Sunday, August 06, 2006
The Mom Chronicles
Wednesday, Noonish, August 2, 2006
Things didn't go well with your mother's colonoscopy. They're doing surgery on her at 3:30 today. I don't get to see her until they finally put her in a room, after problems with her breathing machines and the repair stitching of her intestinal wall is finished. We're been at the hospital since about 5 p.m. with a small dinner break at a nice "slow food" restaurant close by.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
I haven't been yet today. It was hard to see her last night.
I skip visit opportunity #1. Mom is looking better, but still a worried mess. "Why did this have to happen to me," says dad.
I have now in 3-4 years seen dad weak and on tubes, brother weak and on tubes, and now mom. I think this might get mom to take my health (diabetes, depression, weight) more seriously. As the Russian Roulette chamber spins, I'm "next," in theory.
We are about to leave mom's room at 7:50 p.m., when my brother shows up at the hospital. (Having signed my ne'er-do-well nephew up for junior high school golf, which he'll need her help paying for ... which will take ne'er-neph out of town several days a week ... great hobby for a kid who doesn't like to A) read, B) study ... On the bright side, ne'er-neph will be forced to get a C+ in 4 courses ... wow, manageable goals ... almost).
A half hour into listening to my brother talk about golf, I head out to the nurse's station and asked if I can have one of those pain dosing buttons so i can administer myself a drip of codeine or vicodin.
I ask the nurses if mom could have a consult from "Dr. House," unless he's off sexually harassing his boss or doing vicodin himself. I put in a request for no nurses from "Grey's Academy" because I know they're all off having sex in the linen closets, and all of the doctors from "ER" are either proposing or in Darfur. One nurse tells me, "you know what I hate about 'ER' and 'Grey's Anatomy'? None of those 'doctors' and 'nurses' have time to be doing any of that stuff."
As we attempt to leave (again) the hospital phone rings for mom and my brother answers. Whomever it is asks, "How you doing?/How've you been?" He answers, "Oh not too bad, I've been recovering pretty well." (I whisper to Dad, about my brother ... "Hello. ITS NOT ABOUT YOU.") The person on the phone wants to hear "fine, I'll put you on with my mother" not "Oh, my blood pressure is pretty good and I've been getting in shape since I got out of the hospital."
The next day, I plan to go up and tell them the nurses, all that I know about hospitals comes from watching "Days of our Lives." "Can I please switch some DNA results, or babies, misdiagnose some people with cancer, or tell someone else that if they have children with the person they love the child will have a high risk for a horrible genetic syndrome, which cannot be named, or just generically skulk around with black gloves and syringes and eavesdrop and plan kidnappings"? "Sorry, no. We have to study a long time before we're allowed to do those things."
I do bring mother a big teddy bear, since I figure it's nice to have something thats not a tube or a button or a restraint when all you can do is try and push and work hard to regain lung pressure or sleep.
Mom's been telling everyone she can that I write pop culture commentary for the local weekly newspaper which comes out on Thursdays. She doesn't have the new issue. Well, that's okay, we've stepped down from 40 pages to 36 and my column as well as a bunch of photos didn't make the transition. But, I can recycle the stuff into later weeks. There will always be a "next" crappy cartoon movie coming out with animals acting as though they're in a David Mamet play.
Brother is there because he has to show mom ... his hair dyed beard and what skull hair he has left. and since they didn't have free lunch (for him, a Monday and Friday thing)... he has to tell her where he had lunch ... Much appreciated, no doubt, since she's on ice chips for a week (to ten days) until her digestive system heals.
The joke in pronouncing my last name is that "Heald" has two possible pronunciations (four, if someone thinks there's an R missing AKA "Herald" or "Hurled"). But we prefer "Healed" over "Held." Thus, when it's mistaken I tell people that It's always great to be "Healed," but sometimes you just wanna be "Held." Mom needs both.
