Yesterday we headed to the LP City to see Jen’s Mom, who has been bedridden for the past three days in slowly worsening condition. I’m going to let Jen explain the situation in her own words—but suffice it to say when the patient is burning through enough Percocet, Oxycontin, Neurontin, and Tylenol to bring down a charging elephant and still unable to lay flat on a bed—that’s not a good place. Most of the afternoon involved hoisting her from the edge of the bed to the commode and back again, making sure she was drinking water, and convincing her that the hallucinations she was seeing were not actually there. Toward the evening, it was decided that she was better served being admitted to a hospital, so we carried her down the stairs, out to the car, and in through the big sliding doors. Let’s all hope she gets the care she needs there.
My wife is one of the strongest, bravest people I have ever met. Her grace in the face of all this shite leaves me awestruck, and I am a lucky man to have her as my bride. In the past week, I’ve seen her deal with more stress, worry, and abuse than any one person should have in a month, and she hasn’t failed herself or her family—at great cost to herself. I spent a good deal of time yesterday quietly stewing on the sidelines, watching her deal with the situation, and it made my blood pressure spike. She shows no emotion in the moment (emotion is weakness on that particular battlefield) but I see the toll it takes on her daily. Were there one thing I could give her for the holiday, it would be the most peaceful, worry-free, uninterrupted month of sleep and relaxation possible.
Today has been a day of mental and physical recovery—after yesterday, my heart is heavy and my back muscles are tighter than piano wire. We’ve been screening calls, getting some minor work around the house done (some wall patching in the stairwell, a new color in the kitchen), got a few minor surprises (two commercial potting tables from the garden center clearance sale, the missing key remote for the Jeep) and generally taking it as easy as we can.
Clue. You know you’re near a Naval Air Station when a Landcruiser passes you with a license plate holder that says:
TOO CLOSE FOR MISSILES
SWITCHING TO GUNS
Reality. Discussing bowel movements and Rush Limbaugh in front of Mrs. Lockard (who was convinced a tiny Rush was crawling around the carpet by the closet), and trying to get her to laugh about the situation:
Jen: (relaying earlier conversation with her mom, which probably brought about the Rush sighting in the first place): I’d never get addicted to Oxycontin. Look at Rush Limbaugh; no wonder he’s so puffed up all the time–he’s upset because he can’t take a poop.
Me: That’s what I love about being a Democrat: Loose stools!