Last night...talking 'bout last night...

For those who don't know, the title of this installment is a line from a song by the Traveling Wilburys. For some reason, it's stuck in my brain this morning. Too bad the CD's out of print, and I sold off my copy years ago. There was some good music on there...

---(*)---

Here's a bit of free advice, a life-lesson, as it were, to anyone who might be listening.

If you're not used to having dinner late at night, right before you go to bed, don't eat something big and heavy.

I didn't get home until late, and I didn't have dinner until about 9:30, and then went to bed about an hour and a half later.

That pasta is still not lying well. Of course, not having lunch during the day didn't help matters...

---(*)---

So, you ask, why did you eat so late? Well, I took a ride out to see The Kid last night.

She's doing a bit better these days, but there are some new issues we're dealing with.

She's jumpy. Every little sound, every door that closes, every phone than rings, she hears and she has to respond to. They moved her room earlier this week because she heard the (albeit heavy) kitchen door slam shut, and she'd jump and become nervous. Since they've got a fair amount of people in there, it opens and closes a lot.

They moved her around the corner, to another room, but now there's a phone right outside her door. Whenever it rings, she's always saying "will someone answer that phone!"...and not always quietly, if you know what I mean.

When we talked the other night, she said she had some things to tell me, but couldn't. I asked her if there was anyone listening, and she said no, so I asked her to tell me just one thing.

She asked when she was coming home. First time she'd done that since this started five months ago, but we already talked about that.

Last night, I went out to talk to her, to see if she was going to ask again, or if there was something else on her mind. She didn't tell me, but when my brother called, she asked him why she was in the hospital when she didn't feel sick. He called me later and said he'd told her that she was having problems walking and couldn't feel her feet (although she swore she could), and said that she was somewhere where they could help her.

On one hand, this is a good thing, I guess. She's not fully aware (at least, that's what she tells us) that she's in a nursing home. It makes things difficult because we can't explain things logically to her, to try and get her to understand what's going on. I have to choose my words carefully, as if trying to explain nuclear physics (something about which I have no clue) to a four-year old. Or maybe like trying to hold onto Jell-O.

Actually, the Jell-O might be easier to hold onto.

It's frustrating on our part (and believe-you-me, if there's one thing I understand, it's frustration) trying to deal with this. The people that work there, especially a good friend of mine who's there, help out, so we're really not alone in this. Still, as some of you know, it's not easy trying to fathom something like this.

All I can do is focus on the fact that she's someplace where they can take care of her.
I'll deal with the questions whenever they appear.