Good news, my brother was stopped for not having a light working about the back license plate on his car. The cop lets him off with a warning because ... Hey, are you related to the guy who writes for the Rapid City Weekly News?" (See, I am good for something.) I tell dad he is not to try and use my name to get out of tickets. If the cop makes the association on his own, fine. But "Hey, do you know who I am (related to)?" I would advise the officer to deliver a warning shot into your trunk.
Friday August 4, 2006
This afternoon dad and I are unable to escape as brother visits hospital room again ...
Today Brother Bear
A) goes on and on about his scars and bruises from HIS surgeries earlier in the year
B) make sure mom knew about where someone was from who died in a car accident
C) mentions a story about a friend of his who died 4 years ago ... after complications from colon surgery.
I ask dad on the elevator ride down ... WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM?
I made mom wince in pain trying to hug her. She just "didn't expect it." "You didn't hurt me." She is obviously lying to protect my feelings. But that's what moms do.
We later figure out why mom needed her purse in the hospital, and why brother was kind enough to have brought it up to her. Because with limited mobility while reaching, tubes in several body parts, and an oxygen monitor on one hand, he needed her to write him a check because he's broke, and will need money this week as he's got free back stage passes to Sammy Hagar at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. One assumes they won't be performing malfunctioning colonoscopies there, that was more the style of the Rob Zombie concert he saw here just the week before.
Saturday August 5, 2006
A brother-free visit. As soon as I slink into the dark room and see if Mom's awake, something starts beeping. I feel like I've tripped a laser beam alarms guarding the giant 80-pound diamond in one of those Tom Cruise spy movies, back when he was worth watching. It's just her oxygen monitor which seems to be multi-decibels, so yes, she is now awake. There are other alarms going off while we're there, including a CONDITION RED fire alarm one floor below us in the north east quadrant which sets off strobe lights in the hall, as well as a buzzer. It's contained after a few minutes of beeping.
There are other blips and beeps from the machines monitoring her new roommate, "a 'colored person' who's been bleeding heavily, though she should be getting out tomorrow." This is not the alto smoke alarm sound of mom's oxygen monitor, but a high tenor/soprano telegraph dit dit dit noise, either a rapid series of "O's" or "S's" without the interrupting letter. Thank you for noticing the sound of that from bed #2, says the nurse. We don't always hear some of these alarms. (Gee, I feel much better hearing that.)
I bring mom email wishes and an American Greetings floral get well E-card for which I assume has the sound turned off as I've hit "replay" on the downloaded webpage on my laptop. (Oh goody, no it doesn't.) And best wishes, and regards given to me during the day to pass to her from a ladies' club friend who's heard through the grapevine of mom's condition.
Mom's best friend, Penny, has been up trying to convince her that "the tube up her nose is her "other best friend, because it's doing its best to get her better." This makes as much sense to us as trying to get a baby to eat telling him theres an airplane or a choo choo train coming straight toward their face to either swallow or allow to induce horrible rhinoplasty.
Thus far, the #1 response when I tell others of mom's condition has been (SURVEY SAYS!) "How can they possibly screw up a colonoscopy?"
#2, "God, your brother sounds like a complete asshole. At least she has you."
#3 "Give her my best wishes, tell her I'm praying for her."
#4 "At least your brother didn't tell her the last thing the guy who died of colon surgery complications had as his last meal."
Sunday, August 6, 2006
A local conservative (who's been heckling me on an AIDS human interest piece not long back and who routinely stalks me at community political events, while never confronting me in person or acknowledging me until later in his blog) says " I don't know whether what happened to her was the result of negligence on the doctor's part, or simply one of those bad things that sometimes happen to us through no particular fault of our own in a fallen world that exists under the curse of sin. Knowing whichever one it might be would bring her little comfort, I'm sure. But I know that God wants a much better life for her, you and me than we currently enjoy on this fallen world. And if we'll trust in Him to change our hearts and renounce doing things our way, He gives us hope for a painless, perfect life in the new Heaven and new Earth."
Why yes, he's praying for both mom and me, because who knows, Mom just may be there as punishment for what I write. The cartoon character Daria is accused of having low self-esteem. No, she counters. I don't have low esteem for my own being, I just have low esteem for you.
