Wednesday, April 7, 2010
When a Parent Gets Sick
I have been avoiding the whole blog thing lately. Immediately this begs the question: is anyone even reading this? But that's just a silly little besides-the-point type thought. Anyhow, I have been stressed. Stressed? Well, I think I nearly dehydrated myself from crying the past few days, but I've always been that kid who has been nearly incapable of NOT crying.
Teacher in Elementary school says: "karen, stop talking." Karen spends the next hour trying not to cry. Seriously! It's become something of a family joke now in a way; everyone just expects that at the first sign of distress, karen is going to start crying. Sigh. Crusty on the outside, soft as hell on the inside, whether I like it or not.
So, I have been avoiding this whole writing business and retreating inward. I see the url for my blog in the drop down search menu every day. It says; hey buddy, going to do any writing today? And I say, nope. My mom's in the hospital right now. She's really sick. Scary sick. She has a bad chest infection, among other problems. Anyone who knows my mother knows that she is stubborn as hell. To use a crude analogy, if she were in the emergency room because one of her legs had just been hacked off, and they told her she didn't have to be admitted to the hospital, well, she'd hobble on out of there to finish her laundry. So, my mom had to feel pretty damn lousy before she'd go to the hospital. I just hope we get some answers this week, and start to hear some promising things.
I hate the hospital. Yeah, who doesn't. I resent the poor overworked nurses who take ages to answer the call of my mom's button after she's spilled her gingerale and can't get any papertowels to clean it up, because the oxygen tube she's hooked up to isn't long enough (and don't get me started over the fact that she shouldn't even try to clean it up, but again, that's my mother). It's nothing personal against the nurses. I know how hard these women work, and I admire anyone who pursues a career in the medical world. I resent them because I have to rely on them to take care of my mother, and I just want them to give a shit. Nothing more. When they come in with a needle of blood thinner, I want them to know what the f*ck is in the syringe. Is that too much to ask? I resent the doctors. They're not around frequently enough, and they hastily whisk in with a "let's try this," and then they whisk back out again. I hate that every time someone walks by the hospital room, they look in. I never look in peoples' rooms as I walk by! Get a life, people. I even resented the woman who minced on in to the ward behind my dad, as he pushed my mom along in a wheelchair, and never said "thank you" as I held the door for everyone. That is, until I yapped out a loud and super cheery "YOU'RE WELCOME!" People. Shudder. But you know what gets me the most? The food. THE FOOD. Oh yeah, this is not a continuation of some long joke about how bad hospital food is. It's really not funny. It's reprehensible, and all who are in charge of this food, and dishing it out to patients should be ashamed.
My mother's appetite is really poor right now. If your appetite were really poor, would you think a good breakfast would be: a large, white, cakey, gluey muffin and a piece of PROCESSED cheese???? I won't even go into dinner. And no, I'm not just being a snobby gourmand, turning her nose up at something that's not a chef-prepared meal. Another breakfast was rice krispies with 1% milk. Rice krispies...you know: the MOST useless cereal of them all? Zilch fibre? A few nutrients tossed in just to make it look good? Let me put it another way: my mom overheard an exchange between an elderly male patient and a nurse:
Nurse: "how are you feeling today?"
Patient: "Oh, I'm SO CONSTIPATED!"
Gee, I wonder why. The sad thing is, it's probably easier for the hospital to give him a laxative rather than just spend more money on edible food.
I'd better leave that topic. Food and nutrition is a pet interest (obsession) of mine, and I know that the almighty dollar wins out over what's actually "best" for us.
So, I hate the hospital. I want to see someone leave the hospital actually "well." If anyone has a story of a loved one or friend who actually got better because they went to the hospital, please share it with me. It may help me change my cynical, cynical mind.
It's very upsetting when a parent becomes ill. I desperately want my mother to be at home, so I can phone her as I do my lunch dishes, and we can chat about all kinds of things, as we do.
Speaking of dishes, I guess I'll plug my ipod into my head, wash the lunch dishes, and then head off for the start of visiting hours.