What A Month
I refuse to give The Monster who was just on trial any more publicity. And if I see Juror #3 on one more show, spouting off about how the prosecution didn't prove their case, I'm going to assume she was part of a scheme. I'm not interested in what the Monster will do when she's released. I don't care how much Monster has been offered in the way of makeovers and money. I do take some delight knowing people are lining up to sue her. But I'm done. I'm disgusted. I have other things to worry about.
Like hospice. My mother suddenly took a turn for the worse about a week ago. Since then we went from ICU to ICCU to home hospice.
"Oh look at the nice room they gave me," my mother said, as she was wheeled into her own room in her own home. "It has nice furniture just like mine at home."
Because it is your home, mom.
There's so much medical equipment in her room, she doesn't even recognize it. Oxygen set ups, and hospital beds and trays and walkers look so out of place next to her antique furniture. There are so many workers here, nurses, and social workers to help me navigate the system, which was written by a crazy person who never went through hospice. Everything is crammed in my mother's bedroom which is now even smaller. Somehow these wonderful linebacker-sized nurses pick an out of the way corner and try to fade into the wallpaper when they aren't needed. And when they are needed, I sit leadenly in my chair and watch with dread while they clean her up and do all the things I know I will have to do when I'm here alone with her, a task I'm not sure I can accomplish. I'm not a nurse. I'm way out of my league, here. I don't really know how to care for someone who is dying. I'm so overwhelmed, a simple walk to my mother's room will bring me to tears.
So for the first three days she gets "continuous care." And a nurse, and a social worker comes and makes sure all the papers have been signed. My mother wanted to be home - she just doesn't realize she's home. The machine that makes oxygen for her makes the room hot, so we had to lower the air conditioning. The rest of the house is like an icebox. People are coming and going, but I don't dare vacuum, lest I disturb somebody. The garbage is overflowing. I've never done so much laundry in my life, not even when my kids were little!
Today, I only have nurses here until the afternoon. Then I'm on my own. My husband came down from New York to help. My mother is bigger than I am.
I don't know how long this will last. I don't know the date, or what day it is. The TV is on all the time.
And every time they show the Monster's face, my mother mutters, "Her again - that ugly face of hers. Who cares about her? Why don't they talk about something else?"
Why don't they?
[Posted for Pixelasana by richardporter]
What A Month
Casey Anthony Commentary Hospice Pixelasana|