at least not in the "people who share similar genetic material" sort of way. But mom made damn sure that I had family in the "you'll never feel alone or unloved" sort of way. I grew up sharing Christmas Eve with family. For that I can't thank her enough. 

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

Relax the shoulders

I wish you all could have heard the sound of my dad's voice last night when he called. It's as if every muscle in his body had relaxed....the muscles around his rib cage, his lungs (ok, not just muscles), his vocal chords. He was breathing. Real breaths. The natural ones. The even ones.

I think I have my dad back. And it's all thanks to my mom.

Yesterday the doctor visited to check on mom's progress. He was "very impressed". Apparently everyone who has been working with mom has been very impressed. He explained that in the beginning her progress was a slow climb, but in the last two weeks she has really taken off. It's been so great that the doctor said he would personally fight for her to stay longer at Presbyterian should the insurance company recommend she move elsewhere.

Maybe it's awareness and being able to make conscious choices? Maybe it's being able to feel the improvements makes her fight harder for more of them? Shit, who knows why "all of the sudden". But seriously folks, who cares?!

No, it's not over. Clearly the road continues. But for the first time in 142 days it feels like we're not just "seeing things," that the progress we sometimes think we see is not just us trying to make ourselves feel better. It's real. Unlike the bats that live in her ceiling. Those aren't real. Right?

Post Thanksgiving Report

I'm happy to report that Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. She showed up at 12:15 and was promptly given a tour to make sure my dad hadn't run the place into the ground. And he hadn't. I even assured her that the condo was NOT full of little piles of things when I arrived - dad's signature style of cleaning or as I like to call it "squirreling".  She was proud and impressed.

We spent the day as (hopefully) every other family out there did - eating too much and enjoying the fact that we were all in one place. Near the end of the day as I sat next to her and watched her enjoy a piece of pecan pie she simply stated "I've really enjoyed today". That's all any of us could ask for. Eventually she had to leave and yes, it was hard, but nowhere near what I think all of us originally expected.

There is a certain determination to my mom (shocking, I know). It would be easy for her to play victim and for us to be wracked with guilt. And frankly that would seem would seem fair considering the circumstances. Don't get me wrong. I know she isn't happy about this less than stellar hand she's been dealt. I think if she could strangle the dealer of this hand, she would. Maybe even bite him/her. BUT, instead she's just playing the hand she's dealt. And playing it well might I add because we all know how she gets when she loses. Sportsmanship award winner she is not.