Today it’s been thirty one days since my mother had the seizures that put her in a hospital bed.
As I write this, I’m waiting to hear, from my beleaguered siblings, whether the medical team overseeing her care, has recommended to try the surgery a second time, or not; as well as what her prognosis is, under whatever treatment we, the family and the doctors, decide on.
In the meantime, my siblings tell me, she is stable, vital signs-wise, and aware and coherent a good two thirds of the time she’s awake. On the down side, she’s in pain, and uncomfortable with all the many indignities that come with being helpless in a hospital setting.
As Ms Jones said, being the one at the other end of the phone–or text or email–is hell.
Below the cut, a bit more detail, and a couple of rants, so feel free to skip this–I really don’t want to depress anyone with my shit.