Wednesday, Noonish, August 2, 2006
Things didn't go well with your mother's colonoscopy. They're doing surgery on her at 3:30 today. I don't get to see her until they finally put her in a room, after problems with her breathing machines and the repair stitching of her intestinal wall is finished. We're been at the hospital since about 5 p.m. with a small dinner break at a nice "slow food" restaurant close by.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
I haven't been yet today. It was hard to see her last night.
I skip visit opportunity #1. Mom is looking better, but still a worried mess. "Why did this have to happen to me," says dad.
I have now in 3-4 years seen dad weak and on tubes, brother weak and on tubes, and now mom. I think this might get mom to take my health (diabetes, depression, weight) more seriously. As the Russian Roulette chamber spins, I'm "next," in theory.
We are about to leave mom's room at 7:50 p.m., when my brother shows up at the hospital. (Having signed my ne'er-do-well nephew up for junior high school golf, which he'll need her help paying for ... which will take ne'er-neph out of town several days a week ... great hobby for a kid who doesn't like to A) read, B) study ... On the bright side, ne'er-neph will be forced to get a C+ in 4 courses ... wow, manageable goals ... almost).
A half hour into listening to my brother talk about golf, I head out to the nurse's station and asked if I can have one of those pain dosing buttons so i can administer myself a drip of codeine or vicodin.
I ask the nurses if mom could have a consult from "Dr. House," unless he's off sexually harassing his boss or doing vicodin himself. I put in a request for no nurses from "Grey's Academy" because I know they're all off having sex in the linen closets, and all of the doctors from "ER" are either proposing or in Darfur. One nurse tells me, "you know what I hate about 'ER' and 'Grey's Anatomy'? None of those 'doctors' and 'nurses' have time to be doing any of that stuff."
As we attempt to leave (again) the hospital phone rings for mom and my brother answers. Whomever it is asks, "How you doing?/How've you been?" He answers, "Oh not too bad, I've been recovering pretty well." (I whisper to Dad, about my brother ... "Hello. ITS NOT ABOUT YOU.") The person on the phone wants to hear "fine, I'll put you on with my mother" not "Oh, my blood pressure is pretty good and I've been getting in shape since I got out of the hospital."
The next day, I plan to go up and tell them the nurses, all that I know about hospitals comes from watching "Days of our Lives." "Can I please switch some DNA results, or babies, misdiagnose some people with cancer, or tell someone else that if they have children with the person they love the child will have a high risk for a horrible genetic syndrome, which cannot be named, or just generically skulk around with black gloves and syringes and eavesdrop and plan kidnappings"? "Sorry, no. We have to study a long time before we're allowed to do those things."
I do bring mother a big teddy bear, since I figure it's nice to have something thats not a tube or a button or a restraint when all you can do is try and push and work hard to regain lung pressure or sleep.
Mom's been telling everyone she can that I write pop culture commentary for the local weekly newspaper which comes out on Thursdays. She doesn't have the new issue. Well, that's okay, we've stepped down from 40 pages to 36 and my column as well as a bunch of photos didn't make the transition. But, I can recycle the stuff into later weeks. There will always be a "next" crappy cartoon movie coming out with animals acting as though they're in a David Mamet play.
Brother is there because he has to show mom ... his hair dyed beard and what skull hair he has left. and since they didn't have free lunch (for him, a Monday and Friday thing)... he has to tell her where he had lunch ... Much appreciated, no doubt, since she's on ice chips for a week (to ten days) until her digestive system heals.
The joke in pronouncing my last name is that "Heald" has two possible pronunciations (four, if someone thinks there's an R missing AKA "Herald" or "Hurled"). But we prefer "Healed" over "Held." Thus, when it's mistaken I tell people that It's always great to be "Healed," but sometimes you just wanna be "Held." Mom needs both.
