Too Tired

I have just been too tired to do much of anything here. Mom doesn't seem to be making any improvement: just the opposite. Bright spot: The home health care nurse should be here in about an hour to make an assessment. Mom's funky insurance has been the holdup. If we have to, we'll pay for this out of pocket until July 1, when it converts back to plain old Medicare.

I haven't been just sitting around doing nothing, though. I think my bathroom floor had been scrubbed about 7 times (enough said!) I have washed and folded and put away at least 2 or 3 loads of clothes every day. I even cleaned the ceiling fans in the living room, which was not easy since they are hanging from a 10 foot ceiling.

I went to the grocery store last night. Mr. H wanted to come with me, but I was so afraid to leave Mom with just the girls, even the eldest. She can't really walk that well, even with the walker.

I made 2 concessions last night that I really didn't want to make. 1) I stopped by the church and borrowed a wheel chair. 2) Mom slept on the couch last night instead of in a bed. I guess I didn't want to depend on the chair, but my back and fear of letting Mom fall pushed me in that direction, that and the fact that Dr. T thought it might be a good idea. The past few nights it has been really hard to get Mom out of the bed when she calls (2 or 3 times every night). She can't roll over and her arms get in the way, and I just couldn't do it any more. Actually, on the recliner of the couch last night, she didn't call at all. I actually slept pretty well. It's a good thing, too. Today has not gone well. We'll see what the nurse tells us.

I thought that was the nurse driving up, but it was the UPS man. He brought the gasket for the freezer. I know what Mr. H will be doing tonight. Hooray!

I remembered that I wrote this about Mom a long time ago. She was a dancer since she was a little girl, used to win competitions on the Coast.

Prima Ballerina

The stage,

the lights,

the costumes,

the orchestra:

all much larger than

but all far less important than

the dancer.

Human motion perfected.

The supreme union

of power and grace.

Space is the canvas

of her creation:

seeming to fly

yet caressing the stage

upon which she performs.

She is a dancer,

an artist,

a little girl's dream,

my mother.

July 24, 1980