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Fearsome Friday...
Sep. 23rd, 2005 04:41 pmMy mom seemed to be doing much better when we visited her in the hospital today. Although she still doesn't speak lucidly (and probably never will), she at least knew who I was, and more important, ate about 2/3 of her lunch.
In other news, I am trying to not think of Rita as much as possible, since almost all television coverage is aimed at escalating people's fears to the greatest extent possible, and very often on the basis of journalist ignorance. Case in point: last night apparently, a bus filled with elderly residents of a nursing home caught fire and burned, killing 20+ of those aboard. Part of the problem can be attributed to there having been oxygen-supplying equipment on board: sparks that will remain harmless in an ordinary atmosphere will cause a roaring fire in an oxygen-enriched environment. The news, however, described the problem as "exploding oxygen tanks," which for me was a cue to shut off the television.
Getting back to my mom's, case, about the most information that's been communicated to me and my dad since my mom went into the emergency room is the number of the room in which she is now staying. Otherwise, nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. Zero. Nul. The egg.
We have, in fact, been asked questions that we cannot answer simply because nobody at the hospital has seen fit to disclose any information to us (what's wrong with my mother, how long we can expect her to stay in the hospital, any of the results of her tests, etc.). I can feel a fairly scathing letter bubbling under the surface of my consciousness.
The past couple of days, I've walked to the beach property my parents share with other homeowners and gone for a swim. The water is marvelous, even if it has a slight industrial aftertaste in addition to the salt. I have not been able to go today, as my dad and I got home too late from shopping after visiting my mom, and my dad is fairly well accustomed to doing things per a set schedule (I was late coming home from the beach two days ago, and was reminded of it).
It is this very set way of life that has me somewhat down, to the point where I feel a little bit like a prisoner. I realize that most of my situation has to do with my acceptance of my dad's foibles, and in the final analysis, said situation is far from being unbearable.
Today marks a full week with no calls for work. To a certain extent, this is understandable (two of my good clients are in Houston); on the other hand, it does add to the overall stress. The key thing I have to wrap my mind around is taking advantage of the resulting free time this weekend.
Cheers...
In other news, I am trying to not think of Rita as much as possible, since almost all television coverage is aimed at escalating people's fears to the greatest extent possible, and very often on the basis of journalist ignorance. Case in point: last night apparently, a bus filled with elderly residents of a nursing home caught fire and burned, killing 20+ of those aboard. Part of the problem can be attributed to there having been oxygen-supplying equipment on board: sparks that will remain harmless in an ordinary atmosphere will cause a roaring fire in an oxygen-enriched environment. The news, however, described the problem as "exploding oxygen tanks," which for me was a cue to shut off the television.
Getting back to my mom's, case, about the most information that's been communicated to me and my dad since my mom went into the emergency room is the number of the room in which she is now staying. Otherwise, nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. Zero. Nul. The egg.
We have, in fact, been asked questions that we cannot answer simply because nobody at the hospital has seen fit to disclose any information to us (what's wrong with my mother, how long we can expect her to stay in the hospital, any of the results of her tests, etc.). I can feel a fairly scathing letter bubbling under the surface of my consciousness.
The past couple of days, I've walked to the beach property my parents share with other homeowners and gone for a swim. The water is marvelous, even if it has a slight industrial aftertaste in addition to the salt. I have not been able to go today, as my dad and I got home too late from shopping after visiting my mom, and my dad is fairly well accustomed to doing things per a set schedule (I was late coming home from the beach two days ago, and was reminded of it).
It is this very set way of life that has me somewhat down, to the point where I feel a little bit like a prisoner. I realize that most of my situation has to do with my acceptance of my dad's foibles, and in the final analysis, said situation is far from being unbearable.
Today marks a full week with no calls for work. To a certain extent, this is understandable (two of my good clients are in Houston); on the other hand, it does add to the overall stress. The key thing I have to wrap my mind around is taking advantage of the resulting free time this weekend.
Cheers...
