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Me be short...
Oct. 6th, 2005 07:37 pmAs opposed to yesterday, my mom was not very sociable today as she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, and repeating "...help me..." (though when I approached and asked what she needed help with, I was met with a stare that betrayed no recognition).
The attending nurse asked us if my mom really was 90 years old. When we so confirmed, she noted that my mom's face reflected a remarkable lack of wrinkles, which is indeed the case.
"How do you feel?" asked my dad.
"Oh. Kay," came the labored reply.
Only someone bred in America will come up with such an answer; I've heard people give the same answer after having been discharged from a hospital wearing a body cast. In other parts of the world, the response assumes the asker is well and truly interested in the answer, thus meriting a considered, real answer instead of a stock response. Sadly, in this case the asker was vitally interested in the answer, only to be given the brush-off, IMO. I notice that almost everything my mom says consists of well-worn phrases that don't really mean anything, by themselves.
What's maddening about my mom's condition is the lack of trend. My mom is all over the map. One day she's great; the next, it's as if she's near-comatose. Then she'll be okay again, seemingly. But there is an underlying theme: her remarks can easily be relegated to a class of "automatic" responses.
Otherwise, the day passed without event. I did my laundry instead of going to the beach. And the evening has been quiet, except for a call from a client just a few minutes ago, resulting in my agreeing to do about 1500 words for noon tomorrow. I figure I can start first thing in the morning and be pretty much a cinch to finish by noon tomorrow, which is when my dad and I typically leave to visit my mom. I'm planning to be on the 1:54 pm LIRR train out of Glen Cove, which will get me into Jamaica in plenty of time to take the AirTrain to JFK for the trip home.
Cheers...
The attending nurse asked us if my mom really was 90 years old. When we so confirmed, she noted that my mom's face reflected a remarkable lack of wrinkles, which is indeed the case.
"How do you feel?" asked my dad.
"Oh. Kay," came the labored reply.
Only someone bred in America will come up with such an answer; I've heard people give the same answer after having been discharged from a hospital wearing a body cast. In other parts of the world, the response assumes the asker is well and truly interested in the answer, thus meriting a considered, real answer instead of a stock response. Sadly, in this case the asker was vitally interested in the answer, only to be given the brush-off, IMO. I notice that almost everything my mom says consists of well-worn phrases that don't really mean anything, by themselves.
What's maddening about my mom's condition is the lack of trend. My mom is all over the map. One day she's great; the next, it's as if she's near-comatose. Then she'll be okay again, seemingly. But there is an underlying theme: her remarks can easily be relegated to a class of "automatic" responses.
Otherwise, the day passed without event. I did my laundry instead of going to the beach. And the evening has been quiet, except for a call from a client just a few minutes ago, resulting in my agreeing to do about 1500 words for noon tomorrow. I figure I can start first thing in the morning and be pretty much a cinch to finish by noon tomorrow, which is when my dad and I typically leave to visit my mom. I'm planning to be on the 1:54 pm LIRR train out of Glen Cove, which will get me into Jamaica in plenty of time to take the AirTrain to JFK for the trip home.
Cheers...
