Mom Update III
The phone rings at 4 am. I swim towards consciousness.
"Hello?" says the muffled voice on the other end. The ventilator's noise overpowers the other equipment in the background.
"Mom?" I'm hardly awake. I fell asleep around 2:30 am.
She says hello a few more times and then asks if I'll be there soon. I parse the words; the NG tube and machine are striping away her consonants.
Replying is actually pointless. She can't hear me. "I'll be there this afternoon," I shout into the phone.
The scenario repeats itself several times over the next few hours. My exhaustion reaches new limits. I can't answer the last two calls. Voice mail will reveal more hellos and background noise.
The nurse's eternally cheerful voice slices through my brain fog. The morning briefing is all good news. Mom's vitals look good, she's absolutely cognitive, the mittens are back on. The arterial looks good and the nurse explained that the NG tube must remain. I'm hardly processing the information. I'm groggy. The mental bandwidth remains paltry.
"Tell her I'll be there this afternoon." Household chores call to me.
There are two inescapable truths in my life: I don't know how to do the Macarena, and Better Half will always have chest pains. He's having them today.
His PFT is tomorrow at 1 pm. I won't leave my mother two days in a row. I'll keep an eye on him today but go visit Mom around 4. And then we'll drive to Cadiz tomorrow, and I'll visit her once we're back in town.
A pack of cigarettes usually lasts several days. I blazed through one last night and today. It's only noon.
I arrive to find my mother totally awake.
"That nurse last night is mean. Him and his girlfriend. " She's beyond cross. She's demanding that a doctor come in and tell her that restraint is needed at night.
"You pulled all your stuff out, Mom. They had to restrain you."
She refuses to believe me. It's alright. I don't mind.
A hour passes. Her surgeon stops in to assess her. The wound is healing nicely. Her vitals are good. Her sugar is (expectantly) elevated to 208. He tells them to clamp off the NG and give Mom water. The tube can be removed if she doesn't become nauseated.
The game plan, at the moment, is a few more days in ICU. He would then have her transferred to Trinity East.
Oh fuck no. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
In a nutshell, East's negligence lead to my father's suffering and death. Courts shut down due to COVID, so there was a delay in filing. And Ohio has only a 1 year statute. We will never see a dime.
We'll rehab her at home, if necessary. It means work on our part, and an understanding from her that "I can't do it" whining will be met with pressure with regard to her PT. The therapist would have to come in, but Mom would need to do the work between visits.
I left her in good spirits. We fed Dante his kibble, and Mom called to let me know they can't move her to the chair because they're short-staffed tonight. She's fine with it. We say our "I love yous" and I sit down to eat. Jeff's on comms again tonight.