A memorable Memorial
Tuesday, 31 May 2016 03:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59"Through The Mouth And The Nose. The Usual Method, In Fact. God Gave Us These Orifices To Breathe Through, And Who Am I To Condemn Him? I Think You Can't Breathe Through Anything Else. If You Start Breathing Through Your Ears, You Can't Hear Yourself Speak For The Rushing Of The Wind."*
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After three days of doing pretty much nothing, I decided to try accomplish something today. So I went over to my mother's house and did some laundry.
I got four loads done altogether. I finished the last one around eight. I took it and hung it up, then went back over to lock up.
Once the basement was locked, I went upstairs to let my mother know. She was sitting in the chair by the TV, alternately looking out the window and looking in the mirror. She didn't look at me when I spoke to her.
I sat down and tried to get her attention, but she didn't seem to know I was there. I touched her hand and she realized I was there, but she didn't say anything.
By that time I was scared to death. I called 911 and told them I thought my mother was having a stroke.
The firemen came first, then the paramedics. They had as much luck getting my mother to talk as I had. I gave them all the information, then rode in the ambulance to the hospital.
Everyone was nice. I told them about my mother's stroke in October, I assured them that the last time I saw her—around one in the afternoon—she was fine, and by fine I meant the way she's been since October. Yes, she was talking. Since she started losing her hearing, her philosophy has been that she doesn't have to listen to other people anymore, she can do the talking.
Her heart was doing things—she was in afib. I held her hand for a while. They took her for a cat scan.
I waited for five hours, having a panic attack the whole time. Finally, around one thirty, I asked if I could go home.
My cellphone had died—that is, the battery. The phone itself is dying too. Since I'd ridden there in the ambulance, I had to take a cab home. Except for driving to the wrong entrance (the professional building instead of the ER), it was fine. I got home and called Meg, who came bounding into the house. Now he's laying next to me, occasionally mouthing my wrist. My panic attack is abating. I'll be going to bed soon.
I don't know what's going on. I don't know what to hope for.
*Sir Arthur Steeb-Greebling
-:- -:- -:- -:-
After three days of doing pretty much nothing, I decided to try accomplish something today. So I went over to my mother's house and did some laundry.
I got four loads done altogether. I finished the last one around eight. I took it and hung it up, then went back over to lock up.
Once the basement was locked, I went upstairs to let my mother know. She was sitting in the chair by the TV, alternately looking out the window and looking in the mirror. She didn't look at me when I spoke to her.
I sat down and tried to get her attention, but she didn't seem to know I was there. I touched her hand and she realized I was there, but she didn't say anything.
By that time I was scared to death. I called 911 and told them I thought my mother was having a stroke.
The firemen came first, then the paramedics. They had as much luck getting my mother to talk as I had. I gave them all the information, then rode in the ambulance to the hospital.
Everyone was nice. I told them about my mother's stroke in October, I assured them that the last time I saw her—around one in the afternoon—she was fine, and by fine I meant the way she's been since October. Yes, she was talking. Since she started losing her hearing, her philosophy has been that she doesn't have to listen to other people anymore, she can do the talking.
Her heart was doing things—she was in afib. I held her hand for a while. They took her for a cat scan.
I waited for five hours, having a panic attack the whole time. Finally, around one thirty, I asked if I could go home.
My cellphone had died—that is, the battery. The phone itself is dying too. Since I'd ridden there in the ambulance, I had to take a cab home. Except for driving to the wrong entrance (the professional building instead of the ER), it was fine. I got home and called Meg, who came bounding into the house. Now he's laying next to me, occasionally mouthing my wrist. My panic attack is abating. I'll be going to bed soon.
I don't know what's going on. I don't know what to hope for.
*Sir Arthur Steeb-Greebling