Thursday, July 05, 2007

Thursday

I woke this morning to wretching, wincing even as I scurried down the hall. I held Mom's bowl and rubbed her back as she was sick, murmuring sympathy and trying to mask worry that we just couldn't beat this sickness. But it's ending better than it began. She hasn't been sick since 5AM. We've switched meds (Phenergan instead of Compazine, all Hydrocodone; no Tramadol) and she has eaten several times today, done her exercises and is moving around a bit better.

"Check on your dad." Mom requested later this morning, and I kissed her forehead (checking for fever as well as displaying affection) as I moved toward the back door.

"He's OK. Moving around." I reported.

He headed out to finally epoxy his new garage floor and Mom was concerned about the heat. I flatly refused to help, though I did finally go out - walkie talkie in hand - to see the finished product.

"I'm heading out." I reported to Mom. "Dad's shoes are too big for me. It's hard to walk in them."

She laughed and asked if I was almost to the garage.

"Almost." I reported back, glancing around. "Your fence garden looks really good, Mom."

"Does it need weeding?" She asked. "It's been a week since surgery, so I haven't weeded. Are the green beans ready?"

"I don't know. I'll give Dad his water, then go look."

I made it to the garage, congratulated my father on his work, snapped a couple of pictures for Mom, then walked back to the fenced yard to see Mom's plants.

"Where is stuff?" I asked after depressing the button on my walkie talkie.

"Green beans first." She reported. "Then sugar snap peas, then tomatoes, then pumpkins along the back fence."

"It's really pretty, Mom." I sighed. "Everything's so healthy. Flowering and growing and, Oh! Producing food! The beans are ready! Some of them, anyway. I'll take pictures so you can see."

"How are the peas?" She asked. "I didn't have any last week." I was too entranced by the bounty of green beans I was harvesting into a basket to notice, though when I took Little One out to see Grandma's garden, we noticed there were many peas as well. I shall harvest those tomorrow.

I weeded as I went along, gently moving soft leaves over to find beans that were just the tiniest bit fuzzy from their successful growth spurt. Everything was soft from the recent rain and fragrant in the moderate heat. I lifted my face to the sun as I sat on the ground, searching for mature beans to place in the basket, and reporting to Mom that her seeds had done very well. I tried to rest her tomatoes on small pieces of fence - they were heavy with fruit and lying on the ground. I brought in the single ripe tomato and nodded with satisfaction over the many green ones that are just waiting to mature.

"You'll have lots of pumpkins." I said, bringing her the basket of beans and the tomato to touch and smell. "You'll be better then and you can look at them yourself."

She nodded, then sighed. It's hard. She spoke to a friend at work to ask a question about the lump in her throat and began to sob as soon as she heard the familiar voice. I took the phone and talked when she handed it to me.

"Hi, this is Katie. She's struggling a bit, but doing OK. I think it's just hearing someone from her normal world and realizing she's not normal yet. She's tired and frustrated and sad." I explained to a sympathetic woman while I handed Mom tissues and patted her soothingly.

"It will get better." I said as she winced while walking this afternoon. "I know it feels terrible and hard and far away, but you are making progress and this will get better."

"I made the wrong decision." She said, still sad and discouraged. "I shouldn't have done this. I wasn't strong enough. I just can't do this."

But she can do it and will get better. It was elective surgery that she really did need. This is hard, but it's not life-threatening. She has support and help and the doctors are trying to give us meds that help rather than hurt. It will get better - there will be easing of pain and increased range of motion and the ability to sleep because she's tired rather than drugged.

But today isn't so bad either. We're moving forward and since I brought in some spearmint sprigs, it now smells of summer and mint rather than stale sickness. Progress. Finally.

4 comments:

Lucy said...

I'm glad she's doing a bit better. *hugs* to you and your mom.

EA said...

The garden looks beautiful! You are so smart to bring in the mint. I can just imagine it here!

chall said...

I really hope that she gets better soon! You are in my prayers.

Hope you all can enjoy summer and the beautiful garden and the vegetables!

Psychobunny said...

It's good to read that she's doing somewhat better. Hugs all around and wishes for strength and a quick recovery!

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