On the horse, off the horse
Mom’s progress is moving sideways. They keep trying to put her on an aggressive program of getting her into long-term acute care and out of a hospital room, but it seems one step forward creates a hokey pokey dance that leaves us right back to where we started from – or perhaps we are inching ahead but it doesn’t feel like it most days. She still has a trach, a vent, a feeding tube, and an itch to get the hell out of there.
No matter which way I slice and dice it a part of my mother’s life is over – the one where she lived independently and held the promise of something about to happen. Now I feel as if the future has been revealed and it’s tolerable if all goes well but not anything any of us would aspire to.
I’ve resolved myself to keep a poison pill by my bed should I live to an age when one thing could unravel everything.