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Just in time?
Sep. 19th, 2005 04:39 pmI got to my parents' house a little after 7 pm local time yesterday. The flight into JFK went by better than expected, and after picking up my bag I took the AirTrain to the LIRR station at Jamaica, from where I caught a train in good time.
The taxi stand at the station that I recalled from the dim recesses of my mind has likely long disappeared; at any rate, no such means of transportation was available. Between not wanting to put my dad to unnecessary trouble and the fact that I don't think I had ever walked to the house from the station, I did so.
For some reason, I had imagined my mom would be bedridden, but she wasn't. She was sitting in the living room, in a wheelchair. She recognized me, sort of. When asked, she said I was her son, but I think she had to be prompted to recall my name. Her eyes darted around her field of view, pausing from time to time on me, with a look I find hard to describe.
It was a look with nothing behind it, or everything, if your imagination is active. There was a great distance in those eyes, as if she was simply biding her time before speaking.
But she hardly spoke.
A word here or there, but nothing approaching a sentence. The only sign of life was her slightly labored breathing and those darting eyes.
There was a parade of visitors today, each equipped with a blood-pressure cuff, and they all noticed that something about my mom was different, and not in a good way. The last visitor put all of the pieces together and called the family doctor, who recommended my mom be admitted immediately to the local hospital.
My dad and I got back from the hospital a little while ago, where the doctor raised some issues that, I expect, have never been discussed in our family before. They will have to be discussed now, I reckon.
Cheers...
The taxi stand at the station that I recalled from the dim recesses of my mind has likely long disappeared; at any rate, no such means of transportation was available. Between not wanting to put my dad to unnecessary trouble and the fact that I don't think I had ever walked to the house from the station, I did so.
For some reason, I had imagined my mom would be bedridden, but she wasn't. She was sitting in the living room, in a wheelchair. She recognized me, sort of. When asked, she said I was her son, but I think she had to be prompted to recall my name. Her eyes darted around her field of view, pausing from time to time on me, with a look I find hard to describe.
It was a look with nothing behind it, or everything, if your imagination is active. There was a great distance in those eyes, as if she was simply biding her time before speaking.
But she hardly spoke.
A word here or there, but nothing approaching a sentence. The only sign of life was her slightly labored breathing and those darting eyes.
There was a parade of visitors today, each equipped with a blood-pressure cuff, and they all noticed that something about my mom was different, and not in a good way. The last visitor put all of the pieces together and called the family doctor, who recommended my mom be admitted immediately to the local hospital.
My dad and I got back from the hospital a little while ago, where the doctor raised some issues that, I expect, have never been discussed in our family before. They will have to be discussed now, I reckon.
Cheers...
