It seems that whenever I'm sure of a good day in store, I get taught to never assume anything and to savor the realities instead of the should-bes.
Today was rough. Last night, my parents were woken up every 90 minutes for something: pills, vital signs, bathroom trips, etc. By the time I arrived at the hospital at 11am, they were both exhausted and worn. She had gotten one bite of breakfast in before the nurse insisted she take her pills and by the time that was over, she had lost her appetite. The only thing she ate all day was a few bites of my lunchtime mashed ginger yams (have I mentioned the hospital is directly across the street from Whole Foods?? Best Thing EVER). And since she didn't really get much sleep last night, she slept most of the day. Which was great for her-I'm hoping tomorrow she'll be rested and ready for radiation and her second chemo treatment-but she had a ton of visitors and I had to be the bitch and keep people out.
I know that I have designated myself as the information provider, the visitor gatekeeper and the contact go-to for everything, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a control freak. I realize that I have specifically asked all of you to email me messages to Mom to pass along and text me when you're in the waiting room so I can see if Mom is up for a visit. And I definitely think that is the best system for all of us right now. But please remember that I am also a grieving daughter. Up to three weeks ago, I still called her every time I cooked meat to see how hot to set the oven. I sent her photo texts of outfit options before deciding what to wear to interviews and Rehearsal Dinners. ( I can't pick out my own clothes-practically everything I own is from a shopping trip with her because she has fantastic taste and I have no concept of what looks good on me). So, if I don't reply to an email or text from you within a few hours, if I basically hang up on you if you call the hospital, if I can't sit with you in the waiting room or don't want you to touch me, that's why. I'm trying to wrap my head around this diagnosis, this enormous wrinkle in daily life. I'm trying to live with constant uncertainty (as I said, I'm a control freak-this is NOT easy), with fear, with sadness. I'm trying to limit the pain that she's in, always; protecting her the best and only ways I know how is priority number one.
Anyway, today had it's ups and downs. She had a fabulous physical therapy session that involved walking with a walker the entire length of her new, huge room (and back!). But she was really tired when she began the session and just exhausted when it was over. She never quite got her energy back today. Though it's undeniable that her body is stronger today than a few days ago. It is also with mixed feelings that I announce the departure of Kermit. Mom's voice is getting back to normal, which is an excellent sign overall, but a little sad, just because the Kermit voice is so awesome. Oh, well; Ross does a pitch perfect impression, so be sure to ask him for it when you see him.
The best thing about today is yet to come-I'm staying overnight with Mom. My dad got some very special advice from a very wise woman and consented to let me and Ross take some turns on the overnight shift. So, it's a slumber party! Of course, I'm hoping that she'll sleep all night and really rest up for an eventful day tomorrow, but I'll be very happy to be here should she wake up and want to talk, or just want a back rub.