Good news, my brother was stopped for not having a light working about the back license plate on his car. The cop lets him off with a warning because ... Hey, are you related to the guy who writes for the Rapid City Weekly News?" (See, I am good for something.) I tell dad he is not to try and use my name to get out of tickets. If the cop makes the association on his own, fine. But "Hey, do you know who I am (related to)?" I would advise the officer to deliver a warning shot into your trunk.
Friday August 4, 2006
This afternoon dad and I are unable to escape as brother visits hospital room again ...
Today Brother Bear
A) goes on and on about his scars and bruises from HIS surgeries earlier in the year
B) make sure mom knew about where someone was from who died in a car accident
C) mentions a story about a friend of his who died 4 years ago ... after complications from colon surgery.
I ask dad on the elevator ride down ... WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM?
I made mom wince in pain trying to hug her. She just "didn't expect it." "You didn't hurt me." She is obviously lying to protect my feelings. But that's what moms do.
We later figure out why mom needed her purse in the hospital, and why brother was kind enough to have brought it up to her. Because with limited mobility while reaching, tubes in several body parts, and an oxygen monitor on one hand, he needed her to write him a check because he's broke, and will need money this week as he's got free back stage passes to Sammy Hagar at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. One assumes they won't be performing malfunctioning colonoscopies there, that was more the style of the Rob Zombie concert he saw here just the week before.
Saturday August 5, 2006
A brother-free visit. As soon as I slink into the dark room and see if Mom's awake, something starts beeping. I feel like I've tripped a laser beam alarms guarding the giant 80-pound diamond in one of those Tom Cruise spy movies, back when he was worth watching. It's just her oxygen monitor which seems to be multi-decibels, so yes, she is now awake. There are other alarms going off while we're there, including a CONDITION RED fire alarm one floor below us in the north east quadrant which sets off strobe lights in the hall, as well as a buzzer. It's contained after a few minutes of beeping.
There are other blips and beeps from the machines monitoring her new roommate, "a 'colored person' who's been bleeding heavily, though she should be getting out tomorrow." This is not the alto smoke alarm sound of mom's oxygen monitor, but a high tenor/soprano telegraph dit dit dit noise, either a rapid series of "O's" or "S's" without the interrupting letter. Thank you for noticing the sound of that from bed #2, says the nurse. We don't always hear some of these alarms. (Gee, I feel much better hearing that.)
I bring mom email wishes and an American Greetings floral get well E-card for which I assume has the sound turned off as I've hit "replay" on the downloaded webpage on my laptop. (Oh goody, no it doesn't.) And best wishes, and regards given to me during the day to pass to her from a ladies' club friend who's heard through the grapevine of mom's condition.
Mom's best friend, Penny, has been up trying to convince her that "the tube up her nose is her "other best friend, because it's doing its best to get her better." This makes as much sense to us as trying to get a baby to eat telling him theres an airplane or a choo choo train coming straight toward their face to either swallow or allow to induce horrible rhinoplasty.
Thus far, the #1 response when I tell others of mom's condition has been (SURVEY SAYS!) "How can they possibly screw up a colonoscopy?"
#2, "God, your brother sounds like a complete asshole. At least she has you."
#3 "Give her my best wishes, tell her I'm praying for her."
#4 "At least your brother didn't tell her the last thing the guy who died of colon surgery complications had as his last meal."
Sunday, August 6, 2006
A local conservative (who's been heckling me on an AIDS human interest piece not long back and who routinely stalks me at community political events, while never confronting me in person or acknowledging me until later in his blog) says " I don't know whether what happened to her was the result of negligence on the doctor's part, or simply one of those bad things that sometimes happen to us through no particular fault of our own in a fallen world that exists under the curse of sin. Knowing whichever one it might be would bring her little comfort, I'm sure. But I know that God wants a much better life for her, you and me than we currently enjoy on this fallen world. And if we'll trust in Him to change our hearts and renounce doing things our way, He gives us hope for a painless, perfect life in the new Heaven and new Earth."
Why yes, he's praying for both mom and me, because who knows, Mom just may be there as punishment for what I write. The cartoon character Daria is accused of having low self-esteem. No, she counters. I don't have low esteem for my own being, I just have low esteem for you.
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