Friday night, August 11, 2006
"Food, glorious food!" -- Oliver! (Twist)
"But I like solid (food)s!" -- Homer Simpson
Hospital dinner was a "huge piece of roast pork" and corn. (Granted, nobody really digests corn, but stil...). It's a sign mom is truly on the mend.
More and more people are calling her with encouragement, (well, we got the word out, after all). It's a mental trip outside the bland beige generally sunlit room. Away from tubes and prodding and yet another new roommate. The tubes continue disappearing as she can once again breathe on her own (and use the CPAP machine for her sleep apnea at night). There was constant irritation to wipe her nose while there were tubes there. Ripping them out on her own wouldn't have been helping matters.
As symbolism goes, the "hand grenade thing" visible on the outside of her body that's to be dealt with is at some point in time is ... her stomach. That's certainly not creepy at all. [It reminds me of "Humbug," the first episode (and best I've ever seen) of "The X-Files." With the Jim Rose Circus of sideshow oddities, Vincent Schiavelli, and Michael Anderson, the dancing dwarf from "Twin Peaks." It's a light yet fascinating hour with killer asymetrical siamese twins, who don't realize they're siamese twins. We won't tell Mom about this pop culture flashback, shall we?]
My brother has returned from the mayhem and madness of Sturgis, from backstage at the Sammy Hagar concert, where Mom says he got "lots of free stuff." (Syphillis, crabs, T-shirts, gonnerhea?)
One lovely souvenier of this whole experience will be her botched colonscopy on DVD. (Directors commentary? Surround Sound? Deleted scenes?) Copies will not be going out with the Heald Family Christmas cards.
That just seems a long way off. Six months from now brings Valentine's Day. One doctor tells her she won't need to come back to have things checked while the nurses around this floor say she will. (Sure, build up our confidence even more in the sense that anyone around here knows what's going on.) It is doctor-speak that has her worried. She can't understand it, or understand why they can't communicate so that lay-people know what's going on. It's just a part of her nature not to ask. Sigh.
As Dad and I leave, we begin packing up the greenhouse by the sink. bowl and vase and gift upon gift as we ready for her arrival home.
And I'm trying to decide whether to tell the home health care workers whether "Helloooooooooo, Nois'?" is merely a vaudevillian reference (Groucho Marx) or Animaniacs quote.
"Food, glorious food!" -- Oliver! (Twist)
"But I like solid (food)s!" -- Homer Simpson
Hospital dinner was a "huge piece of roast pork" and corn. (Granted, nobody really digests corn, but stil...). It's a sign mom is truly on the mend.
More and more people are calling her with encouragement, (well, we got the word out, after all). It's a mental trip outside the bland beige generally sunlit room. Away from tubes and prodding and yet another new roommate. The tubes continue disappearing as she can once again breathe on her own (and use the CPAP machine for her sleep apnea at night). There was constant irritation to wipe her nose while there were tubes there. Ripping them out on her own wouldn't have been helping matters.
As symbolism goes, the "hand grenade thing" visible on the outside of her body that's to be dealt with is at some point in time is ... her stomach. That's certainly not creepy at all. [It reminds me of "Humbug," the first episode (and best I've ever seen) of "The X-Files." With the Jim Rose Circus of sideshow oddities, Vincent Schiavelli, and Michael Anderson, the dancing dwarf from "Twin Peaks." It's a light yet fascinating hour with killer asymetrical siamese twins, who don't realize they're siamese twins. We won't tell Mom about this pop culture flashback, shall we?]
My brother has returned from the mayhem and madness of Sturgis, from backstage at the Sammy Hagar concert, where Mom says he got "lots of free stuff." (Syphillis, crabs, T-shirts, gonnerhea?)
One lovely souvenier of this whole experience will be her botched colonscopy on DVD. (Directors commentary? Surround Sound? Deleted scenes?) Copies will not be going out with the Heald Family Christmas cards.
That just seems a long way off. Six months from now brings Valentine's Day. One doctor tells her she won't need to come back to have things checked while the nurses around this floor say she will. (Sure, build up our confidence even more in the sense that anyone around here knows what's going on.) It is doctor-speak that has her worried. She can't understand it, or understand why they can't communicate so that lay-people know what's going on. It's just a part of her nature not to ask. Sigh.
As Dad and I leave, we begin packing up the greenhouse by the sink. bowl and vase and gift upon gift as we ready for her arrival home.
And I'm trying to decide whether to tell the home health care workers whether "Helloooooooooo, Nois'?" is merely a vaudevillian reference (Groucho Marx) or Animaniacs quote.
posted by Thomas @ 1:18 PM
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